A New Fork In The Journey

For Art's Sake

2007-05-07T09:24:00.000-07:00

Chow (part of an assignment from photography class)

2007-04-29T23:39:00.000-07:00

Still Hanging Around

2007-04-29T23:23:00.000-07:00

Still here.
Both of us are still here.
Miraculously.

It frightens me so to have someone look at me, really look at me and all my ridiculous flaws and somehow still accept me and gasp!, even love me. I've come through one storm and found that he's still here, on the other side under blue skies.

With him here, I'm suddenly facing my issues rather than running away from them. I still try to run, but I always run smack into him and he makes me turn around and go do the things I'd rather put off. Getting bills paid, chores done, learning to show up on time, organize, plan...

It's exhausting.

And I assumed that he wouldn't want to be around that no matter how good I make him feel. But he hasn't left, yet.

God, there's always that YET in there, isn't there?

Can't I just for once leave the fucking yet off of a damn sentence of mine?

I was in a sub shop today and the woman at the register complimented me on my hair. There's something about the color that everyone seems to like. She asked me a few questions and that was that. I was having a not-so-great hair day so her comments flew right on by. Outside, I said out loud that she failed to mention to me that my hair was like straw- on certain days, no amount of bouncy mousse is going to get my funky hair to frame my face just so. ABOYNAMEDSUE says to me, "Hey great way to turn a positive into a negative just now." I am the damn queen at that game.

I can beat the positive out of any situation. The problem is, once I've seen what I've done, I madly regret it. Self-fullfilling prophecy should be my middle name.

40 days

2007-04-24T11:18:00.000-07:00

I am pushing him away. I want him to leave today. I can't stand that someone else is around me and has to see me as the way I really am. I am too messy and too unorganized. He sees this and he knows it's because I am a selfish person. I don't care about anyone else and he's gotten close enough to figure it out.

I don't want to go home tonight. He'll be there and I'll have to face him. Or worse yet, there will just be silence where words of regret would otherwise be heard. I regret that I let him in- just like I regret letting anyone in and that close to me. No one deserves to be with someone so selfish, so self-centered and out of control. I am of no use to him. I can't be of any good to him or anyone else because I am of no good to myself.

When this happens, and it seems to every time, I realize that I am just not meant to be with other people. It's what I want so badly but it's not what I deserve. I can't be a good person and for that reason, I don't need to be around other people. I am too dependent and too high maintenance. I don't give a shit about my life and all it does is manifest itself into dependence on other people. I just hang on, dig my claws in and wail when I feel myself slipping. It happens all the time.

I am not meant for what I want in life. It's not what I deserve because I don't have the capacity to turn my life around and do any good. As much as I think about other people, as much guilt as I carry on my shoulders for all the bad things I do and all the things I don't do for other people.... my actions don't reflect any of it. I just retreat further and further inward and lash out until I've made sure that everyone has left me alone.

I'm trying to make sure that he leaves too. He deserves far better than what I have to offer. The few redeeming qualities that I have are far outnumbered by all the negativity that I carry around combined with the lack of motivation and willpower I have to make life better for everyone else. I am not a good person and I don't want him to put up with that.

A Boy Named Sue

2007-04-10T18:16:00.000-07:00

© 2007 Punkin Dunkin Productions

Here he is, the internet guy.

And here's what I like:
1. He doesn't let me get away with anything. He calls me out on my insecurities and self deprecating comments every time.
2. He smiles all the time when he's around me. I've been warned that he isn't a happy person in general and most of the time he scowls at things. But I'm one lucky girl not to have been the recipient of any scowling. I wouldn't let him get away with it anyway.
3. We have similar background issues that we bring to the relationship which makes it easier to understand one another and empathize.
4. He has a beautiful and strong body that I'm going to love photographing.
5. He thinks I have potential but he likes me for who I am right now. I feel the same about him.
6. He has a fantastic sense of humor and keeps me giggling a whole lot.
7. He's got issues and he readily admits them.
8. He's made me more responsible for my daily activities. The apartment has stayed cleaner now more than ever before. I'm cooking bacon and pancakes and baked chicken and cheesecake.... I didn't know I could even cook. He gives me more of a reason to put those wistful thoughts of self-discipline into action.
9. He makes me feel like a woman and he makes sure I know it.
10. He thinks I'm sexy and he's totally genuine about it too.
----------------------------------------------------

I’ve been struggling with many things in my life. I over-think things to the point of exhaustion. I have this overwhelming need, a totally insatiable desire to UNDERSTAND myself and the world in which I exist. I want to know why I am the way I am and why I am changing so much. I think that obsessive round and round mindset is accurately documented on the blog. If you think it’s not pretty here, try living in my head. I’ve seen that end goal of inner quietness for some time. I’ve wanted to just… be. There doesn’t have to be any discussion, any fighting against or for things to work. I don’t want to be wrapped up in a straight jacket of personal thoughts that keep me far busier in life than I need to be.

I almost didn’t write anything here about BoyNamedSue. But I figured it would be nice for a visit from my future self who could always use a jog of her memory when it comes to these things.

I haven’t had to really think all that much in the last 3 weeks. The time we’ve spent together just flows naturally. There is very little second guessing. Here and there, we wonder why things are going so uncharacteristically smooth for us but then the moment passes and we go back to just existing. Usually laughter and a couple of sarcastic/pessimistic attitudes get us through. He puts me at complete ease. I don’t have to worry about whether he thinks my dinner making skills suck or not. Neither one of us really cares to have control over the tv remote (I watched the Masters this weekend and I am shocked by my total lack of disgust over witnessing that much golf). I don’t care where he lives and what kind of car he drives and I’m not worried that he’s going to hurt me in the end. There’s not any nervousness over discovering things about one another or letting each other into our personal lives.

The best part of all is that I’m not worried about the future. If it ends tonight, I’m fine with that. There won’t be any monumental heartbreak or begging and pleading. I’ll adjust accordingly and move on well enough. I’m in a place where I can accept my present circumstances and I’m learning to work with these things, not against them. I could claw my way through another relationship, finding angst through my unhealthy yearning to NOT BE ALONE, but I’m not seeing that as an outcome here. I think I'm coming to terms with my identity and acceptance of who I am versus what I am not or what I want to be. He makes me feel good about just being in the here and now.

Lowered Expectations Lead to Unexpected Elation

2007-03-19T19:37:00.001-07:00

I took the plunge and met someone from Match.com for a date. It's certainly um, an interesting experience. So I'm trying to figure this one out. I know, I know... I can't just let it be. It's just that I find it hard to believe that after a week and a half of entering the world of online dating, I have this hot guy emailing me and then asking to meet for a drink. I assumed he'd take one look at me and hightail it out of the cafe. Then I assumed that he felt like having lunch with me because he didn't want to waste his afternoon by coming downtown for no reason. I thought he'd think of some asinine reason to leave (I had my own on standby for sure). But he didn't.

You can probably see where this is going.

So the hour is up and we don't really know what to do with ourselves. Apparently neither one of us had thought this thru. Essentially the one hour drink I had all planned out in my head (full of awkward pauses, sweaty palms and stammering responses about the weather) instead turned into an 8 hour date. I wasn't sure if I should call it a date but with 8 hours logged in, how can I not? We had lunch and then a walk with lots of talking, and then ice cream, then a lot of talking followed up by even more talking, and finally ending with a movie that I really couldn't recap here because it was too hard to pay attention to.

Hello! Hot guy sitting Right.Next.To.Me! And he's reaching for my hand to hold! Who gives a flippty-flip what's on the screen! Show me static for all I care!

The end of the night comes and he asks if he can call me again. "Sure!" I'm enthusiastic after such an unexpected day. But come bedtime I'm thinking to myself, "Isn't that the number one complaint from single women? That men say they'll call and they don't? Haven't I heard this on 'Sex and the City' a thousand times before??" So I'm psyching myself up for the possibility that he doesn't call for several days or if ever again.

My expectations are just way too low.

Low and behold, he calls me Sunday and offers to take me out to get errands (he knows about the car situation and I think he breathed a sigh of relief when I didn't turn my nose up at his early model Subaru wagon. I thought it was cute. And I'm too old to care about the kind of car that someone drives. It doesn't cross my mind as a prerequisite for a potential date). But I had just returned home after the ex was kind enough to take me to the store.

But he called!
And it was the very next day!!!
I was so taken back that I forgot to get really gussied up.
No shit, he called!!!!!!!

My expectations must have hit rock bottom. Is this what my 30’s will be like if I stay single?

We had a nice evening together on Sunday too. But I'm leery because I am the eternal pessimist and this last year has only added fuel to that particular fire. How can the first one out of the gate be this good? So this is what cautiously optimistic feels like- it's a brand new feeling to me. I'm happy that things got off to such a great start but I know that I need to remember the mistakes I've made in the past (the thought that he just wants to get into my pants because I appear pathetic [in my warped mind] did occur to me. But then I had to remind myself that guys are guys and they don’t want to just get into the pants of the desperate ones, they want to get into as many pairs as possible. Being pretty or confident doesn’t necessarily make a difference). Most importantly, if he never calls again or things end icky or just never go anywhere… well, I'm gonna be just fine. I've got a busy life that needs my attention. I can do fine with or without someone right now. I prefer with, but I'm strong enough to handle either.

The other really cool thing is that this guy has a degree in psychology. He's also got my number and he's got it good (as in he’s pegged me pretty damn well for only having known me 36 hours). He told me I was extremely sexy which only makes me want to howl with laughter. But he called me out on it when I asked him what was so gosh darn sexy about me. Physical traits and clothes aside, he mentioned the way that I carry myself and the confidence that shines through.

"You know deep down how sexy you are. You just don't want to admit it."

And he's sooooo right. I know exactly what I am and I don't want to admit it. Because admitting it makes me sound arrogant. But more so, it makes me finally face what everyone is telling me is the truth. Close the case already, why don’cha? Now it's time to move on and be finished with the transforming part. I'm a damn butterfly or phoenix or swan; just need to pick one. It doesn't matter. I am this and it's okay to say so. My clothes say it, my giggle says it, my walk says it, and my personality says it. To deny it otherwise is just plain stupid. It’s time to strip the remaining torn and tattered pieces of the insecurity blanket off and just run free. Run free and enjoy every damn minute because I deserve it.

A Life in Bloom: Expectations and Experiments in External Beauty

2007-03-15T15:07:00.001-07:00

I am the proverbial ugly duckling. There’s no uncertainty about it these days. I’m nearing the end of the story in terms of my physical transformation. The result of my efforts has not gone unnoticed- by anyone around me. I had several men turning around more than once to look at me while I was at dinner last Saturday. I’m experiencing this phenomenon in many social situations pretty much every day now. I catch some glances with a cool face and others I notice in my peripheral vision but don’t acknowledge. I was at the receiving end of a very chilly once-over by a woman who must have considered me competition (at least, that’s the catty look that I’ve seen other women giving each other when they feel threatened). It’s weird to be stared at. It’s even weirder to admit that it may not be due to a negative appearance or personality that I displayed for many years.

I’m used to being stared at or ignored (which would seem more merciful but is far from it), having doors shut in my face because the guy ahead of me didn’t think to hold it open for me. I’m used to snickering and condescending looks, pity for my size and perceived slovenly appearance. It was all that I knew. I didn’t realize how differently people are treated based on their appearance. It’s a “duh” realization; you always hear about the impact that appearances have on dating, jobs, raises, just about ANYTHING imaginable. But until you cross that line in either direction and experience it first hand, only then does the reality fully sink in.

I realize that I feel more vulnerable nowadays than I ever did when I was obese. The vulnerability factor has multiplied exponentially over the last year. I find that to be an odd and certainly unexpected consequence of the weight loss. Losing weight, working on becoming healthy, paying attention to one’s appearance- it’s all about finding control and balance in life. It’s a powerful statement of self love and self worth. But it’s not an easy transition.

I am not able to just go from a place of worthlessness to one of complete confidence. I question the motives of strangers (i.e. men) who are nice to me. I am leery of men who want to date me. Me? Are you kidding? Am I being punked or what? Call me pretty and I think you’re a total liar. I have no other lens thru which to view my world. It is the lens of a former fat girl who still remembers her old life. The fat is no longer there (most of it anyway) but I can still feel it under my skin. I have broken through that self-imposed protective barrier that sheltered me from heavy doses of dating disasters, inappropriate sexual comments made in public (this time they mean what they say, as opposed to before when it was one big joke on one big girl), embarrassing stares- albeit cute when done respectfully, fashion & makeup flubs, as well as the glaring spotlight. As a girl who lived life on the fringes and found comfort in all that she knew to be true there, I can tell you that the spotlight is a scary, scary place for me.

My world has been turned upside down and inside out (and I want to stress that although this post is about the negative and scary aspects, there are many, many good things about my new physical self and the personality blooming because of it). The sky is no longer blue and in my world, that means I am no longer considered ugly. I have stepped into a brand new role and I haven't a clue as to what to do with myself sometimes. The closest and most appropriate analogy I can think of is that of a young teenage girl discovering the world of women through experimental hits and misses. I am 13 going on 30. I’ve had to learn all that a young girl would over several years. I have to make up for lost time and do it pretty quickly.

The particular type of woman that I am gravitating towards is fashion conscious (or obsessed for those who consider such things trivial), on the verge of being considered a shoe whore, considers makeup to be a positive enhancement to her appearance, and goes for the clothes that hug the curves. I make no apologies for my choices. I want to look attractive and I think I do through my wardrobe choices. I idolized the girls on ‘Sex and the City’ and I always wished I could feel “normal” (but we should already know that “normal” does not exist except in magazines like Architectural Digest, movies with double d starlets, and twisted ideals spouted from the lips of deluded cable news anchors and their guests). I feel like a woman for the first time in my life and I’ve had to face the repercussions from choosing to accentuate what I am.

One place that I have to experiment in is the world of dating. I’ve had boyfriends for 11 years now and yet… it’s a whole new ballgame since putting myself OUT THERE. I haven’t had much luck in the last year and my insecurities surrounding my new life certainly play into that. I took the plunge and looked at profiles of singles on a popular dating website this week as a sort of joke/dare. Having never taken to dating on the net, I wasn’t sure what I would encounter. Perhaps it was just the site I perused but I was a little shocked by the selection.

First off, let me insert a disclaimer here: I cannot spell without the help of a dictionary or the computer’s spell checker program. I never learned all the rules of grammar to the point of using them more correctly than say 75% of the time (I like using ‘and’ at the beginning of a sentence, I’m not always sure when to end a paragraph and start a new one). I use the spell check tool and electronic thesaurus religiously. I read my writing, and then reread it, usually following up with a final skimming before I hit submit. I’m overly self conscious about my inability to articulate my thoughts both on paper and in person.
That being said, I cannot believe what I am witnessing on this site. There seem to be more misspelled words than all of my childhood written spelling tests combined. This goes way, way beyond the commonly misspelled or misused words. And I seriously wish I was kidding or exaggerating here. Although I can decipher what’s being said, I get completely stuck on the grammar, lack of punctuation or full sentences, and general disregard for professionalism- which seems to delete the pool of eligible applicants rather quickly. Do these guys realize how idiotic their profiles look to the general public? Did they take more than 2 minutes to think about what they were saying and how it might come across to someone of the opposite sex? It signals a couple of things to me: A disregard for self respect first off, a lack of respect for any potential dates they are trying to attract, a quick judgment on their education level, followed by thoughts of weighing their possible education level against actual level of laziness.

In addition to the possibly lazy or unskillful member profiles, there are so many rotten photographs used as profile pictures that I can’t help but wonder if it’s on purpose. I used this picture as my profile. It’s clear and crisp and not overly suggestive. I think it’s a good representation of me (I did add recent full length shots too- so there’s no mistaking my body type and no one will assume I’m a skinny minnie). On the site, I see pictures mostly taken with camera phones and webcams. Many are fuzzy, exceedingly blurry and surely not reflective of physical looks- unless you consider a Picasso painting to be a true representation of the human face. I’ve seen several where the face is in a complete shadow. Any hint of physical features, pleasant or otherwise, is just not possible. I don’t consider myself overly shallow but I’d be a total liar if I said looks don’t play a part in my dating criteria. They do- probably like 99% of the rest of the human race. However, I do have a different idea of what’s beautiful, usually that which goes partially against the American cultural norm these days.

I actually sent a short note to one guy thanking him for having a totally legible profile, proper picture and witty commentary. I don’t think these men realize that they completely cut themselves out of the competition- at least from respectable women. Then again, perhaps my standards are too high if I’m looking at spelling and grammar to be an indication of respectability. But when it’s pretty much all you have to go on, you’re going to judge it critically. At least you should if you’re serious about finding love. Part of me does speak up though and questions whether I should use that as criteria, at least to the degree to which I do, when weeding through the singles. People have judged me solely on looks all of my life- rather harshly, I might add. They couldn’t look past the initial impression to see anything valuable to them. I do wonder if I am doing the same thing now, but in reverse?

The experiment continues....

Surfacing

2007-03-08T14:56:00.001-08:00

"People say that motivation doesn't last. Well, neither does bathing- that's why we recommend it daily" -Zig Ziglar

2007-03-05T20:22:00.003-08:00

Here is my daily inspiration. Or daily torture, depending on what I've eaten.

My best friend is getting married in July. I have 90 days until I must go in for a fitting and about a 150 until the big day. I am the maid of honor which means there is no possibility of standing to one side so as to "accidentally" slip outside of the camera lens. I have to stand right next to her. And I have to fit into that mummy wrapped looking dress while doing it! AHHHHHH.

So it got me off my butt and seriously motivated this weekend. I biked 18 miles around town and I was unstoppable. I knocked 10 minutes off my biking commute to work this morning. I'm doing crunches and I'm lifting my little weights. I weigh 183 but I'm going to start ignoring that figure and begin paying more attention to how my clothes fit. That's the true sign of success. I need some serious buffness to happen between now and July. I'm going sleeveless in front of a large audience... the only thing more terrifying than that would be public speaking. And yes, I'm well aware that I may have to do that too.

Geesh! Why are weddings full of this much hassle and anxiety? Does anyone have a happy day while attending one of these things?

Besides exercise, I found myself more motivated than I have been in a very long time. But I accepted my imperfect success rate over the weekend ("no, those magazines do not have to cataloged according to size and color" "no one is coming over for dinner so it's okay if the dishes sit a little longer" "dusting is optional right now"). I did get some bills out though, got the laundry caught up and at least contemplated cleaning out my bathroom of toiletries and sundries that I hoard there (I'm not why I have this overwhelming need to keep shampoo bottles and fragrance bottles when there's just a smidge of the product left over. Maybe it's the shiny packaging that implores me to stuff it under the sink rather than in the trash. Thank goodness I don't stay at too many hotels. Those little bottles of conditioner and tiny soaps are almost too much for my obsession). I also worked on finishing long over due photos, did my taxes over after discovering another tax credit I was previously oblivious to (thanks mom!), paid my rent, made and scarfed down the best salad I've had all year and began planning the baking I'm doing this week for a couple of birthday celebrations. I was exhausted by the end of the night, but I was 100% thankful that I didn't waste the day. I look forward to as many non-wasted days as possible from now on.

Cha-cha-changes: Before, During and Not Quite After

2007-03-05T15:55:00.001-08:00

************************************Circa 2004? Me at 275 pounds with Crater Lake in the background********************************** I think we were just beginning our diet then. I wasn't too impressed with Atkins at that time. Tudeskii was losing weight rapidly and I was just watching in envy. I remember wanting to hike through the park and down to the water but there's no way (weigh?) that my body could handle it. It was summer and I was always so hot. I would show at little skin as possible. I had a serious farmer tan. That Coke shirt was a 26/28- the highest size I'd reached at that point. It was a big reason why I knew I had to lose weight.

*********************************Circa April and June 2004. Me at 255-60 pounds and then 245 pounds. *****************************

This was the summer when things began to take off. I believe I got down to 225 or 230 by September. I was (literally) walking my ass off. I walked all over the neighborhood and ended up wearing out my sneakers by fall. I remember thinking in that second picture that I was doing pretty well after having lost 30 pounds. There was a hint of a curve in the outline of my waist. And oh my, how I hated those black polyester pants. I had 3 pair that I wore to work constantly because we had a business attire environment. But I had no sense of style and a figure that didn't look good in anything.

****************************************Circa February 2007. 183 pounds and counting.**************************************************

"Be an After. Stay an After." The slogan of the latest Weight Watchers campaign really struck a chord with me. It dawned on me that I’m closer to being that “after” than I ever have before. And it shows. I’ve done so many things in the last few years that I would have never attempted at my “before” weight. Some of the more frightening, exciting, and interesting things include: dancing in public at a bar with friends, dancing with a complete stranger, running almost 2 miles at one time, signing up for my first sports league ever, keeping my head high when walking around in public, discovering that there is much more to my femininity than just my hair (hello hips and lips!), finding that even chocolate can’t beat the taste of fresh berries, learning to say thank you to a compliment (and fully accepting it as truth), only buying clothes that completely flatter my figure, walking 10 miles at a time, joining a walking marathon twice, returning the gaze of those who give me a double take (well, learning to do it anyway), mentioning my weight in public, being happy to mention my weight in public even though it’s no where near a “normal” or “healthy weight” according to the so-called experts, figuring out that I’m chiseling out some serious curves and I want to keep my curves because they make me unique… especially next to the college girls I always run into, discovering what energy level my body can achieve when it’s at its best, letting my body dictate my food choices instead of my mind or the commercials on TV, discovering that I have a normal metabolism after all, accepting that I can be a feminist while still wearing panty hose and enjoying makeup (it is my choice after all), building a wardrobe of skirts and dresses, enjoying life in a skirt or dress, running and walking the Relay For Life events the past 3 summers, discovering the power of attractiveness and finding the ability to flirt, doing pushups and sit-ups for the first time in my life (more than 2 at a time!), figuring out that fast food is indeed quite disgusting, and just this past weekend- biking 18 miles in 2 hours.

See You Next Year: Same Time, Same Place

2007-03-03T13:06:00.000-08:00

Oh you evil little cookies. You ruined my diet for the day. And you have transfat! And you gave me insomnia! And I'm pissed that I only bought one box!

You'd Never Believe That I Really Want To Kill My TV

2007-02-21T11:33:00.000-08:00

I had every intention of watching American Idol last night but the contestants weren't all that interesting so I found myself flipping between this and this (Wow! he killed himself and the sister blames Dateline. Um hello, it was pretty clear that he was a child predator!!). It's times like this that I wish I had a DVR so I didn't have to miss a thing.

True Story

2007-02-21T09:33:00.000-08:00

The bus driver turns to me and says "You've renewed my faith in this city."

I, in a slight after-work coma, don't hear him at first and reply, "Huh?"

"A woman wearing a short skirt and high heels- You don't see that too often around here! You look very nice." He smiles. "You must not be from Eugene, huh?"

I smile as I get up to get off the bus. "Thanks! And no, I'm not actually from around here." I giggle all the way to my connecting bus.

too bad he was more than twice my age.....

FINALLY!

2007-02-20T13:11:00.000-08:00

It has taken me about 3 hours to forever to figure out how to access my blog at work (no home or school connection available right now) and which proxy will let me post pictures.... let's hope this one works for now.

Sometimes it feels like I'm fighting the Borg. Every time I access a website deemed unacceptable by the firewall, I'm blocked the next time around. Then I have to try several web proxies to get back in. I'm not accessing lewd stuff here. Perhaps my love of photography, politics and architecture is just too taboo for work? I could play internet games all day long like everyone else, but I think I'd go crazy pretty quickly.

Anywho, I'm here now, for good (fingers and toes crossed).

To get over my breakup and to retrain my body to accept food and build muscle, I've decided to do several things:

1. I got the bike in working order and actually rode no less than 10 miles on Saturday from outside the city limits of Eugene all the way over to the city center of Springfield. I wasn't planning on it, but the weather was so nice and I didn't feel like waiting around for a bus or a ride to come get me.

You may never forget how to ride a bike... but your ass sure does!

2. I signed up for my office's volleyball league this spring. I don't have any sports skills whatsoever but hopefully the 90+ pounds I've lost were just suppressing all of them. I'm ready to do some spiking! Bring it on!

Let's hope I get over the irrational fear of things flying past my head.

3. I'm attending a knitting bee (of sorts) every week from now on. Maybe someone can show me how to use double pointed needles and actually create a sock. Or something that appears to be sock-like. I tried once and broke the needles.

Sometimes store bought is just waaaaaaaaayyyyyyy easier. There's just no challenge though.

4. I'm now an official volunteer for the humane society. My pictures of the cats should appear shortly here and on the adoption site, which I will link to. I had fun taking pictures this past weekend, getting used to all the new kitty personalities. I can't swat butts there like I do at home so it's going to be interesting. My training for the dog kennel won't be until next month so the doggie pics will be forthcoming.

I need to find a way to permanently adhere some treats to my camera.

5. I'm busy, buying frames for photos that need to be sent out to certain peoples and finding the best yarn deals for a knitting stash meant to become scarves for charity. Relay For Life is always heavily supported by my workplace. This year, I'm using my knitting talents to rake in some big bucks. In addition to the projects earmarked for family thank yous and birthdays, I have a bunch of charity knits in progress. I wouldn't mind locking myself in my apartment for a whole weekend to gain some serious ground with these things. But my fingers are already chapped and callouses are not far behind.

Why can't I learn to knit with my toes? I'd be just that much further along!

Just Not Good Enough: A month of drunks, insensitive insurance agents, muscle relaxers and a painful breakup (there isn't a Calgon bottle big enough)

2007-02-06T16:35:00.000-08:00

Well, it's been like forever since I've posted anything here. But it's not entirely my fault. My workplace started blocking Blogger and then all the proxies I used to get thru were cutting off the homepage, making it difficult to reset my password.

But today I finally had a breakthrough. So I'm back. I hope.

A whole lot of crap has happened to me in the last month and a half. The theme lately is one of powerlessness. I feel as though the Universe has it in for me and I'm not entirely sure why. And it feels as if I'm just not good enough to deserve better.

The day before Christmas, a drunk driver totaled my parked car, leaving me having to utilize the grand bus system of Springfield. Of course, that alcoholic a**hole is already back out on the streets in a new car. The police have been unable to pin the accident on him as he is lying thru his tooth about the incident. Witnesses place him and only him at the scene. He was described as drunk and he knew what he'd done as he tried to drive his car down the block towards his house (so yes, it's considered a hit and run) but the impact was so severe that both vehicles were totaled. Witnesses saw him and he attempted to conceal his identity.
When police arrived, he left the scene (after coming back down the block pretending to have been awoken by the commotion) and he wouldn't answer the door when they attempted to make contact with him. This bozo's brilliant story is that he went out at 3:30 in the morning and started up his car to let it warm up. It was then stolen and that's when he claims the accident happened. However, the vehicle was faced towards his house, headed in that direction (perhaps the thieves had a change of heart and were returning the car, moments after they had stolen it??), and had it truly been stolen, he would have (as normal people do) reported the stolen vehicle when the police were there that morning. As of today's post, he has not reported that vehicle stolen and the cops cannot get him to do so. He knows he would be committing a felony by lying so he has chosen to remain the snake that he is. He has prior DUI's and I believe that this would have been #3- also a felony in our state (I think). So he knows what he has done and he knows that he is lying out his ass.

I feel sorry for the residents of that particular neighborhood where the accident occurred. They should be warned of the drunk that lives in their midst so they can keep pets and children on short leashes. There is a park behind all of the duplexes and many children wander the block all the time. I fear that his next accident will not involve only a parked car with no one inside. Next time, someone could lose their life. And I feel powerless because there isn't much I can do to prevent it. I am watching out for him, as best as I can. The officer assigned to the case has advised me to call in whenever I see him out so that he can be picked up and his car can be impounded. He is driving with a suspended license and no insurance (ever wonder why all of our rates keep going up?).

To make matters worse, my insurance company made things difficult for me (but then again, how often do you hear about an easy insurance settlement?). I won't name names, however, the insurance company's name starts with A and rhymes with American. Oops, did I just give that away? Whatever. My insurance agent decided that my crisis was not worth her time and today marks DAY 46 since the accident that she still has not returned my call. When I started calling her office the end of December, I left message after message, stopped in several times and spoke numerous times with her secretary. The secretary could see how distressed I was. I know that my agent was not really involved with the adjustment and loss portion of my accident, however I had been with this woman for 3 years (with American Family for over 7 years) and all I wanted was some reassurance from her that this matter would be dealt with swiftly and with compassion. I was wrong on both accounts.
_____________________________________

Next up, I've been having horrible stomachaches and abdominal pain this month. My trouble with swallowing has escalated. From October 13 to January 23, I lost 18 pounds. I'm not trying to lose weight and I don't exercise. I'm just not getting enough food in me. I finally went to the doctor two weeks ago. She put me through a few tests and so far, her diagnosis straight up sucks. I told her of all my symptoms (stomachaches, pain in all four abdominal quadrants, pain in my shoulder after eating, vomiting, nausea, occasional heartburn, bad taste in the back of my throat, heart palpitations, in addition to being unable to swallow, and a few other things that I'd rather not mention), and her initial thought is to treat me for heartburn or GURD (acid reflux). She also seems to think that the swallowing problem is not physical. It's anxiety manifesting itself in my mouth and esophagus that prevents me from eating. This is where I find the nearest brick wall and pound my head against it.

Forget for a moment, all of the symptoms that do not correspond to acid reflux, the fact that sludge (yes, that is a medical term) was found in my gallbladder during an ultrasound which alarmed the technicians, and focus on the fact that I've just been called crazy (as far as I'm concerned). It really pisses me off to be told that there isn't anything physically wrong with me. It pisses me off to describe my symptoms, which are very real and very annoying (do you know what I'd give for a hamburger that I could eat completely? I'd not only sell my own soul, I'd start selling the souls of my coworkers and friends too!), and to be told that perhaps it's just a stiff neck that is causing my anxiety. I was, and I wish I was kidding here, prescribed a muscle relaxer for when I'm eating.

:O

What do you say to someone who spent years in medical school, studying everything medicine related who thinks that it's all just a problem in your head? At least she can't say that it's because I'm fat. I now weigh 183. That's 92 pounds that I've lost in not quite 3 years. I'm not even in the obese category for BMI and standard weight calculations anymore. For the first time ever, I weigh less than my driver's license says I do. They can't blame my health on my weight. So I guess the next simplest explanation is that it's mental. Grrrrr.
___________________________________________

The other incredibly negative thing to happen lately is my breakup.

I was dumped.

Hard.

And it hurt. For the second time in my life, it hurt really, really badly.

It boils down, according to him, to the simple fact that he has no feelings for me. There "is no spark" and I should "find someone who accepts me for me." Uh, okay.....

Based on that little nutshell, it sounds rather simple, no? I mean, you can't be mad at someone who just has no feelings for you. It's like getting mad at someone because they were born with blue eyes. They can't help it, it's just the way it is.

At least, that's what he tried to convince me of.

Here's where the problem arises: He spent no less than 7 weeks coming to this decision. We dated for 7 weeks beyond the time that he first started to feel... nothing!.... and he didn't have the balls to tell me any sooner than that. This pisses me off. And I have every right to be angry because there were multiple opportunities for him to confront me. In fact, I remember trying a couple times myself to initiate a conversation about the distance growing between us. I wrote a very personal email. I joked about it. I cried. I'm 100% sure that the guy isn't dense. I wouldn't have been attracted to him in the first place if that had been the case. So my only conclusion is that he chose to hide all that time like a coward continuing to let me sit in confusion, having sex with me, and making me scramble to try and figure out what was wrong and what I could do to fix it.

"You're smart, funny, attractive... I'm attracted to you, we have a lot in common and we get along great... it's just not good enough."

Just.Not.Good.Enough.

= one hard slap across the face

Which left me wondering for some time how I could have avoided failing so miserably at having a passionate and meaningful relationship with this man. What did I do wrong?!?! Was it the fact that I don't look my best first thing in the morning? Or that I like to spit my gum out further than the last time I did so? Were my jokes not funny enough? My political views not in closer alignment to his own? WHAT?!?!

A couple days later, he admitted to me when these doubts started to creep into his mind. It happened during an episode one weekend where I was afraid to confront him on something embarrassing for both of us that I'd discovered. I didn't want to talk to him about it but I was so deathly afraid of losing another relationship to this particular problem. Once this issue was brought out into the open, I'd thought that we'd dealt with it and that all was forgiven. I forgave him for lying to me. But he didn't forgive me for being "hysterical".

Oh honey, you haven't even begun to see hysterical.

It turns out that he doesn't like my emotions. Goodness, I'm emotional and I have feelings. Whooda thunk it? My god, I'm not a robot! I am a real woman in the flesh. And oh boy, that's gotta be pretty darn scary to deal with! Things upset me. Things make me cry and laugh and scream and vomit. I am complicated. What about high-maintenance? Isn't that the other code word for emotional/crazy/too much of a woman? I don't demand that someone change for me. I don't demand that someone spend every waking minute with me, catering to my every need. I like my knitting and my photography and I don't need the other person I date to validate me because those things fill in fine. I do, however, like to discuss things and verbalize what I'm thinking and especially what I'm feeling. My feelings are important to me. They change constantly and damn it, they are complex! "Hysterical" to me, translates to someone who has no control over their emotions, someone who is in a constant state of crisis. Me? I wouldn't say I'm always in control (PMS, anyone?) of my emotions, but I do not spend my entire life in crisis- take care of me because I'm a helplessly disturbed female and make me all better because you are the man-mode. But I am prone to excitability, poignant films make me tear up, and bad stuff puts me in a temporarily sour mood. The alternative would be someone who bottles everything up and doesn't discuss what they are feeling to any degree at all. They'd rather go punch things and drive like a complete maniac on the road than admit that something is bothering them. Perhaps because I am viewing this through my female lens, I see the obviously easier approach of dealing directly with personal emotions as more acceptable.

But some men don't see it that way.

And unfortunately I had to fall for one of them.

Obviously you can tell that I don't believe his explanation as to what happened. If it were true- that robotboy just never found that spark for me- then what the hell was the first month all about? A forgettable accident? He tells me that he has no feelings for me, yet he stared at me all summer long. He went out of his way to make conversation with me. He wrote just as many emails to me as I did to him before and when we first started going out. I didn't have 3 hour phone conversations with myself. I didn't initiate any conversations involving future plans, child rearing and baby names. I wasn't looking for anything except a fun date. I needed that after the year I had had with whatshisface.

I didn't mean to fall in love. It just happened.

And I'm pissed off that my involuntary reaction was wasted on someone like him. I'm pissed to have wasted my time, energy, and love on someone who found it so easy to dump me because of one negative aspect of my personality somehow overshadowed the overwhelming heap of positive things I bring to the table. The guy was far from perfect, yet I accepted every flaw that I saw and every flaw that I didn't. It was easy. I guess too easy. Nothing worth fighting for ever comes easy, right?

Until I Can Get it All Out

2006-12-31T22:41:00.000-08:00

End of Year Meme from Badger's blog

Post the first sentence of the first post for every month this year.

January:
When I accepted the idea that this relationship could work as a poly one, I knew I was in for a long hard haul, but I was blinded by how long and how hard it would turn out to be.

February:
In no particular order this week,

I jumped on the scale for the first time in 3 months, was shocked that I hadn't gained but maybe 2 ounces, and resolved to return to a more healthy way of eating so I can hit my magic happy weight number in the next four months (that's 12 pounds and 8 ounces away).

March:
I bought my first crushed velvet blazer today at Goodwill for $2.50.

April:
Someone I know does not have a good relationship with one of his/her parents.

(from the new blog) 20 years ago I . . .
was the fattest fourth grader in my class at Lakeview Elementary.

May:
(like the stereotypical woman who always changes her mind) I kinda miss this blog.

(from the new blog) Last night's dream was brought to me by my subconscious just one day after I made the declaration that I was not suffering from reoccurring or symbolic dreams as of lately.

June:
I thought if there's anything in the world I could write about, is what life is like as a Fat girl who needs sex like she needs water but who couldn't get a sip to save her life.

July:
So I'm lonely, cranky, depressed, and at my wits end.

August:
Q:How Do You Know.... When You've Found The Absolute Wrong Person To Marry?

September:
So anyone who has spoken to me in the last three months knows that since starting to date Mr. Big, I have had some very rocky moments.

October:
I figured out that I have pnigophobia.

November:
Saturday was the first day I finally felt the Christmas spirit move me.

(too bad that was November 6th!)

December:
Here's what I feel like today: I had a Stoffer's stuffed pepper frozen meal & almost an entire box of Ferrero Rocher candies for dinner and the scale said 189.8 this morning.

I'm in a really bad mood tonight, with 79 minutes to go until 2007. I have an enormous post about this year that I've been working on but I fear that if I were to finish it tonight, it would only sink me further into depression. So it's going to wait for now.

"Ultimately we know deeply that the other side of every fear is a freedom."

2006-12-18T09:45:00.000-08:00

quote by Marilyn Ferguson

Things I fear:

1. Ending up homeless and having to live in my car if I can't figure out my finances pretty damn quickly.

2. Having to work crappy jobs forever and never get to one that makes me feel fulfilled.

3. Having to count every single penny and decide whether to buy groceries for the month or get some health related issue dealt with even though I'm supposed to have good insurance.

4. Not being able to afford children- ever.

5. Not being able to have children since I waited so long. I could be facing reproductive issues for a couple of reasons.

6. Never getting that degree.

7. Never getting an architect's license.

8. Never being able to remember how to spell tommarrow correctly without the aid of spell check.

9. Never being able to lick the procrastination problem that dogs me.

10.Never reaching a goal weight of 175 pounds.

11.Hating my body the rest of my life.

12.Choking to death.

13.Not learning the lessons in this life that I am supposed to.

15.Never finding someone to grow old with.

16.Having a mental disorder/disease that renders me defenseless and senile.

17.Developing some horrible disease or worse yet, passing on something to my children because of all the chemicals I've ingested in my lifetime through air, water and food.

18.Having to deal with the repercussions from eating something with a soul.

19.Having all of my teeth pulled out.

20.Not seeing my loved ones after this life is over.

A Possible End...

2006-12-14T08:36:00.000-08:00

to kitty vomit.

Random Friday- Cause That's Just What Kind of Week I've Had! Wait, isn't it Saturday? Oh, Bloody Hell... I Give Up.

2006-12-09T14:05:00.000-08:00

1. Here's what I feel like today:

I had a Stoffer's stuffed pepper frozen meal & almost an entire box of Ferrero Rocher candies for dinner. The scale said 189.8 this morning. That makes 85#'s total. My jeans that I completely adore no longer fit me just right (but I was sort of stuffed into them at first. I think I was around 212-215 when I bought the jeans in March). I may have stretched them out just a little too much over the last 6 months. At this rate, I'll be moving into the Barbie mansion by summer.*

2. For the first time in my adult life, I stayed up for 48 hours straight (and I didn't need any speed this time around---- just kidding!). I did get one nap that lasted not quite 50 minutes. And I was totally hallucinating throughout it. I had been woken up by the sound of kitties fighting and for some reason I had convinced myself that my new apartment was flea infested (generally we don't see fleas in a December as cold as this one- at least not without coordinating scarves and mittens). They were jumping off of my blanket and they reminded me of the fizz on top of a glass of just poured soda pop. They were sparkling and I swear I almost heard them talking or singing (but everyone knows that fleas don't speak English- at least not without heavy, heavy accents. And they don't sing so much as shout intelligibly).

3. I have moved out of the old apartment completely. And I cleaned that place like nobody's business. The only place where it is unequivocally dirty would be the grates in the oven. Those damn things wouldn't have come clean even if they were soaked in bleach for a month. We lived in the apartment since May of 2003. I'm almost positive that the grills had never been cleaned up until now. But the good news is that I should be getting most of my security deposit back. The manager was impressed with my cleaning skills (see, mom and dad? See? I can make something shiny and new again! And I can get complimented for it too!).

4. Now that I'm done with school for a month, I've decided to make four things a priority: turning my new apartment into a home (verses the boxes piled up to the ceiling look- I've been losing sight of the cats on an hourly basis. Every once in a while a tail can be seen behind a box or a pitiful meow is bellowed out from somewhere deep in the dark recesses of box jungle. Of course, when it's dinner time, any box that's empty and in the path of a hungry cat is obliterated. It's a lot more fun than having to actually tear down the boxes by hand), I will also be working on Christmas scarves (chances are if you identify with the female gender, you will be getting a scarf from me this holiday season), I have found the disk for Sim2 along with CityLife and Sims4 at my boyfriend's house (I may not see sunshine for an entire week), and I plan to spend a great deal more time with the guy.

5. Speaking of which, (after a grand total of 41 days of dating) I'm still convinced that he's THE ONE. There isn't anything that would change that (short of a confession involving a bloody ax). I did come up against the first real test though. It took almost a month but I finally found what I would consider and honest flaw- or rather a flaw that I think (demand?) needs fixing: We went up to Salem last weekend to do some holiday shopping. He drives because he only travels in trucks and he prefers to be the driver when we are on a date (that's not a control thing, it's just him being a gentleman... besides, I was able to get some knitting done in the process). If I were to say to you that he is one of the scariest drivers imaginable, after all the wonderful things you've heard about him up until now, would you believe me? You know my tendency to exaggerate, right? I'M NOT EXAGERATING EVEN THE SLIGHTEST BIT ON THIS ONE. He is scary with a capital AAAAHHHHH!!! He seems to think everyone else on the road is a dumbass (many of us do, of course) but he doesn't yield to anyone. NO ONE. I like drivers that are consistent and decisive. He's well, decisive for sure.. but the decisions he makes while behind the wheel of a two ton vehicle are very scary. I mentally calculated the cab fare from Salem to Eugene at one point. I'm going to stop short of saying that he has road rage issues... but he definitely likes to take his aggression out while on the road. It's not pleasant to watch- especially when I've gotten used to this well mannered and very kind gentleman that treats me damn near like a princess. I told him that since I'm only a girlfriend, I'll keep my mouth shut. But if I was his wife, I'd slap him silly for some of the stunts he pulled. If we do end up together, no baby seat will ever make any indentations on his seat cushions. NEVER. I will drive myself home after every delivery, I swear.

6. I forgot all about the article. Sorry! I read it and I wasn't impressed. The reporter got the fact that I'm a planning student and not an architecture student wrong. Then he juxtaposed my comments with an actual architecture professor's and I felt that I just looked stupid. Here is the link, if you want to read it and if it's still available. Otherwise, I copied the article and put it here for reference (I'm not paying that Republican run newspaper just to access their archives).

*If you didn't get that reference, you need to immediately drop everything and go watch the 'Incredible Shrinking Woman' again.

Me and the Register-Guard Make Nice*

2006-11-29T16:21:00.000-08:00

Earlier today I was interviewed by a reporter for the RG regarding my post on the new courthouse. He found me by googling information about the building and my post was on the first page of hits. The reporter said that the article will show up in either Thursday or Saturday's paper. I think only one or two quotes might end up in there, if any do at all.

Oh, I really hope I didn't sound like a rambling idiot because that's my normal mode. I'm shocked that he wanted my opinion on the matter. I didn't think that the post was all that informative; I was simply trying to explain why I thought the building was so awful. In our interview, I kept referring back to the fact that the courthouse is noticeably disconnected from the rest of the city and the architect didn't feel that it was his duty to build those connections through his design. I'm not an architect yet. I'm not even done with my planning degree. But something in that philosophy just doesn't seem right to me.

My instincts** tell me that GOOD architecture is such that it can stand alone if need be, but also that it successfully participates in an active dialog with its surroundings- both the built and natural (or perhaps unnatural) world. This building doesn't do that. Not one little bit. It is a foreign object that has fallen from the sky with no connection to Eugene whatsoever. Not all architecture has to do that all of the time. But I would think that a major civic building should at least attempt to assimilate itself into its surroundings just a bit. This building looks more like a Borg ship trying to assimilate everything else around it. I still say yuck.

* I say this because I don't like the Register-Guard for their homophobic stance in discriminating against same sex couples listing their commitment ceremonies and the births of their children. The paper won't print a birth announcement unless the mother and father are listed. HI, WELCOME TO THE 21st CENTURY YOU JACKASSES. THE DEFINITION OF A FAMILY IS MUCH BROADER THAN THE NUCLEAR IDEAL THAT YOU FIND ACCEPTABLE. I won't read the paper unless I want to do the Sudoku or I need the classifieds. I am an Oregonian reader all the way.

**Too bad the instincts can't tell me what constitutes good grammar. Eats, Shoots and Leaves-- where are you?!?

A Reason to Give Thanks

2006-11-29T09:44:00.000-08:00

I read a whole bunch of blogs every week. Most of them are about weight loss and current events. Sometimes they are temporarily mundane and other times they leave me holding my sides as I laugh almost uncontrollably. This happens to be one of those posts. Enjoy!

Random Monday--- er make that Tuesday!

2006-11-28T09:08:00.000-08:00

1. I have been avoiding the scale for a good two weeks because I knew I was eating way too many sweets. As evidence by the craters on my face today (yuck!), Thanksgiving weekend wasn’t much better. I decided to turn a new leaf yesterday so I mustered up the courage to step on the scale. 193. It was down two pounds from my lowest weight ever. I was shocked. At first I thought it was because I was weighing myself on the bathroom floor in my new apartment. But it was the same no matter where I moved around the apartment. Perhaps everyone is just a little lighter in my new city.

2. That new city is Springfield. GROAN. I don’t know a lot about Springfield other than what I have been told and what I’ve seen while visiting and shopping here. The very first person I spoke to when I first arrived in Oregon (the agent at the rental counter at PDX) told me to never ever move to Springfield. Many others have reiterated that sentiment over the past four years. The crime rate is seemingly higher and there are more unsavory characters roaming the streets than Eugene. Of course the same could be said about Eugene after any Ducks game or around finals week. Unfortunately I didn’t have much choice especially since the budget dictated where I would go. I moved to an area that is close to J, work, and school. I bought extra safety locks for my apartment, some garlic leis for decoration, and I’m going to hope for the best.

3. The apartment is not bad for what I can afford. I know I’m going down a few notches as my previous apartment was only 5 years old whereas this one seems to be roughly 30 years old. The outside looks a lot worse than the inside though. It’s amazing what a new coat of paint, new linoleum, and carpeting can do for a place. The apartment is 700 square feet-only 180 square feet less than the 2 bedroom I was living in. So other than the coveted washer and dryer that I’m losing, it’s not all that bad. I feel like it’s the right size for one person and her two ungrateful cats. What sold me on the place was what is considered the makeup area of the bathroom where there is space underneath the vanity for a chair. The kitty box goes well there but I’m now on a hunt to build odor blocking curtains. A deodorizer that sprays automatically after a cat goes would be a big help too. I never realized how messy and stinky those two brats can be.

4. I walked around the morning with my fly down on my jeans. No one said a word. It’s so obnoxious when people don’t think to clue you in on something like that. Just tell me so I don’t continue to make an ass of myself!

5. As of Thanksgiving morning, I am officially now “The Girlfriend”. (shaking head) It kind of sucks that I have to fall for someone whom I consider THE ONE and yet he’s moving at a snails pace. But it was pointed out to me by another friend that he’s taking it slow because he cares enough to do so. I get that. So for now, I’m learning to keep pace with him- as hard as that is. It’s not like I’m necessarily okay with lightening fast (even though that is typically my m.o.), it’s just that this time… this time it is different. Why? Because not only have I moved fast in a physical sense, but my feelings moved just as fast. I have never fallen in love with someone this quickly. It is my belief that to fall in love with someone, it requires three things: enough time (how much is dictated by each individual case), the total acceptance of the other person and all their faults, and some sort of situation that tests the bond that the two people share- trust and intimacy are essential ingredients to the mix. I didn’t have two of the three and yet I knew I was in love with the guy by the end of the first week. I can’t explain that. I certainly didn’t mean to fall in love with him so quickly. There was no way for me to know that the man sitting 10 feet across from me at work all summer would come to be the one that I instinctive know I want to marry. Not my fault… not my fault…not my fault. Let me recap the days. October 29th- our pseudo study date (do you think any studying actually got done? Accompanying the pseudo date was the pseudo kiss. But I straightened him out on that one. Ain’t never gonna kiss me in the parking lot of a Sherry’s diner ever again!). October 31st- our first official date (in a bar… on Halloween… with one and only one official first kiss that pretty much confirmed that we’d never have a problem finding passion for one another). Now if I count on my fingers- why that would make 31 days more or less. That’s so scary. And in that respect, I get the whole “slowing down thing” that we agreed to. But then again, it doesn’t feel like one measly month. Even in the first week, I was turning towards him from time to time and thinking to myself “Haven’t I always known you? Hasn’t my hand always fit into yours just so? One minute he’s a stranger and 12 hours of phone conversations, 3 dates and 2 dozen emails later, I find myself falling for him as if it required no effort at all. They say that you know when you know. I always thought that was a bunch of hooey… but now, I’m pretty sure there is something to that.

6. I am full of bruises from this weekend’s move. I’ve also been eating poorly (see #1) and so I’m bruising a whole lot easier these days. I bought a multivitamin but I can’t choke the damn thing down. But never fear- I bought some high protein Boost at the store last night to supplement my diet for now.

7. Did the whole Black Friday early morning shopping thing for the first time in my life this year. While I wasn’t terribly impressed, I did get a couple of good deals including some Egyptian cotton body towels that I adore. I’m still on the fence as to whether it’s worth it next year. I didn’t like the whole getting up at 4am thing.

8. It snowed here today and it is forecasted to do so for a few more days. We won’t see a whole lot but it is very rare for November. I wish that if it was going to snow, it should just be a whole bunch so everyone can have a free day off.

The Willamette Locks near Oregon City

2006-11-28T07:30:00.000-08:00

Hawthorne Bridge on the Willamette River in Portland, Oregon

2006-11-22T08:47:00.000-08:00

Dare You to Blink

2006-11-20T07:18:00.000-08:00

Gerlinger Hall on the University of Oregon Campus

2006-11-17T15:07:00.000-08:00

Through The Looking Glass

2006-11-14T20:47:00.000-08:00

I Miss the Christmas Lists of Toys

2006-11-08T09:23:00.000-08:00

I got the Toys R Us catalog in Sunday's paper and it reminded me of how my brother and I used to pour over that and the JCPenny catalog as soon as they arrived in the mailbox.

This year, I really have no Christmas requests. That is unless you count needing good quality underwear and pantyhose- which my mother does not consider acceptable gifts for under the tree. Today marks the umpteenth time since this summer that I have to go home and change my pantyhose due to a fatal run. I need good hosiery people! But right now I'm refusing to pay $20 for the new Spanx tights that are taking the average woman's wardrobe by storm. I did find a good knock-off and it's not so much as a knock-off because the product, called Assets (available at Target), is made by the same woman who created Spanx. I need a little more time with the pantyhose before I give an official review but so far, it is looking good.

(Watch, now I'll be inundated with pantyhose at Christmas time. I just know it)

J. was an absolute sweetheart last weekend. After I mentioned I'd have to get some slippers for his very cold duplex, he slipped out to Fred Meyer and brought back two pairs to choose from. It's so easy falling for the guy; I don't even have to think about it. I’ve already figured out that he’s a keeper but I think I’ll wait a little while before telling him. He can continue to court me ‘cause he’s just so darn adorable at it.

So slippers have been taken care of. I could use a new bathrobe since the one I have is 10 years old and 3 sizes too big. But I can’t find a robe that doesn’t make my hips stick out abnormally. Half the time it’s the chunkiness of the fabric. The other half of the time it’s the massive pockets that gather around the middle. I need something warm but not funny looking on me. The search continues.

I boxed up the yarn last night in preparation for the big move and it’s painfully obvious that I do not need any more yarn at the moment. My habit should not be encouraged.

There isn’t much that I need or want this year. Due to the move, I’m actually trying to get rid of stuff instead of continuing to collect it. The St. Vinnie’s pile grows by leaps and bounds every day.

Recap: I need pantyhose and a bathrobe… and before I forget, I could use a variety of trouser socks too, especially in pretty designs. How boring is that? If I got any of those things as a kid, I would have been pissed. I am truly an adult now.

Random Monday

2006-11-06T09:46:00.000-08:00

1. Saturday was the first day I finally felt the Christmas spirit move me. I actually got excited about coming home and being near the fam. I caulk it up to three things: Christmas peppermint nuggets in bulk at Winco, my tickets are finally bought and plans are getting finalized, and the new man with whom I spent the weekend being all giddy and stuff. He make Punkin happy. So very, very happy. We aren’t going to be around each other on the actual holiday but we won’t be too far- me in Wisconsin and him in Ohio. And it looks like we will spend Thanksgiving and New Years together. Did I mention he makes me happy? Like a comfortable- I don’t have to do nuttin’ around him ‘cept lie on the couch and hold his hand- happy?? Mmm-hmm.

2. I had the best weekend I’ve had in a long time. And a third of the time I was puking my brains out. Go figure. We spent our weekend together having fun, doing all sorts of talking and laughing, and beaucoup snuggling. Sunday we went to this adorable little 50’s style diner in Springfield full of old coke memorabilia. I had French toast and sausage. He had an omelet and home-style potatoes with the best gravy I’ve ever tasted. We went to do some errands and while out, I thought I was suffering from some bad heartburn but just as I was paying for some tums, I realized I was going to toss my cookies at the cashier if I didn’t go to the restroom. I felt a little better after sweating it out with my head on the toilet in a Shopko. We then went across the street to get gas at Costco where I had to slip out of the truck and sit on the curb with my head in my hands. I was trying so hard not to puke in front of everyone or inside J’s truck. I succeeded until we were within a mile of his duplex. He pulled over and I promptly puked up all of my orange juice (aren’t you glad you read this?!). He took me to his house and stayed with me all afternoon. I threw up like 5 more times all though after the first two, there really wasn’t anything else in my tummy to get rid of. You know how in the beginning of a relationship you try and hide the fact that you fart and burp and go #2? Yeah well, after having puked up in front of him for 6 hours, the fantasy was forever shattered that I was a lady without icky biological functions. I told him that and he just laughed. I was terribly embarrassed but quite grateful to him for taking care of me.

3. With all the puking and dry heaving going on, I didn’t get a chance to stuff my face on Sunday like I normally would when there isn’t much to do to keep me busy and away from the fridge. As a result, I jumped on the scale this morning and saw a very solid 195. This is where I wanted to be at Christmas time. But now I’m thinking 2 or 3 more pounds would be good and that way I’ve got a nice cushion for holiday food. If I can stay under 200 through the New Year, I’ll consider it a success. I shimmied into my jeans and turtleneck this morning (having not had the ability to raise my head from the couch and do any laundry on Sunday to wear my normal business casual clothes today) and while I was in the car, I realized that my jeans were bunching up in my lower belly area as I sat. I bought these jeans when I weighed between 215 and 220. Twenty to twenty-five pounds later, they are the verge of getting larger on me. They are form fitting and I don’t really want to give them up any time soon. Sometimes I have to mourn for the clothes I love even as I drop the weight I despise.

4. Five days until my walking tour of Portland for class. Eighteen days to Thanksgiving. Twenty six days until move out day. Four weeks until finals. Thirty two days till Christmas vacation. And forty two days until my flight home. Time is moving very fast at the end of this year.

5. I’ve been trying hard not to talk about the new man too much. We’ve been dating a week (but it don't feel like no week, that's for sure). If I try and explain to everyone that this one is different, I don’t think they’ll believe me, ‘specially with what happened this summer (we don’t really need to revisit it, do we?). I woke up the other morning with this scene from Sleepless in Seattle in my head.

(Annie is in the attic with her mother, trying on her mother’s wedding dress)

BARBARA
How did it happen?

Barbara starts to unbutton the tiny buttons on the back of the dress and remove it from the dummy.

ANNIE
It's silly, really. I mean, I'd seen him at the office, obviously I'd seen him, he's the associate publisher, and then one day we both ordered sandwiches from the same place, and he got my lettuce and tomato sandwich on whole wheat, which of course he was allergic to, and I got his lettuce and tomato on white.

BARBARA
(utterly without irony)
How amazing.

ANNIE
It is, isn't it? You make millions of decisions that mean nothing and then one day you decide to order takeout and it changes your life.

BARBARA
Destiny takes a hand.

ANNIE
Oh, please. Destiny's just something we've invented because we can't stand the fact that everything that happens is accidental.

BARBARA
Then how do you explain that you both ordered exactly the same sandwich except for the bread? How many people in this world like lettuce and tomato without something else like tuna?

ANNIE
It wasn't a sign. It was a coincidence.

Barbara shrugs, slips the dress off the dummy and Annie steps into it.

Barbra starts to button the dress on Annie.

BARBARA
I was in Atlantic City with my family. Cliff was a waiter. He talked me into sneaking out for a midnight walk on the Steel Pier. I've probably told you this a million times, but I don't care. And then he held my hand. I was scared. All sorts of thing were going through my head. But after a while I forgot about them. At one point I looked down, at our hands, and I couldn't tell which fingers were mine and which were his. And I knew.

ANNIE
(hearing it for the first time)
What?

BARBARA
You know.

ANNIE
(she doesn't know, but she doesn't want her mother to know she doesn't know)
What?

BARBARA
Magic. It was magic.

ANNIE
(repeating)
Magic.

BARBARA
I knew we would be together forever, and that everything would be wonderful, just the way you feel about Walter.

It’s like magic. We have slipped into this easy way of relating to one another that is so rare. There is nothing fake about either one of us. The nervousness, if there was really any at all, dissipated pretty early on. We talk honestly, we laugh heartedly and we both can tell how very happy we make one another. Without J. I’d be just fine. I’m feeling really good right now. Everything is stable and the things that I haven’t fixed aren’t looking like daunting tasks anymore. But with J, I feel even better. He’s the gravy on the potatoes, the cherry on top the ice cream, the extra bag of cookies falling out behind the first bag you paid for at the vending machine. He is someone that I am so grateful for and in just a short amount of time I’ve come to appreciate him completely. (As evidence by the puking session) The rose colored glasses have come off pretty damn quickly (if they were ever there at all) and I just accept him completely. I know what everyone is thinking and I certainly don’t blame them. Rebound would be the first word that comes to mind. But now you must think back to the fact that the last guy was the rebound guy. This one is not. I thought about this guy quite a bit since we sat 10 feet from one another for six months now. We had multiple conversations about school and that’s when I found out he was not only going into the same degree as I am, but he wants to do historical preservation and renovation too. He’s an HGTV junkie. He wants to have a business where he renovates old homes or other structures and sell them. That has been my dream for some time. Even if nothing comes of this (relationship wise) I know instinctively that we will be in each other’s lives from now on. There is no way we cannot be. We have too much in common and we’re too honest around each other. We make one another laugh over and over and we have way too many life experiences in common. Many things seem to parallel one another- to the point that we sing the twilight zone theme song now and then. If I tell you this one is different, I don’t expect you to believe me. Quite frankly, I don’t even care. I’m happy. The happiest I’ve been all year. And that’s what matters the most.

Stuff On My Cat Dot Com

2006-11-03T17:18:00.000-08:00

I assure you, it's quite hilarious.

Oregon Electric Station

2006-11-02T08:00:00.000-08:00

The best historical renovation in the whole state of Oregon, IMHO. The station has this fantastic atmosphere that's relaxed and inviting. Any history buff, not to mention sports fan, would be in heaven here.

time to admit it

2006-10-31T07:50:00.000-08:00

I ain't gonna lie. I am hungry this morning. My body is bouncing back from the last couple weeks with the breakup & midterms and she wants food NOW. I had a huge stomach ache on my way to work this morning since there was nothing in it. I've noticed in the last 24 hours that I'm craving more sweets (all of a sudden my pantry is filled with milano cookies, pecan lover’s poppycock, and rice pudding. I was even tempted by the huge trays of cupcakes at the grocery store). I'm glad it's Halloween. It gives me an excuse to eat a more substantial meal and a sinful dessert under the guise that it's now officially the holiday season. If I can stay under 200 through the New Year, I'll consider that a success. But I have a couple extra reasons to celebrate this season. The number one reason: my mood is at its best all year and I'm going to end this year on a high note. I'm so grateful for that, you have no idea. This year was very tough, very long, and exceedingly taxing. I'm almost afraid to do my yearly review of it all and I'm embarrassed to go home and face the family. I didn't accomplish much of anything this year (well, it feels like that... but maybe it's because the things I did accomplish are not necessarily easy tangible things that fit the standard boxes of success). When someone asks "so what were you up to all year long", and I have the option of launching into my debilitating depression, my failures in school, my begging to get back in, and a summer romance that went horribly wrong... well that's not exactly the kind of thing you want to hear about around the eggnog and underneath the mistletoe. Guess it'll be a grin and bear it kind of year. That's okay. I sense shiny goodness just beyond the horizon and through next year. It's coming quickly now. I'm so ready for it and I so deserve it.

I wanna record this so when I start to forget the beginning, I can always come back here

2006-10-30T18:56:00.000-08:00

Written on 10/30 just before our official first date on Halloween:

You do the eyebrow thing too! And you squint your other eye as you do it. I bet you have no idea how sexy that is.

I love your laugh. And your smile. And your lips.

Fraggle Rock? Of all things possible, we had that in common?!!?

You have no idea how wonderful I am gonna treat you.

The more I get to know you, the more I feel like I'm bumping into the familiar of the unknown. I don’t know how to explain that other than to say I’m getting you on so many levels and yet I can’t wait to reach each new one and find out what waits for me there.

I knew you had the funny gene but I didn’t realize how incredibly intelligent you are. And passionate. Especially about politics.

I hope you’ll be that passionate about me.

I feel like I can be myself around you all the time. I think you’re going to like me no matter what and vice versa.

I can be happy on my own, but you are increasing it tenfold.

I can’t believe I waited this long. I can’t believe we’ve worked at the same place for over 2 years and I never noticed you until this summer.

I have a feeling that we are going to create a whole bunch of private jokes between us. I can’t wait to make you laugh with one word or a look. I hope you shoot soda out of your nose at least once.

I can’t wait to be curled up next to you on the couch in the middle of winter. That’s the lovely official PG version for the blog. But seriously, I can’t wait to just be near you and not have to do a thing.

I hope you like to touch and be touched. I might not be able to keep my hands off of you.

I was so happy to hear that you’re a Pisces. Even though I pretend that stuff really doesn’t matter all that much.

I don’t know what’s going to happen but my intuition says this is 100% right. So I totally trust the wide open unknown future for the first time in my life.

I think you’re exactly what I need.

You had me at historic preservation.

Random Monday

2006-10-30T13:49:00.000-08:00

1. My weight is at 196 today or 79 pounds total. My goal was to be at 80 by the time I went home for Christmas.(As of Tuesday 10/31, it is 195.2, which we will just consider to be 195 and 80 pounds total) I don’t think all of that loss is completely true because last week was the midterm week from hell. In order to keep up with work and school I had to forgo a substantial amount of sleep and a high amount of food. I literally did not have time to eat. I had to sneak in food with the short 10 or 15 minutes I got running between classes or to and from work. I decided that from now on I will take a multivitamin no matter what is going on just so my body is getting some of what it might miss. My body is now screaming for all sorts of foods. I had a cupcake this morning at breakfast with icing that was an inch thick. I figured I could give myself a break or two. I don’t feel like 196 because I don’t think I look like it. It doesn’t register with me that I fit into a certain percentage of XL’s out there. I was looking at the Sunday ads and it took me quite a while to realize that I needed to look at the “regular” clothes instead of the plus sized ones listed. It just hasn’t sunk in.

2. The downstairs neighbors are cruising for a bruising. Apparently they’ve never experienced apartment living before. At midnight on Saturday, I had to listen to a most obnoxious bass vibrating up through the floor joists, my bed, and right to my pillow. By 1 am, the bass was still going strong. I stomped on the floor once or twice and all I got in return was banging on the ceiling. Granted they did turn down the stereo but not enough for me to get any sleep. So I stomped around the floor for several minutes to no avail. I then decided if I can’t sleep, then I can get some chores done. Those included using the washer, dryer, dishwasher, and every electronical device in the apartment that makes noise. By 2, everything was quiet again. Did they learn anything? Hell no. Sunday morning brought more of the same. But instead of getting mad, I decided to get even (which is a place I don’t really want to go because it’s far worse than just getting upset). I waited until 7am and then I got up and dragged my alarm clock into the bedroom and stuck it along the window ledge (because of poor construction, noise travels really well up and down the windows into both apartments’ bedrooms). I cranked up the classic rock station, closed my bedroom door and went back out to the living room for a peaceful nap. If I can’t sleep, no one else will be able to either. If it continues, I will be forced to find more obnoxious music to use at 5am when I get up in the morning. Suggestions are welcomed!

3. I’m euphoric this morning and if you don’t know why then you need to email me and I’ll tell you. If you do know why or think you do… yeah, it was really great. I’m happy and content and excited. It’s a really good thing that has happened to me. I've chosen to keep the latest turn of events off line so as not to jinx anything cause I'm sensing something really good coming out of this and I don't want to screw it up.

4. I rushed out of my apartment this morning, running slightly late as usual, and I was greeted by a nice layer of ice on my windshield. So I didn’t have my scraper handy but I did have my wallet. Who knew there was such a practical use for those damn grocery club cards?

I'm Supposed to be Happy About This

2006-10-25T12:52:00.000-07:00

I can no longer fit into the clothes at Lane Bryant. **SOB** I saw these beautiful shirts online and I rushed to the store (even though I would have to pay full retail. But they seemed worth it). I picked out 5 different tops at their lowest size- a 14/16 and NONE of them fit. They were way too big in the stomach. Instead of being overjoyed, I was pissed. Instead of rushing off to another store, I stalked out of LB and went home. I am afraid to go shopping at other places. I still feel huge and I still feel like I don't belong in any skinny people stores and sections. Two weeks ago, I bought a mock turtle neck from Kohl’s to go under a sleeveless wool dress. I had to buy a large as the lowest woman's size, 1x, looked like a tent on me. I had to walk into the skinny section. And I had to suck it up and try my clothes on in the skinny fitting room because the one I was used to was all the way on the other side of the store. The turtle neck fit just fine. But I blamed the fit on the fact that it's a loose fabric with a lot of leeway. I never realized that there was such a wide range of sizes even if the tag says L or S or whatever. One day I find larges that fit perfectly and then the next day brings these teeny tiny strips of cloth that wouldn't cover one thigh. It's extremely frustrating. At least larger sizes are more uniform.

While in Lane Bryant, a store clerk looked up at me as I was browsing and she said "Wow! You have gorgeous hair! You look like you just stepped off of a soap opera." Those clerks are soooo good at flattery. I thanked her and then said "Now we have to get the boys to notice." "Oh I'm pretty sure they do." She said. My response: "Then they better start saying something soon!"

On a slightly related note, I was whining to my therapist this week that I still feel alienated from people. I'm trying very hard to project a confident and bubbly personality, yet when I go to school and I pick a seat in a large room, the seats around me are always the last to fill up. I walk across campus and I see heads turning but no one strikes up a conversation with me. I eat alone in the cafeteria whenever I have to buy my lunch from there. Men stare (and I think some of them might get whiplash… although I’m usually too chicken to give that second glance back to make sure) but they don't necessarily smile. Women smile, although many of them scrutinize my fashion and hair choices rather ruthlessly with their squinty-eyed stares. I thought losing weight would make me less of a freak. Sometimes I feel like one even more. I don't look like the other women (or should I say girls with the tiny bodies they maintain?) on campus. My emerging hourglass shape is a rarity around here. I don't dress like a college student (I like my business casual clothes and my pumps). I'm older than much of the general population but I'm not sure if people can tell that just from my face alone. I don’t have time for clubs or activities on campus so I don’t really have an “in” anywhere. I’m worried that I will be subjected to this ‘otherness’ feeling the rest of my life.

It seems to me that there are different kinds of ‘otherness’ out there. There is the kind that is socially crippling (usually if you have little social skills and little room for learning them). There is the kind that makes you cool (the slightly off balance wardrobe that is somehow hip in its alternativeness… or perhaps the frenzied artistic reputation one might earn within the design arts departments). And then there is my kind- which I’m not exactly sure is anymore. The ‘otherness’ used to related to the fact that I was twice the size as other people and I kept to the fringes of social spaces and I worked hard at being NOT noticed. I don’t do any of those things now and yet, I still get that feeling all the time. Why are people avoiding me now? I think I look good on most days. I think I project confidence even if inside I’m faking it. I think I have a bubbly and flirtatious personality that puts many people (at least while at my job) at ease. So why do I feel like I’ve still got some sort of scarlet letter on my back? Am I imagining things? I don’t know. This otherness feeling can get very oppressive and stifling on days that I just want to BELONG and feel a part of society rather than apart from it.

Random Monday

2006-10-23T16:54:00.000-07:00

1. I weigh 198.5. Yay for me! When I was 275 pounds, my BMI was 43.1. Today my BMI is 31.0 and I am 7 and ½ pounds away from being considered just overweight and no longer obese. I have been obese for as long as I can remember so this is a major thing for me. It’s phenomenal. I am proud of myself for changing my habits and overhauling my life. And shit, if I can do it, anyone can do it.

2. ALL of my assignments this term have been handed in on time. That too is a phenomenal task considering my mental state this past year. I feel so much better and I am beginning to feel the concentration returning. It’s not back 100% yet, but there is a big improvement.

3. I bought a cookie at lunch time. I’ve eaten less than half and I don’t really feel like having anymore. And this is my favorite cookie in the whole world- a chocolate chip oatmeal Monster cookie made by some Eugene company that sells it to the University for their food carts and sales.

4. I have a plan to get a certain guy to ask me out. And so far it’s working fabulously. I may be in big trouble if this information ever gets back to him, but hell, I think it’s funny. I emailed him on Saturday and we talked through our entire shift. I did the same thing today and so far he has responded very well to my chatty emails (and yes, I am working… it’s just not a completely crazy day around here). I have made a vow not to make any of the first moves on this one. I want to know that this person is interested in me. And if he is, he needs to find the courage to ask me out. I already know that I can do it (after much deliberation and stomach aches and bothering of all my friends for advice). I want to know that others can do it to. I want to be wanted, darn it.

5. My back hurts. It’s probably because I have slept on the couch non-stop for at least a month. I could use my soft and comfy bed but not only is it covered with clothes and packing items for the upcoming move, it’s also poorly insulated in the room and my alarm seems to travel really well down the side of the windows into the downstairs neighbor’s bedroom. I still need a bunch of alarms to wake up at least half of the time so I guess I can just tough it out for 6 more weeks.

6. And if this is true, it is so cool. I share Ani DiFranco's first and middle birth names with her. Awesome.

Things I learned:

2006-10-19T08:43:00.000-07:00

1.I’m not blameless but it wasn’t my entire fault.

2.I will never be completely free of the anger. I just need to learn how to manage and channel it so I don’t hurt people. Even if they hurt me.

3.Just because someone says they love you, it doesn’t mean they really do. Actions speak louder than words.

4.I’m gonna be just fine. I am happier now than I have been at anytime this year.

5.Don’t jump into a new relationship with a broken heart.

6.Don’t jump into a new relationship with clinical depression.

7.Stand up and learn to speak for myself from the beginning, not just when the newness of the relationship starts to wear off.

8.Listen to the alarm bells. Even if I don’t leave, be cautious and don’t fall for someone just because they are charming.

9.Just because I’m at my skinniest adult weight ever, doesn’t mean I won’t continue to have problems- including relationship ones.

10.Say ‘I love you’ even if I am mad at the person. They don’t deserve me withholding that word regardless of what’s going on.

11.In this day and age, people have become more impersonal and distant with the technological advancements of email, cell phones, and text messages. It is a priority to me and it signals someone’s respect for me that they talk to me by phone at the very least but in the person is the best way for me to work through issues. If someone refuses to do so, I should not bow to them. Demanding respect in this manner means that I respect myself.

12.If the person does not encourage, respect and find aspects of my life interesting (music, art, school assignments, opinions), they probably aren’t very good for me in the end.

13.Communication is a two-way street and one person’s willingness doesn’t go very far with the other one’s reluctance or denial to work through issues. One oar in the boat is only going to turn the boat in circles.

14.I can’t get through my day if I’m not “right” with people I’m close to. I need to resolve issues as soon as possible or at least know that I will be given the opportunity to discuss them later on. I am not an avoider and I think that’s a good thing.

15.Thoughtfulness goes a long way. And even though I can be very thoughtful, I also expect that in return. If it’s not happening to the same or similar degree, I will feel used. If it happens constantly, I will know that I am being used.

16.Do not wait around even if the other person expects me to. Live my life normally and do not worry about always being available. If the person loves me enough, they will make time for me and I will make time for them but we won’t be demanding on each other and we won’t ignore each other. We will work to find a balance for each other.

17.I can’t save him even if I think he needs it.

18. Continue to love even if it doesn't work out. I don't have an obligation to be friends with someone that makes me unhappy. I don't have an obligation to like them. But I will always acknowledge my love for them because that's the right thing to do.

Many of these things on this list should be intuitive to me, and for most of my life they have been. I am not a bad person and I am not a victim just because of this negative experience. Things happen for a variety of reasons. I do not have a pattern of denying myself just to be around and/or to make someone else happy. I will not make that mistake again. I am worth much more and that other person better damn well figure it out.

Only Reinforcing Everything I Already Knew

2006-10-16T18:52:00.000-07:00

This is a text conversation happening between Michael and I right now (I don't normally share private conversations but I am taking an exception to this one since it contains nothing really personal)

He: Id kill 4 one of ur salads. hell id pay u to make me one of ur best salads.

Me: U never hv 2 pay me $ 4 a salad. I only require some company 2 enjoy it 2gether. i am working til 830 but u can request a salad any nite u wish.

He: Id like one 2 take 2 work with me 2nite. probably 2 late huh.

Me: No, not at all but it wud b 9 b4 i'd hv it ready. but u cant jus take the salad w/out giving me something in return.

He:i dont want 2 take ur salad if its goin 2 b a problem. im willing 2 pay 4 it.

Me:I dont want ur $. its not a problem 4 me but it sounds like it is a problem 4 u 2 give something worthy in return.

He:wat do u want?

Me:what do u think its worth & i dont mean in dollars either.

He: Never mind. i dont have time 4 this.

Me:Ur loss. i bet it makes u mad that u cant get wat u want when u want it w/out hving 2 b thotful in return. its called respect michael and it wud do u some good.

I put this here so that people know that I'm not entirely crazy. This person really is very selfish and I don't say that from a place of anger. I say it from a place of pity and as someone who still loves him and really truly wishes all the best for him. I just don't think he'll find it in this lifetime with his piss poor attitude.

The Pot of Gold at the End of the Rainbow is Never What We Imagine it Will be

2006-10-16T16:33:00.000-07:00

Two major things happened this last weekend and while I should be writing these in some personal diary and not sharing them with the entire world, I chose to detail them here because this is where I come when I have something important to record for myself.

On Friday the 13th, (this is somehow ironic in a sad and funny way), Michael broke up with me permanently. I stress permanently because this time there is no turning back. It is truly over and I've come to accept that, and as you will see in a moment, I am happier for it. But even so, I was heartbroken for the first 36 hours. I didn’t understand what happened. One minute he is telling me he wants to hold me, the next he tells me to just be done with him. What did I do to provoke this, you ask? I merely stated my dissatisfaction with the lack of time we were spending together. His weekend is on Thursday and Friday. I asked Wednesday what he was doing those two days. He never mentioned spending time with me, he didn’t ask me to do anything, and he just stated he needed to see what was going on. We hadn’t spent time together since Sunday. I was upset and (I realize later on) rightfully so. Rather than let me express my feelings (which did not include anger), he told me he would speak to me later (always, always delaying anything important that needs to be discussed in the belief that it will simply go away). I had had enough of that kind of treatment. I told him that I was tired of having a boyfriend who didn’t make time for me and didn’t seem to want me around very often. He only wanted me when it was completely convenient for him. He is very used to getting his way and doing everything according to his rules. Looking back I realized we had some very stupid fights over the last 5 months. Like the one about watching football all day when I thought we were going out together somewhere for the day. I don’t dislike football, I was just angry that he assumed and carried out his plan of what was going to happen that day, NO EXCEPTIONS. Our fights always had the underlying theme (that he never seemed to catch on to and correct) of selfishness, usually but admittedly not always on his part. He was used to being alone, having his bed all to himself, his house, his time… everything imaginable. And he was very good at controlling everything around him. It was almost obsessive.

I stayed for 5 months because I was very depressed through most of it. I needed someone in my life badly. I had to have someone to hold me and love me and protect me. He was good at doing those things from time to time. But again, it was only on his terms. I stayed because I thought he was a catch and that I should be grateful that someone like him (actually, it is the initial outwardly appearance he projects to the world) found me attractive enough to ask me out. I stayed because I wanted to make it work, even as it got tougher and tougher. He could not admit his mistakes. He could not make changes to his behavior because he didn’t feel that he was doing anything wrong. He couldn’t respect me because it was not his nature and not possible for him to do. And even though my depression got better, our problems and our constant head butting and back 'n' forth shit with one another was enough to ruin us.

I cried tremendously on Saturday and much of Sunday. I cried because I couldn’t figure out how and why he turned on me so quickly Friday night. I cried because this wasn’t what I thought I wanted. I wailed because he completely shut me out and treated me like less than a stranger or even a human being. He ignored phone calls, texts, everything I could think of doing to get him to talk to me and “take me back” (funny how now I feel the exact opposite about he being the one who should ask me for forgiveness). He treated me like garbage that day and it took several hours before I wised up. Somewhere between the tears and the sad phone calls I made to friends and family, I realized that this in fact, is one of the best things that could happen to me. I was now facing my most frightening nightmare: I am alone and I have to do things all by myself. That was my fear for these last several months. I didn’t want to be alone because I thought I was too weak to do things without any help. The thought of moving somewhere unknown in 6 weeks and spending Thanksgiving with only my cats was incredibly scary to me. The thought of not having a boyfriend in my life was terrifying. In 10 years of dating, I have been single all of 6 months. That would definitely be a major sign of someone who can’t stand to be alone. Now I am facing that fact and today I fear it a whole lot less. Yesterday, while I felt like a zombie or a shell-shocked soldier, somehow I got through my day and completed more tasks than any other day in practically the last year. I finished all of the laundry (minus a half dozen shirts that need ironing). I packed up several things in my room to get ready for the move. I did all of the dishes as my dishwasher stopped working last week. I went and got an oil change that was 1000 miles overdue. I bought numerous items I needed for the household including light bulbs and florescent lights that had burned out months ago. I cleaned out the living room heater (and managed not to shock myself) so I could finally turn the temperature up in the living room. I went to school and picked up a bunch of books on hold for my term paper. I started my design project for architecture class. And I made it to the gym (two days in a row!!).

Which brings me to my next major event. But before I get to it, I want to talk about the gym.

It’s not just the fact that I got to the gym. It wasn’t just any old gym. It is the student recreation center at school; the same rec center that I have been afraid to work out at since I started attending the university. I couldn’t bring myself to go exercise with those skinny Barbie and Ken dolls and worry about all of my jiggling. It’s odd how that works. Those of us who need exercise the most tend to be discouraged from going and getting that exercise because we are afraid of what people will think of us. If I see another large person working out, I think, “hey, great for them. They love themselves enough to do that.” But I worry what the tiny beautiful people are thinking. My pain from the breakup was enough for me to say “fuck it”. I marched into that center and ran a mile on the indoor track. I went back the next day (slightly less intimidated) and biked a half mile in addition to another mile of jogging on the track. I am on a roll here. I’m not sure why it took a traumatic event to get me off my butt. I’m sure it goes back to that whole feeling of I can’t do anything myself and finally having to face that head on. I’m going to win this thing, I can feel it.

The major event (finally, finally I am getting to it) has to do with my weight. I have been afraid to say what I weigh both here and in the real world. I lost a great deal of weight over the last two years or so but I was waiting on a particular number before I finally admitted my weight again publicly. I reached that number on Saturday. I have always called it my magic happy weight number. And if you don’t follow the link, I’ll explain that it was a weight that was going to make me into a whole new person. It was THE NUMBER that was going to make me feel like a normal person again. Reaching that number meant that everything was going to be perfect from now on and I would never have to worry about my weight again. I think that many people who are overweight or obese see losing weight as the key to their happiness. “If only I lose weight… “ “When I am skinny…”

When I was 275 pounds, I used to play that game every single minute of my daily life. It's the "When I am skinny, I am going to do this and that and this and all of those activities and I'm going to wear whatever I want and I'm going to be popular and smart and beautiful" game. We all know it very, very well!

Fill in the blank: When I am skinny, ________________.

Everyone who is overweight has a thousand answers for that blank. I sure do. I wanted to be well liked and looked up to. I wanted to be admired and sought after (snort...my expectations are always high!). I wanted to dress a certain way and wear heels. I wanted to go on lots of trips and do all sorts of things. I wanted to be pretty. I have lived in that mode far too long. I think as long as the weight held me back, I had the ability and the means to hold myself back even more. I am the fat girl and fat girls just don't do things that everyone else does. Sigh... when I lose that weight though, I am going to be unstoppable!

Somewhere between 76 pounds and 2 years, my attitude did a 180. I go do things now and I don't let my weight hold me back. I have gone on many trips, I've discovered new talents within myself and I have been blessed to have three separate men grace my life during these last few years. And even if one of those relationships ended badly, I still have best friends that came out of the other two. That’s pretty good odds.

I was walking around today (okay now, let’s be honest with ourselves. I was not only walking, I was sauntering around with my hips swinging and my head held high) and I noticed that people pay attention to me more than ever. I walk with purpose. I walk like I belong on the set of “Sex and the City”, I act like I’m worth something, and I dress like a sexy woman with curves should. I put pride in my appearance. I suck in my gut and I walk with a straight back. I look everyone in the eye. Oh, and I smile an awful lot. I pretend I’m doing fine, even if I feel self conscious (I still feel residual effects of a childhood full of bullying. I am paranoid and often believe others are watching me. This actually happened in several instances where I was watched and made fun of for a variety of things I did wrong or the wrong clothes that I wore when I was a child. It left me understandably cautious of crowds and close spaces with other people. I figured out though that if I thought everyone was always staring at me, why not look and act like a million bucks then? It certainly makes me feel better at the end of the day). If you notice me doing this and I somehow look snobby or conceited, just remember that I have earned those curves; I have suffered through many years of pain and self loathing to get to this point. I can say that I love myself today and I have every right to enjoy what I love. I have come to a compromise with my body. Naked, I still can’t stand the sight of my body. But since I’ve been able to find the right clothes to compliment my shape, I am able to say I love the way I look in them on a daily basis. I feel like a woman all the time now.

It took some time for me to realize that my body shape was special, and not in a bad way. I just needed to find the clothes and tailored cuts that worked for me. I was so used to oversized shirts hiding everything that I didn’t realize there are clothing lines and designers out there that actually work hard to accentuate the beautiful and curvy female body. Once I figured out the secret, I learned to be picky and to only buy what looked fantastic on me. I don’t settle for anything less. It’s my money and my self-esteem after all. 3 years ago I had one skirt in my closet (from a wedding more than 2 years earlier). I hated dresses because my hips and butt always looked ten times bigger under all that fabric. I wore stretchy leggings and huge polyester shirts with awful circus-like prints on them as staples in my workday wardrobe. I didn't really care how I looked, every angle was horrible. Today I own a dozen skirts and dresses that I wear quite frequently. In fact, I dress up every chance I get (the only action that the sneakers are seeing is in the gym). I feel good because I hold myself up to a higher standard against the old me. I find that I’m beautiful because of it.

Saturday, October 14th, I stepped on the scale and saw 199.8 for the first time in my adult life. This was the number I had been waiting 11 years for. Because of the drama of that day, the success of reaching such a major goal was bittersweet. But it wasn’t just because of the breakup and my pain. It was also related to my new attitude and changes that had already taken place. I thought I was going to look a whole lot different at 199. I always pictured a much skinnier girl. I also thought that everything was going to fall into place around 199. But all I have today versus 76 pounds ago is a different set of problems, not fewer of them. I am engaged in the world more than ever before. I take more risks than before and yes, I get hurt by some of the outcomes. The changes that have occurred did so just before 199 and they ended up rendering that number almost powerless. It is just a number after all. 199 versus 200 doesn't make much of a difference to anyone but math nerds and dieters. But its like a tipping of the scale (pun not necessarily intended) in a way. It does symbolize a major change that I chose more than 2 years ago and that I've been waiting a lifetime for. It just didn't come in the form that I expected.

Sometimes the pot of gold at the end of our journey is not what we thought it would be. Sometimes the gold is missing and sometimes what’s in it's place is far more valuable than the gold itself. I think the lesson here is that I need to be prepared for a variety of outcomes when I choose a certain destination or path to follow. I need to accept that change is always inevitable and it's not necessarily a bad thing. I, and many more people, need to recognize the gold we already have today, not the dreams we are counting on tomorrow. I can stop chasing the elusive ends to rainbows for a little while and enjoy where I am. There is gold all around me.

Oh and I don't think Michael is a jerk either. I do tend to think that he doesn't have all the necessary tools to be able to communicate with his partners. I think he's been so used to doing things on his own, and always being the strong one, that he doesn't know how to let anyone else help him. He doesn't know how to learn from others. He is selfish and after this weekend I've found out that he's quite a coward too. I'm not angry at him. I only wish he could find the strength to let go of some of his control (it's a stranglehold really) in his life so that he can find that one person to grow old with.

The Alien Invasion of Eugene or U-G-L-Y, You Ain't Got no Alibi! (Psst, these photos were illegally obtained!!)

2006-10-11T17:55:00.000-07:00

I may be just a lowly architecture student who has many more years of training ahead of her, but I think I have some right to speak my mind about the new federal courthouse in Eugene. Yes, I think it is ugly. To me it looks like a creature from outer space has dropped down out of the sky and plunked itself in the middle of our city. Let me try and back up my conclusions with the observations I made last weekend when I photographed the thing.

The building is essentially an aluminum box with reflective mirrors that are quite blinding on a sunny day. The architect has tried to break up the box with various curves near the roof. I find the form overwhelming and disorientating. In my opinion, this building has only one good view- the one above. What happened to building on all four sides? When he made the model, was the architect always presenting it from one view point? Did he not notice the unbalanced look? This thing turns it’s back on the river, the same river that our city has been trying to connect back to for decades through various urban renewal proposals. This building acts as if it is the most important thing in the city and nothing else matters. Yeah, that’s architecture I want to build (I hope you can hear the sarcasm).

On the west side of the building, a huge concrete berm (see security design) holds a collection of trees and shrubbery. These trees will get quite tall in time and effectively hide this side of the building. Why would an architect take all that time to generate something only to hide it in the end?

The courthouse looms over the Eweb property, and various light industrial buildings. It makes no attempt to mirror the values, attitude, history or architecture of Eugene. It also borders the edge of Franklin (a major boulevard where pedestrian crossing is truly impossible), and is cut off from the rest of the downtown area by anything other than a motorized vehicle (but even then, it gets a little tricky).

While photographing the courthouse, I was approached by a security guard (mind you this was on a Sunday and the building was not officially open at that point) who told me I’d just broken some federal laws. Apparently it is illegal to take pictures of a federal building while standing on the property. He said I could take them across the street (or I suppose in the middle median if I felt like risking my life and shuffle through the traffic like a game of frogger) but I could not be anywhere on the actual block that the building is. So I packed up and left. He followed me around the perimeter of the building to my car and then said “Well you don’t have to leave, you know..” Um, yeah I was just ordered off the property? What is my reason for staying again? Am I supposed to get all defiant in his face or what?

In light of 9/11, new public construction is showing a propensity towards more concrete, more barriers, and more security measures all around. I’m totally for that, but could we just try and blend it in a little more than this??

The next week I was attending my architecture class and listening to my very talented professor talk about the importance of the context in which a building is placed. He stressed that a building should reflect the history and values of its users. It should blend into its surrounds while retaining a gentle uniqueness to its form. He specifically mentioned the courthouse during this lecture and he too used words like alien, foreign, out of place, etc... He knows the architect personally and he asked him why the building was not placed in relation to the context (community) that it was placed. The architect answered that it was not the job of the building to do this- it was the job of the city and the people. Essentially he is claiming that we must conform to his extraterrestrial design and not the other way around. If that’s not a pompous answer, I don’t know what is.

I say this is War of the Worlds and we need defend our community from architects who reside on their own puny self-centered planets.

Random Monday

2006-10-09T15:32:00.000-07:00

1. I figured out that I have pnigophobia. That's the fear of choking for those of you not up on your phobia studies. I eat super slow and if you think it's annoying to watch me do it, try being me. It takes me an hour to eat a Costco polish sausage hotdog. I can't go to buffets because I can barely finish one plate to everyone's three. People label me a nibbler but the truth is, I can't take big bites cause it feels like my throat wants to close up on me. Some days are better than others, some foods easier to swallow than others. I was choking on water this weekend and that sucked. And no, I’m not going to a doctor. I've had enough doctors for now. I get along fine and I'm not starving to death, as most of you know full well.

2. I saw a white mazda miata today with the license plate: I EVICT. Um, okay..... So I can understand someone being highly involved in their job, taking satisfaction and pride in what they do (after all, if we all did that, we'd be so much happier as a society) but when it's something like evicting people out of their homes who can't or don't pay, I'm not sure how that could possibly be a fulfilling career. I've never worked for a company that does evictions (repos yes), I've never seen anyone be evicted (other than in Michael Moore's film Roger & Me) and I have never been evicted myself. But from what I gather, it is highly stressful and depressing to have to make someone homeless whether they deserve it or not. I don't know the Miata owner's deal, but if he truly is happy in that line of work, there must be a special place in hell for him. It's one thing to have to do something that you don't want even though you know it's wrong but you are forced to in order to feed, cloth, and house your own family. It's another thing to gloat to the world about it on your license plate.

3. It is so weird wearing flip-flops in October especially with leaves on the ground. It's even weirder to see roses still in bloom. The forecast is sunny and 70-75 degrees all week long.

4. I like these guys a whole bunch. If I had more time on my hands, I think I'd attend some of their events.

5. Since milk and cheese are supposed to settle an upset tummy, would a milkshake do the same thing? My stomach hurts today for no good reason. It might be the donut I had around 11 after I thought I was still hungry from breakfast. After a bowl of cereal, a high protein bar, and a yogurt I still felt funny. I am unofficially allergic to donuts and I knew it was a bad choice but it was a split 2 second decision that I made in order to get to class on time. Now I'm paying for it with my tummy all day. I bought a beautiful lunch of dahl, rice, chutney and cilantro at the vegetarian/vegan Holy Cow Cafe (cafeteria food has come a long way) but I feel too icky to eat it.

6. Blogger is being a jerky-turkey today and so the photos I want to put up will have to wait a little while longer.

7. I'm writing a paper about the American urban ghetto experience as expressed in the movie Candyman. Yeah, you read that right. I bet right about now my parents are glad they are unable to pay for my education. With papers like that, who needs a degree? I would end up asking if my customers wanted fries with their orders either way. Why pay thousands of dollars to have that privilege? Ha. No, seriously, my urban geography assignment is to review a movie and dissect the urban themes. Mind you this is a 400 level class (which is the highest you can go before grad school) so it's not like I'm getting off easy. The paper has to be damn good by upper division standards.

I decided I wanted to learn more about environmental psychology and how it relates to urban ghettos commonly referred to as "the projects". There is a great deal written about the 'death of modernism' when these huge honking buildings were demolished after their complete and utter failure to provide safe, respectable housing for the poor. Many people blame the buildings solely and as I'm learning, that isn't a fair assessment. The buildings need to be evaluated in conjunction with the large context in which they were placed. True, some of the blame lies in the fact that inexperienced architects incorrectly assumed that these designs copied from upper and middle class buildings in Europe could somehow be adapted with little modification for the working poor in this country. But there were other factors at work such as the federal government putting the squeeze on the local housing authorities funding (in most cases, the absolute cheapest materials possible were installed), displaced poor families evicted from their neighborhoods (under eminent domain statues), forcing them to find temporary housing before being asked back to these new alien neighborhoods and high-rise buildings, and welfare recipients gaining entry after new federal guidelines dictated a lowering of the income guidelines. There were many factors at large that made some of the inner city urban renewal efforts of the mid twentieth century total disasters. I’ve decided to highlight these by reviewing both Candyman and Dark Water (which is a remake of a Japanese film. That seems to be a trend with Hollywood horror movies lately).

The most interesting thing I’ve discovered is that the two urban settings from which these movies centered their storylines around couldn’t be more different in real life based on their success. Candyman is filmed in the infamous Cabrini-Green projects of Chicago while Dark Water’s setting is Roosevelt Island in New York City. Cabrini-Green was one of those failed urban renewal projects that suffered at the hands of city officials too ill-equipped and under funded to keep tabs on the projects. The result is a murderous reputation that lasted 50 years. Recent efforts have been made to clear out the rotting buildings and replace them with residential style two and three story row houses and apartments. Roosevelt Island, on the other hand, was never considered a “project” of any kind (despite the nickname it was given in the early 20th century: Welfare Island). I had the rare opportunity to view detailed plans for redevelopment by Philip Johnson and John Burgee thanks to the UofO’s extensive library collection. These architects knew what they were doing. They knew the demographics and the kind of residents they were trying to attract to the island. They understood essential details about open space, restricted vehicle access and communal areas (all present in Cabrini-Green, yet all contributing instead to the horrors of the site). I’d like to follow this a little closer and I’m highly interested in the differences between races. I found a few articles and papers that suggest major differences between African-Americans & Caucasians in how they perceive the physical environment and their temporal senses. It’s fascinating stuff. It has the potential to lead to a greater understanding of our built environment and where we should be headed if we want to improve lives through architecture. Which I guess is what I want to do with my life.

Don't think I'll be taking fast food orders anytime soon… at least I hope not.

Second Glance? No, It Was Actually Three...

2006-09-29T15:00:00.000-07:00

Okay so here's the deal, I broke up with M. last night and I'm too emotionally exhausted to rehash it here. I'm trying my darndest to get through the rest of my day and do stunningly spectacular work on my new assignments for my architecture classes. Everything else is going on the back burner till I'm done.

But I did want to share this little nugget of my day because (other than the weepy phone call to my best friend this morning where he held my hand through the phone) this made me feel a whole lot better about myself:

After two excruciatingly long calls dealing with various work related issues, I had to take a breather and go release some anger and frustration before I blew up at the next customer to have the unfortunate luck to get me on the phone. I walked around the building and up the back stairs. As I walked down the long hallway, two men came out of one of the other offices ahead of me. They appeared to be delivery men as they were both dressed in the same casual uniform. One of the men looked my way as they moved in front of me. I didn't think anything of it. As they got to the end of the hallway (about 10 steps ahead of me) and needed to turn right into the elevator lobby, he turned and looked again at me with a much longer glance, I might add. It made me smile like a Cheshire cat as soon as he was out of sight. And I thought that was the end, but no. In fact as I rounded the same turn into the elevator lobby, he and his partner were waiting for the elevator and he looked at me yet again as he was stepping inside. This was a full on stare. Like the bug-eyed stare you see in cartoons. Yeah, that kinda stare! I held his gaze confidently, smiled slightly and looked down. I had to pass by the elevator to get to my office and I didn’t want him to see my face, (as the bloodshot eyes and potentially snot-crusted nose from crying are just not all that sexy), but he was actually holding the elevator door open for me. OMG. That just totally blew my mind in addition to making me feel like a freaking beauty queen.

So I didn't really question as to whether I'd be okay after this breakup or whether I would fall apart all over again. Instinctively I know I'll be just fine because I am more resilient (that which does not kill us...) than ever before. Things don’t bounce off of me, but that’s okay. I’m learning better ways to deal with my setbacks and obstacles. But today’s interaction is just one more sign that I will be just fine. Mmm-hmm. Apparently when I’m ready to date again, I will have lots and lots of options.

Yes, That Effect Was Intentional

2006-09-27T08:45:00.000-07:00

Sometimes You're the Bug, Sometimes You're the Windshield...

2006-09-25T20:25:00.000-07:00

Today, the windshield kicked my sorry invertebrated ass. If I go home and dream of towering windshield wipers and bloody spike covered grills, I'm going to be very upset. Monday's usually suck but with the return of school today, it was a double whammy and I feel it in every single stinkin' muscle. I think my hair hurts! LOL! Is that even possible?

It was a rough first day back at school and I mistakenly thought I was all prepared for this jarring event! Since it happens three times a year, you'd think that one would get used to it by now, but no, it seems as if every year just gets more and more hectic. I got plenty of sleep last night, a good breakfast, my backpack filled with the essentials- lip gloss, hairspray, and a compact mirror. :) No, it was actually filled with the usual back to school items. I also had my schedule, my parking permit application, and my financial aid documents. I was all set. I was ready for a brand new term of all architecture classes (high five, cause I love me some architecture all the time).

I only had one class today (which looks to be superb). But it was the administrative issues that got me frazzled. There was a slight snafu with my financial aid and I spent 45 minutes sorting it out at the office (of which, 40 minutes and 36 seconds were spent waiting in line, of course). Then, because my aid isn't dispersed for two weeks, I asked for a short term loan. But first I had to make sure I was eligible. After speaking to counselor #2, I was then sent to another department to get the loan. But counselor #3 doesn't actually disperse the cash, so it was on to counselor #4 before the sweaty green stuff was placed in my outstretched and begging hands. Then I made the mistake of deciding to get books with that money. Is there a sexy plus size outfit and smashing shoes somewhere crying alone tonight because I didn't get them instead, I wonder?

The bookstore had the usual first day back look about it- hot and sweaty bodies bumping into each other, freshman dragging their 3 feet high book piles along the floor to the cashiers, everyone grumbling about the inflated prices of the texts and trying to discern the difference between last year's edition and this year's without ripping off the sacred (you think I’m joking but I’m really not) plastic wrap, coupons being handed out for 20% off in the bookstore with the adorable 8 pt. text warning of: Sorry students, offer not valid on textbooks! Seriously, who can I give the middle finger to now?

But the assault on the senses was not over yet. Not even close folks. Stepped outside in the glaring sunlight (fall was here last week and now this week it's bikini weather, what the hell??) and I had to move quickly if I wanted to get past the 3, yes 3, newspaper vendors trying to get me to subscribe to their paper. I've never had the Register-Guard guy single me out, but I swear if he ever does, I will be ready with a couple of answers to why I don't read that republican slanted piece of trash. When you don't acknowledge gay and lesbian wedding or birth announcements, you are not a paper that I would even use to line the kitty litter box with!! Then there are the merry band of musicians playing for cash and the homeless wandering in and out of the crowds asking for spare change. In addition, there are the canvassers (Are you registered to vote? Would you like to make a difference in student politics? Do you need some exciting and flashy cigarette coupons?)

By the time I made it to my car, which was on the other side of campus incidentally, I had blisters on both feet from the brand new shoes that looked positively adorable on the department store shelf, a splitting headache and some sort of acid reflux thing going on. I was late to work so I pampered myself (cause really, what’s five more minutes if you’re that late?) and bought a small milkshake from Dairy Queen for a late addition to my lunch (milk is supposed to help soothe a tummy, right?). I strolled into work, trying to stay alert for the remaining 5 1/2 hours of my shift. I started the day at freaking 7am! My eyes are bloodshot. My new syllabi are screaming for review, I need to practice violin tonight, and alls I want now is a hot bath, a relaxing massage, and a week off.

Are finals here, yet?

Look Out, He's a Jumper!

2006-09-22T10:50:00.000-07:00

Like It's 72 Degrees In My Head...All...The...Time!

2006-09-20T18:50:00.000-07:00

Cisco: Okay, I was driving around last night in my sixty-two thousand dollar car. And I was trying to think of a name for the drug, then it hit me.

Don Roritor: The name?

Cisco: No a bird, it hit my windshield. When that happened, I got depressed.

Natalie: Not you, Cisco!

Cisco: Yeah, even me. But as soon as I got depressed, I got undepressed. 'Cause as I was cleaning the gleaming guts of that bird off my car, I thought of a name for the drug - Gleemonex. The slogan - Gleemonex makes it feel like it seventy-two degrees in your head... all... the... time!

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Yes, I have officially gone down the medicating route. And thanks to Kids in the Hall, I can poke fun at it. I decided I needed as much help as possible to get through the school year without a major backslide or relapse (Relapse? Does that mean you're not depressed anymore?) Well, no, I guess I'm not. I've been feeling better now for almost a month. I feel more calm and resilient than any other time this year. I feel capable of handling my issues. But returning to school next week is a little frightening. I need to do well and I can't afford any more bad semesters. I want to be able to concentrate on the task at hand (get that freakin' degree) and move on to the next phase of my life. I'm desperate enough to try anything I can to feel better and stay that way.

I'm not really a fan of medication but I have seen how it has helped other family members and the rational side of my brain understands the imbalance that's going on. The happy serotonin and attention grabbing norepinephrine chemicals are not getting to their destinations in my sad little brain. They need a little boost to connect over. I get that. I just need to make the other irrational side understand that the pills are not making ME different, they are helping me get back to the original state I should be in. It's tough remembering that when things are going well again and I think I have everything under control so the pills are pitched because they don't seem to be factor in my improvement. I don't want this long term. I am accepting that I may need this for awhile but it's not forever. I won't always need this kind of help. Just right now.

72 degrees... here I come!

Coins

2006-09-18T20:13:00.000-07:00

© 2006 Punkin Dunkin Productions

Yes, I did take this one on the sly. What was I gonna do? Ask the woman if I could take a picture of her behind??

Willamette Pass in September. What Year, I'm Not Entirely Sure.

2006-09-17T21:46:00.000-07:00

A Totally Real Conversation With The Right Foot at 8:30 This Morning:

2006-09-09T13:15:00.000-07:00

Right Foot: “I refuse to wear heels today. I just simply refuse! You practically killed me yesterday with those damn tan Candies!”

Me: “Calm down. It’s Saturday. We don’t need to look so formal. Although, I do have that hair appointment at the hoity-toity salon later today with those blond Barbie dolls hair stylists that like to judge anyone who walks through the door…” My eyes dart to the long line of shoes on the floor along my bedroom wall.

Right Foot: “Don’t even think about it! We were practically limping to the car outside of Costco last night! Don’t you remember the pain? See here.” She lifts up her middle toe to me. “See, I have a blister! Ouchie!” She wails and rubs her toes against the left pant leg.

Left Foot, shoving right foot off her leg: “I feel great! I don’t know what her problem is! Bring on the baddest heel you got, baby!” She flexes and wiggles her toes one at a time and then again all together.

Me, thinking for a moment: “Tell you what, we’ll wear the black Chinese wedges today so we don’t look like a total slob at the salon and then the rest of the weekend is either barefoot or soft sandals. Is it a deal?”

Right Foot mumbles something softly.

Me: "I didn’t hear that. You need to buck up and be a team player today, missy!”

Right Foot: “Yeah, fine. Whatever. Geez, you lose 70 pounds and then you think you can fit into anything- including smaller shoes! I'd rather pig out and go back to the ballet flats then teeter on these damn heels all the time! Just be sure to burn those Candies. I don’t ever want to get my toes stuck in them again!”

Me: “Whatever you say.”

Thank goodness she couldn’t see behind our back. My fingers had crossed themselves in solidarity with me. They understand the importance of a fashionable shoe. Of course, they don’t wear anything but good fitting jewelry so they really can’t sympathize.

Does The Enchilada I Had Before Bedtime Have Anything To Do With This?

2006-09-08T18:50:00.000-07:00

Another strange dream last night: I seemed to have an out of body experience while I was dreaming. I was in two places at once, watching myself act out the things I was writing down in a short story. During the dream, I suddenly woke up in a big white bed in a bedroom that looked like something out of those hipster catalogs (that yuppies always buy from and congratulate each other when they agree on some plastic table made in Sweden that they both thought was useful and some inane expression of postmodern crappy art) with white sheets, black furniture and eggshell paint on the walls. I could see a colorful outdoor scene through the large picture window overlooking the side yard of the house (the window was so large that the world beyond looked like one of those cheesy full wall wallpapers you could buy 25 years ago at home improvement stores. You could order any number of tropical scenes, woodland scenes, and winter wonderland views. The sight out my window looked so fake and so larger than life that I almost wondered if I could peel it off the wall!). It was a misty fall morning and there was a thin layer of fog in the air. But the oak trees on the property were turning their seasonal colors and dropping their leaves all over the green grass. The vivid colors were in stark and strange contrast to the crisp whiteness of the room.

For some reason, I woke up in the dream frightened and sure that something bad had happened but I couldn’t quite remember what. My memory was terribly foggy and only an impression remained that I had of a bad accident or tragedy that occurred recently. The memory sat somewhere in my mind’s peripheral vision- just off center- and I struggled to remember what occurred. I rolled over and went to touch my husband, seeing him sleeping soundly albeit with a scowl on his face. I reached out to smooth his wrinkled forehead but I found myself stopping just short of touching him. I suddenly remembered we were fighting about something- what it was, again I couldn’t recall- and he was in the middle of giving me the silent treatment for a few days so I turned my back to him and sighed. I then immediately remembered the newborn across the hall. I listened for her light sounds from the baby monitor before relaxing again. Everyone was still asleep and all was well, or good enough for the moment, so I drifted back into sleep surrounded by a huge white down comforter. Meanwhile, the other me was watching this scene end as she typed away at her word processor.

Later on, I woke up around midday to an empty bed and an empty feeling in the house. The fog had burned off and the sun was shining down on the neighborhood. I could see all sorts of activity through the massive picture window- the paperboy delivering the early afternoon paper, some senior neighbors taking their dogs for walks, several joggers, and lawn maintenance workers buzzing about blowing the leaves into neat little rows along the curb. Outside, everything seemed normal. But inside the house, there seemed to be something hanging in the air, threatening to puncture my perfect life at any moment. I found that I couldn’t breathe for if I did, I wouldn’t be sucking in air because there wasn’t any around me. It was as if I was sitting in my bed, in my home, in my life but it was all contained in a vacuum where time stood still and nothing moved. It felt as if layers and layers of minutes and hours were accumulating in the room with me, weighing everything down. Yet I couldn't remember anything more than the few minutes I was awake in the early morning and this afternoon.

I realized I couldn’t hear the baby and I tried to hurry and rise out of bed as well as release myself from the fog I had carried over from my dreamless and feverish sleep of the day. My body ached immensely. I assumed at first that it was due to recently giving birth but the pain was immense. Every step radiated sparks of fire up my legs through my large belly and to my chest where my heart struggled to keep beating. Several times my heart seemed to skip a few beats and it left me struggling to gasp for air. I made it to the master bedroom door after several minutes of single step walking. My other half, writing the story from somewhere outside the room but still able to see the action as if above my head from a thought bubble, described the slow movements as similar to the moonwalks that astronauts take. I was slow, shaky and I took rather giant goofy steps to get through the pain and the vacuum feeling in the room.

For some reason, once I made it to doorway, I forgot about the baby. The air here had been restored somewhat and I could breathe much easier. Unfortunately, my memory had not returned. I turned and went into the bathroom, sensing something wasn’t quite right. The room was decorated the way I remembered- lots of yellows and blues in the happy curtains and the fluffy toilet seat cover. Bright towels and knickknacks sat on the vanity. But my personal effects were all missing. I yanked open the drawers and vanity mirror to find only my husband’s toiletries staring back at me. My toothbrush and toothpaste (he hates the taste of mint in the morning so I get mint and he gets cinnamon), hairbrushes and curlers, all my makeup... it was all gone! I freaked out and started yelling. It was then that I noticed the toilet seat up and I glanced down at the bowl. There at the bottom sat several of my items. The shiny medal from the tweezers and the scissors glinted in the light as if to wink at me like inanimate objects do in Disney movies or those dippy romantic comedies where the heroine learns a valuable lesson but still gets her man in the end. “Hi! We’re down here!” they seemed to say, “And we know a secret you don’t know!” CHING! I became enraged at the sight of those things glinting up at me and I plunged my hand in the toilet to retrieve them (um, can we say yuck?!?). Before I had a chance to wrap my fingers around any of the items, I heard the baby cry again. The task at hand suddenly seemed insignificant and I ran off to find the baby.

The baby’s room was dark and quiet. I was instantly soothed as I entered but the moment didn’t last for the baby let out a howl and I rushed to her crib. Unfortunately the new nanny (that I didn’t remember hiring or even agreeing to hire in the first place!) brushed past me and scooped up my daughter before I had a chance to touch her. She quickly moved out of range for me to touch my child, gripping my daughter tightly in her arms and all I was left with was the sweet scent of my baby’s skin lingering around the crib. I ran after the nanny, yelling at her for interfering and she coolly shot back at me “This is what I was hired to do, ma’am.” She placed the baby in a bassinet and went to prepare a bottle.

I looked down at my little girl, happy to finally have her right in front of me, and I attempted to catch her attention as she glanced wide-eyed around the room with her big eyes. She paid me no attention. In fact, she seemed to look right through me. “Is this normal for newborns to ignore the faces of other adults?” I asked the nanny. “Oh, perhaps she is still adjusting to everything, ma’am.” I was a little disappointed so I bent forward, intending to pick up my daughter, but my attention was instead directed towards the rush of blood to my head and my rapid heart beat, threatening to cause me to faint to the floor. The nanny noticed this and stepped between me and my daughter. “You need to go lay down.” She motioned with a flick of her wrist. “Shoo! Shoo!” And with that, she turned and grabbed my daughter from her bassinet and waltzed into the kitchen, perfectly capable of taking care of the baby that I couldn’t even manage to pick up. I went back to bed and cried myself to sleep. My other self watched the scene unfold and typed away as the light faded from the scene.

Five o’clock rolled around and with it the shadows on the wall in the bedroom from the streetlights signaled an early nightfall. Winter would be here before I knew it. I had spent all afternoon in bed, sleeping without dreaming (or remembering my dreams). I lay in bed, too depressed to get up. I was living a life where I was not needed, where I could barely move from room to room, it hardly seemed worth it to even sit up in bed and pretend that I was alert. Suddenly I heard my husband’s car pull into the garage and I snapped out of the fog I wallowed in. He was home. He would be sympathetic, apologetic and he would make it all better!

I forced myself out of bed, fighting through the excruciating pains and I made my way to the bedroom door. I actually had to wave my hands in front of me, trying to force the heavy air out of my way. It had thickened considerably since the morning. I called out to my husband and got no answer back. Once outside of the bedroom, I again moved more quickly, as if time speeded back up to normal, and I hurried to the kitchen where I could hear him having dinner with the nanny and our daughter. I rounded the corner and found him sitting on one side of the baby and the nanny on the other. They looked as if they belonged that way. I also noticed no plate had been set out for me and no extra chair was available. At that point, my mood turned sour. I asked my husband angrily why he did not come see how I was doing when he first got home. He ignored me. I asked him again, this time louder, and waved my hand in front of his face. He gave no indication that he’d seen me or heard me. I became irate and yelled at the top of my lungs, “What is your problem? Why are you ignoring me?!? Is this have to do with our fight or what??!” Everyone at the table continued eating and chatting away as if everything was normal. I looked at the nanny and she was trying her best to ignore me but I caught her in the act of starting right at me and blinking repeatedly as if to say “you don’t exist and I’ll prove it!”

I slammed my hand on the table. Instantly I felt the sheer pain in my wrist and elbow. My heartbeat sped up again and I could hear a roar, a rush of noise, growing in my ears. But no one reacted to the blow on the table, no dishes shook, and no sound echoed back at me. My husband got up and cleared the table, but not after patting the baby on the head and thanking the nanny for dinner. She waited until he was out of ear shot and then she turned and stared at me.

“What is going on here?” I cried.

“Don’t you remember anything?” She asked, getting up from the table and coming around to my side.

“No! No! I don’t know!” I sputtered.

“Think! Think back!” She whispered in my ear. “Where were you yesterday? What were you doing?”

I tried to focus on her words but they started to melt away as soon as she got them out of her mouth. All I could hear was the roar of blood rushing to my brain and a loud whistle-like sound in my ears. “Where…are…you…supposed…to…be…?” Everything was slowing down and her words made less and less sense to me. The other me, (watching from below?) was engrossed in her typing, her fingers flying faster and faster and the scene began to disintegrate before me. It took everything I had to try and focus on remembering. What was I doing here? Why did I feel like I didn’t belong?

The nanny blew into my ear "Remember!" She whispered quietly.

And suddenly I did.

I was dead. I had died weeks ago just after my daughter was born. I never got the chance to hold her. She never got to feel my warmth because they whisked her out of the room just as I lost consciousness. My husband, distraught with grief, hired this nanny to take care of the baby who would never know her mother. But this was no ordinary nanny and she didn’t happen upon his want ad by chance. She sought our family out because she could still sense my confused spirit around. She was there to help the family but more importantly to help me move on.

All of this came rushing to me as my ear drums burst. The life I thought I was leading was melting away before my very eyes. The dishes on the table cracked and melted into the wood, the painting on the wall dripped down as if the oils had been painted directly onto the surface, the floor gave way to darkness and I tried to cling to the floorboards as I found myself sucked out from where I had been standing.

As the dream quickly faded and the real me started to wake up, all I could hear was one word repeated again and again.

“Emily”

The other me, writing her novel, chose that word to be the title.

And then I woke up.
---------------------------------------------

(Some thoughts: this dream, as many dreams so often do, seemed to happen only in a matter of seconds. But I found myself spending quite a while today trying to recall it all and remember it accurately.

This dream seems to be a combination of the movie "The Others" and a short story by Stephen King called "That Feeling You Can Only Say in French What it is". Both stories had elements that found their way into my dream.

I found the toilet scene to be quite funny once I reflected on it. Everything was going down the crapper.

Oh yeah, I had just fallen asleep after another fight with Mr. Big. And that's exactly how I felt. It was all being flushed down the toilet. The whole relationship.

I really did have an Amy’s Enchilada for dinner. But I ate late and went to bed early. I think that combination was partly to blame for this crazy dream. Because the Amy’s organic line of foods has always been good to me before, I can’t and don’t want to really blame the dream on my food. I love Amy’s too much to stop eating it.

But maybe I’ll try and eat at least a few hours before bedtime tonight! )

Tell Me Why Again?

2006-09-06T18:29:00.000-07:00

(There haven’t been a whole lot of photographs or any meaty updates. I’ve found myself putting out fires that burn in the relationship every few days and I’m just emotionally exhausted)

So anyone who has spoken to me in the last three months knows that since starting to date Mr. Big, I have had some very rocky moments. Some of these moments have to do with my depression (which is improving btw) but some of these moments have to do with Mr. Big’s and my clashing of personalities and our failures of communication (yes, I have other choice words for these episodes but since everyone visits here, I will spare you from the more hateful speech).

The last couple of therapy meetings I have had have centered on fights that happen in my relationship. Everything else is moving along slow and mostly smooth. I am working on a lot of issues- learning to keep my house clean, my stress level low, my sanity intact, etc.. But the one area where I feel like I am constantly failing is in my relationship with Mr. Big. The therapist says that it’s interesting sometimes when we choose the people we chose and why we do so. She asks me if I think there is a reason for picking him at this point in my life. She points out all the things that I’ve had to face since our first date:

-the fact that a “catch” on campus would ask someone like me out and what that says about me or what that may say about him
-my body issues (although this is something that comes up with every relationship)
-speaking up for myself and learning to be assertive when the person I am relating to doesn’t know how to yield to me- EVER.
-communication issues (utilizing those blasted “I” statements and trying not to place blame when that’s really what I want to do in the first place)
-dealing with childish behavior that is unwarranted and sometimes unrelenting
-learning to recognize my own behaviors and trying to change the negative responses that I have
-trying to find the middle ground instead of demanding to always be validated for being right
-assessing my needs appropriately and asking for what I want or need
-trying to be an influence of change rather than demanding it

It all adds up to some heavy stuff. And so often I am overwhelmed and tired by the drama that pops up around every corner. I can’t seem to get through and get to some honest and sincere communication. I told my therapist that I feel like he is the rock and I am the jello and even though I am trying to change and evolve myself, I can’t do that when I constantly feel like I’m being squished and crushed under the weight that he exerts. It’s extremely frustrating and it leaves me crying myself to sleep, pulling my hair out, and alternatively laughing like a madman at the sheer insanity of it all.

I am in no way blameless. Not even close. Anyone who has ever lived with me or spent some serious time around me knows how nutty I can be. I hate being wrong and even more so I hate admitting it. I can be childish and play the “If you don’t know what’s wrong then I’m not going to tell you game” along with the best (or in this case, worst) of them. I can pout pretty well and get my way when I really want it. Not only did I go through the terrible two’s but they spilled over into the threes, ten’s, fifteen’s and I suspect next year will be known as the “terrible thirty’s” as well. ;)

Mr. Big and I seem to be in a power struggle. We both want to be right. We both want the other to give in to us. We both turn a little childish when we don’t get what we want. Take today for instance. He wanted me to leave a key for him to come over and check the net in the afternoon and I was going to do it if I got to spend time with him. He didn’t respond to my request and I ended up going into work without dropping off the key. He got mad, I got madder at him and it escalated from there. He tells me he’ll never ever ask me for another favor and that he can’t depend on me. I tell him now he knows how I feel when he won’t set up dates with me or clue me into his plans. He tells me over and over that he won’t ask me again for anything else and I feel worse and worse as the texting conversation continues. But I took my therapist’s advice and decided not to get completely caught up in the fight. I told him that he was making me feel bad and I needed time off from being made to feel like the bad guy for not completing one request. I’ve stopped responding to his texts and I’m just going to breathe deep and go back to what I was doing.

But tell me again, why do I continue to love someone who can make it so difficult to be lovable? When things are good between us, man oh man are they spectacular. But when things are bad, they are absolutely horrid. I just can’t take the extremes. I don’t want to live in extremes. They give me ulcers and headaches and they leave me emotionally drained. I can’t figure out why I continue to go back time and time again. I’m not normally a person who considers herself unworthy enough to put up with abuse of any kind. So why do I feel so bruised here, and more importantly, why have I not said enough is enough?

I’ve been asking myself that a lot lately. And I’m having a hard time finding the answer.

Studies of Dew Drops on a Coastal Mountain Range

2006-09-06T13:39:00.000-07:00

3M WOJ8 Seen in the Rear View Mirror Spells Hilarious!

2006-09-01T20:01:00.000-07:00

The Smoking Gun has a series of customer complaint letters to the NY DMV (titled URPL8SUX) about vanity plates that spell vulgar and offensive items. I think it’s kind of strange that many of these got thru with no objection. My favorite one that gave me pause (and a giggle) was this one. Classic, just classic. Was I offended? No, just thought it was ingenious. The guy gets bonus points for bravery and for slipping one by.

Too bad I can't get a plate that says BITEMEBUSH.

Let Your Inner Kindergartner Go Wild!

2006-09-01T17:37:00.000-07:00

http://www.jacksonpollock.org/

Stop, Thief!

2006-08-31T19:36:00.000-07:00

I have had a couple of nice and quiet weeks lately where the stress level is low and things seem a thousand times more manageable than before. School is out for a month. Got a raise at work and am getting full time hours till school starts. Boyfriend and I have made up-- kissy, kissy, smoochie, smoochie. The weight hasn't gone sky high (although admittedly I haven't weighed myself in a month- I'm trying to go by how my clothes feel and right now only one pair of tight pants feel shitty on me). The house is in a general state of tidiness and I’m making an effort to keep up on it. I feel pretty good. The moods have stabilized and I feel in control for once.

But that doesn’t explain my weird dream this week. I found myself at my parents’ house late in the evening and I was completely freaking out because I had not noticed until nine o’clock at night that all my credit cards, checks and my driver’s license had been stolen from my purse. I was frantically scrambling around, trying to find the lost/stolen hotlines to get everything canceled but I couldn’t complete any of the calls. My fat fingers kept misdialing and punching extra numbers. Several times I looked at my phone and could see a thousand numbers and symbols punched in over and over again. I was totally losing it.

I woke up in a panic and it took almost a half an hour to calm myself down. I was sweating and panting. I was so sure that something was wrong that I walked around the apartment mentally cataloging things. Everything was in its place, the cats were watching me intently for any sign of their tuna breakfast, and the sun was coming up over the horizon like every morning. Nothing was wrong. Sigh…

But I couldn’t quite shake that panicky feeling. I mentioned it in therapy the other day, much to the sheer delight of my counselor (she likes talking about my dreams, especially the reoccurring ones). She asked me what I thought it meant. I wasn’t entirely sure. “If everything is going well, and I’m not as depressed as I have been this year, why am I alarming myself in my dreams so badly?” I wondered. “It probably has something to do with your identity”, she said. “You’re in a state of flux-- lots of changes are happening to you.” Ah, and the light bulb clicks on. Between the weight loss and having to face the fact that I might actually be a pretty person underneath all this fat, the end of college looming in the next year, a possible engagement sometime soon, a new place to live… there are many, many changes to deal with. And my identity is shifting with each new item.

Something has been stolen though. All those defensive tactics I use to distance myself from people, to keep myself lonely and fat and depressed, those are being stripped away from me every time I turn around. It’s not an easy process and I seem to be fighting it every step of the way. Last night the boyfriend turned to me and said I was the most beautiful woman he’s ever been with. My little Galaxy Quest guys immediately went into defense mode and gathered around the rational side of my brain in a sort of wicked tribal dance where they seemed to bless and curse those incoming thoughts at the same time. They each had their right hands up to their right ears, smashing their palms in tightly, while their left hands were simultaneously cupped to their left ears as they listened intently to what he was saying to me. I think they are just as confused as I am. My identity is being chipped away at by thieves everywhere. I should be happy but it’s a very scary experience to go through. How can I be the beautiful girl? It’s not in me, it never was. And yet, something is there that others see. Something is definitely there. I'm just not sure what it is yet. The thieves are stealing the outer layers and what I'm left with isn't exactly identifiable yet nor is it completely in one piece.

Do The Happy Dance

2006-08-31T19:20:00.000-07:00

My therapist wants me to make a list of things that make me happy so I can remember them when my thoughts are in a downward spiral. I came up with 50 little random items which I'll pare down to about 10 or 15 and post them somewhere conspicuous from now on.

1. Sunshine on my face
2. When one of the cats wants physical attention from me & not just because he’s hungry or whiny
3. eating fruit, especially berries
4. walking in nature
5. running a mile
6. waking up refreshed without an alarm blasting me away
7. cuddling, smooching, hugging
8. an outfit that makes me feel sexy
9. someone’s attention when I’m wearing that something sexy
10. good grades
11. understanding a new and difficult concept in class
12. calls and letters from family and friends
13. packages I ordered containing clothes, c.d.’s or books
14. fitting into my foundation underwear with no pulling or stretching
15. having a quick comeback for a rude and random comment
16. being validated for my feelings
17. amazing sunrises and sunsets
18. Indian summers
19. making an marvelous dinner
20. eating vegetarian meals
21. Oregon chai tea
22. when respectable democrats are elected to office
23. inspiring books
24. insightful documentaries
25. The Daily Show
26. belly dancing music
27. finishing a knitting project and giving it to someone
28. nailing the right notes with very little squeaking on my violin
29. enjoying myself for the day & not caring what other people think about me
30. a day without bills to pay
31. cute animals (that would be the girly side of me)
32. clear skin
33. a good hair day
34. good news from friends and family
35. a date with Mr. Big that makes us both content
36. the smell of freshly cut grass
37. completing an apartment improvement project by myself
38. a tidy apartment with room to breathe in
39. marking off done items on my to-do lists
40. when my shift at work is over for the day
41. lazy Sundays
42. country drives and new adventures
43. thrift store scores
44. attending concerts and music festivals
45. marimba music
46. quiet Christmas nights at my parents' house
47. snowfalls that I don’t have to drive in
48. the first warm days of spring every year
49. going barefoot
50. laughing until my tummy aches

Hey CBS: You People Suck!

2006-08-30T17:01:00.000-07:00

I like Katie Couric just as she is. We don't need any more lollipop heads in the media, real or digitally enhanced! I'm glad you were called out on your stupidity. The American public is catching on (especially the curvy girls) and this shit will not fly in the future. Get it right otherwise I have way more channels to watch with tons of other sponsors to grab my attention. Monique and the Oxygen Channel are far more appealing to me and my fat ass!

The Washington Post article is here (free registration required).

Punkin: 1, Sweet Tooth:1

2006-08-30T14:52:00.000-07:00

Q: What do Costco and a wicked sweet tooth equal?

A: Disaster, plain and simple.

I went to Costco since I received coupons in the mail and one of them was for those Swiffer wet cloth refills (just bought me a Swiffer and she make me so very, very happy! That tidy person inside is bustin’ out, I tell ya). Unbeknownst to me, the coupons didn't start ‘til September 8th. So here I was, already inside Costco, having fought tooth and nail for a parking spot (during the middle of the day on a Wednesday no less!) and I didn't really feel like walking right out again. I grabbed some Propel water (at 41 cents per 16 oz. bottle, there simply is no better deal in town), some sugar snap peas, when I blacked out and woke up in the candy aisle.

For those of you unfamiliar with Costco or Sam's club, this is no ordinary candy aisle. Oh hell no. This aisle carries every major chocolate bar- in bulk. All the local, small time vending machine companies get their candy from here. Want a Hershey's Bar? How about 48 of them for $15? Feel like some skittles? Go get the cart because your back cannot carry that 20 pound bag around the store for more than a few minutes (exaggerating here, but only a tad). So I'm staring at the oodles upon oodles of candy, wishing I wasn't so fat (I hate when people see me buy "naughty" foods. I may have been carrying a huge box of Propel and a medium sized bag of healthy peas, but damn it, the minute I put a bag of chocolate on top, I’m the stereotypical fat girl who can’t control herself). I bowed to the wicked sweet tooth and bought a big ol’ bag.

Remember at Halloween when you would sort out all your candy into ‘really good’, ‘kind of good’, and ‘I’ll eat it only when everything else is gone’ candy piles? This bag of candy is filled with all the ‘really good’ candies. We’re talking bite sized Baby Ruth, Butterfinger, Hershey’s, Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups… I mean the really, really good stuff! I took it home, had the equivalent of two regular candy bars after lunch, and luckily my stomach told me it had enough. I stared at the rest of the bag (roughly 145 out of 152 pieces left) and thought to myself, “How the hell am I gonna get rid of all of this?" Luckily I have a boyfriend with rock hard abs and a crazy metabolism, not to mention a nine year old son whose metabolism matches that of his dad’s. Plus my coworkers never ever turn down candy. So I bagged up what was left (minus a small Ziploc bag of candy for my lunches) and promptly took them to the car.

I’m not proud of buying so much freaking candy. But I am proud of myself for not letting it sit around the house with me. This is the first time I was tempted to buy so much of something. I’ve been really good about portion sizes (especially ice cream). Perhaps that’s why I’ve maintained my weight loss now for almost a year.

What's More Pathetic?

2006-08-29T14:27:00.002-07:00

Reading this blog: trainwrecks and realizing that my two blogs could qualify for a mention or that fact that they haven't?

Am I just being a drama queen again?

Blah, I don't really care cause this is me, warts and all.

That site just brings out the catty, bitchy, gossip inside me. It's my new guilty pleasure.

I Kicked Summer Semester's Sorry Ass

2006-08-25T16:44:00.000-07:00

Subject: Geog
Title: Global Environmental Change
Grade: A

Subject: Math
Title: University Math
Grade: A-

Semester GPA: 3.85

Start Clapping. I'm serious.

Remember Where You Are, Where You Came From, and Where You're Headed

2006-08-24T08:10:00.000-07:00

I made the mistake of going to Macy's yesterday to shop for back to school clothes. Let's just skip the whole price thing for a minute ($70 cropped pants? Are they serious!?!?!) and talk about sizes. I have never shopped at Macy's before. I didn't know how the store was laid out. Of course I had to walk past the perfume counters and massive junior's section to get to women's but then it took me 5 minutes to understand I wasn't in the Women's section... I was in the women's section (which is usually labled misses, but whatever!). I was so confused since I saw 8's on the same racks as 16's and 18's. So I snagged me a sales lady and asked what the deal was. Looking down at me and through me at the same time, she said that there was a Women's section around the corner and at the end of the store. "But what about the 16's and 18's?", I asked. "The Women's section has those with W's next to them", she replied as she turned her back on me. Then you know you're in the right spot, the silence between us whispered. So I sulked off to the Women's section with a white size 16 blouse from the women's section just to see the comparison. Once there, I grabbed a good half dozen blouses, 2 pairs of pants and a dress, (all with the scarlet W on them), and went into the oversized dressing room. Besides the over priced crop pants (did I mention the adorable bows and lace trim?) nothing fit. Everything was huge and looked like a potato sack on my body! The same white blouse with the damned-to-hell W on it was a freaking tent! So here I was, reduced to trying on things in the Women's section that looked horrible on me (Punkin's one and only rule about clothes shopping: Whether it's $5 or $50... it must look absolutely fantabulous on me or I don't buy it. There will be no more hiding of my curves!), ticked off at not feeling good enough to stand up to the expectation that I scram out of the little people section, when I realized that the little size 16 blouse was the only thing that fit me (and very well, I might add). As I was changing back into my own clothes, I glanced down at the tag on my own jeans and it dawned on me: I was wearing size 14 jeans from the Gap. Remember the tightness of those 22/24's two years ago? Remember deciding to lose weight rather than go buy the more comfortable 26/28's? Remember?!?! I bought the smaller size 16 blouse and walked out the store with my head held high. Keep your stinkin' W's, I thought to myself, I no longer need 'em. Next time, I’m gonna shop the woman’s section and act like I belong there. Because I do.

Comic Relief

2006-08-23T17:26:00.000-07:00

It's been quite some time since I last visted stuffonmycat.com. I checked it out recently and found some great entries such as the styrofoam kitty, 'try me' cat box, Princeton as the Phantom, Caesar tanning, the fruit bowl, and my new favorite: Clovis the Drowned Cat. I think Clovis gives Hailey a run for her money as the best cat picture on the site.

Untitled

2006-08-19T14:27:00.000-07:00

Further Proof That I Was Born in the Wrong Era

2006-08-17T17:48:00.000-07:00

"Respectfully tell the ladies GET PLUMP"

Strangling the Butterfly Into Submission Only Gets You One Dead Butterfly: Letting Go & Learning to be Okay

2006-08-10T09:03:00.000-07:00

"Happiness is like a butterfly which, when pursued, is always beyond our grasp, but, if you will sit down quietly, may alight upon you." ~Nathaniel Hawthorne

© 2005 Punkin Dunkin Productions

I learned this technique from a friend (or rather borrowed it to fit my own situation) and for some reason I always remember to do it after the fact. When it feels like a relationship you have with someone is out of control- or rather you’re having a hard time communicating, getting what you want, understanding them, making changes that benefit you both and nothing seems to work, you should picture releasing the problem from your grips. Actually holding up your fist and opening and closing it, picturing the problem floating away, is a good start. I first used this technique when I was having a difficult time with a lover last year and I was constantly struggling to rope him in and “make it work”. I pictured him as a butterfly and I let my hand open and close again, allowing him fly in and out and flutter about, rather than just grasping at him and breaking a wing or ending his little life (not that I want to snuff you out or anything, Alder dear). When you think about it, a butterfly is a thousand times more beautiful as a free creature fluttering in and out of your vision rather than stuck pinned on a white board underneath some glass. Wouldn’t you agree?

So sometimes I remember this butterfly metaphor when I find my thoughts spiraling out of control and everything feels like a weight bearing down on me. But more often than not, I don’t remember to let go until it’s too late and I’ve worked myself into yet another emotional frenzy. (Oh, to have a better use for all that emotional power I can create so easily!)

I’ve tried slowly to begin to see my relationship with Mr. Big as another butterfly. I want to just let us be. If I don’t think to hard, overreact and pout, overanalyze and imagine crazy shit going down, if I just trust, if I love, if I enjoy the time we are together and also try and enjoy the time when we’re not together, if I don’t worry ‘bout the future, or the past, or whether he’s going to dump me or ask me to marry him, if I just breathe once in a while…

Perhaps the butterfly will just sit on my shoulder and give me what I want. I don’t have to constantly pull out the scalpel and try to dissect it, do I?

Am I having relationship issues? Yes.

Am I having issues in all areas of my life? Yes.

Am I still working on the depression thing? Yes.

I'm not even close to being healed (or as I like to call it- being myself) am I? Hell, no.

So it might be a good idea cut Mr. Big some slack, know that I've got to work on me for a while, and relax just a wee bit in our relationship, right? Yeah, sure.

Let me say that there are two sides to every story (NOTE: I AM NOT EXCUSING HIS BEHAVIOR) and Mr. Big certainly does have his side to things. I can imagine that it’s difficult to put up with me right now. I am not the bubbly and flirtatious person that I can be when I'm normally doing well. I get easily offended and I question the motives of everyone around me. I'm self absorbed and clingy. I let my thoughts spiral out of control and I'm weepy more that I'd like to admit. In short, I guess I'm trying to say that I don't think Mr. Big is necessarily bad for me (in fact, many days I'm convinced I'm the bad one- of course there should a protest over using value judgements like bad or good to describe us...). I wonder what life would be like right now if I wasn't depressed. There would certainly be issues between us (he mirrors my father's personality and it's very eerie) but I'd like to think that I could have better control over my thoughts and feelings and I would be better equipped to slide into the role of his girlfriend. He told me last night that he felt it was his job to make me happy. And I immediately corrected him. It’s no one’s job but mine. No one can give me true happiness if I can’t give it to myself (geez louise, that sounds like a horrible cliché). That’s just the way it works.

I’m trying to learn not to fight so hard. I feel like I’m fighting for things but it usually ends up that I’m fighting against these things in the end. I’m fighting against Mr. Big for a lot of reasons. Some I understand and some I don’t. My goal this week is to not fight so hard. I'm going to relax and try to find happiness in little things like our dinner together last night, this morning's sunrise, the fact that I get to see one of my best friend's this weekend, and the very fact that I have a ton of things to be thankful for. I'm not going to sit and overanalyse anything said or not said to me. I'm going to open and close my fist whenever I get into that panicky depressed mode. I'm going to let the butterfly out for air this week and I'm going to be happy about it. It's a skill that's going to take time. It's a skill that I need right now for all areas of my life. I'm going to be okay, I just need to not work so hard at fighting it all the time.

An Inconvenient Definition: Atheism is Not a Four Letter Word!

2006-08-08T16:58:00.000-07:00

Last week I saw “An Inconvenient Truth” for my geography class. I was profoundly affected to the point of being unable to speak for a good hour afterward. And I am already one of the converted ones. I’ve had enough exposure that I understand global warming and the consequences that we face. Still, the film knocked me on my ass.

It’s hard to explain how I felt: morose, doomed, angry, and hopeless… I didn’t walk away feeling good, that’s for damn sure. I think it had to do with the fact that the hope we should have been given to change our situation around didn’t come until the very end of the movie. The audience is hammered with evidence (to end the debate over whether global warming is real or imagined) but the solutions are almost an afterthought as part of the end credits. That was my only real beef with the film.

So I shared my reaction with a best friend of mine. I told him that Gore was essentially trying (and this is repeatedly pointed out by him in the film) to turn this from a political debate into an ethical one. Once we recognize the ethics of the situation, can we afford to stand around and do nothing? What will we tell our children when they ask why we sat on our hands? My friend said to me: “This is why I believe you aren’t truly an atheist.” Because of my (knee-jerk… hey, it’s not a bad thing in my eyes) reaction to the evidence of destruction of our planet and the empathy I had for animals and humans alike, he felt that I couldn't be -how do you say?- of a “godless” nature?

And here’s where a pet peeve of mine has reared it’s ugly head: Just because I am an atheist….

(Let’s pull out the most appropriate definition please:)

a. Disbelief in or denial of the existence of God or gods.
b. The doctrine that there is no God or gods.

... Does not mean that I have no morals and no conscience. I was offended when he said to me (slightly paraphrased), “you don’t have those atheistic values. If you did, you wouldn’t care what happened to anyone on earth.” Ooooookkkkkaaaaayyyy…

So I haven’t met too many atheists in my life, but I have yet to run into one that is indifferent about human life. From Ethical Atheist Dot Com comes this declaration: “An Ethical Atheist is someone who lives by a personal desire to do good things in their limited life on Earth. They don't believe in a God, religion, or an afterlife. But, that doesn't stop us from living an ethical life and attempting to co-exist with our fellow man in a peaceful, rational manner. We have many atheist, agnostic and religious friends.”

I would like to state to my religious friends and family members that just because I am not “saved” or I don’t believe in a creator, it does not mean that I am filled with apathy or hate for anyone else (save Pat Robertson... ooh here's a secret for all of you... I do like using someone's religion against them from time to time and Mr. Robertson is a perfect example. His disgusting comments are so anti-Christian I have to laugh every time he pops up in the news. I often say to myself, well if he believes in a God, he's got a lot of explaining to do when he dies. It's his problem, not mine). I am not a bad person. There is nothing wrong with me. I simply don’t believe. I still put my pants on one leg at a time, I burn chicken whenever I cook it, I prefer to procrastinate on filing my taxes, I like when the sun is shining down on me, and I bleed just like all of you. I'm not all that different from any of you. I was raised with an ethical framework (sometimes based on religion but more than not based on learning empathy through my parents) and I have carried that framework into adulthood, constantly questioning and updating it based on what I learn and what I experience every day.

Last time I checked there were no horns growing out of my head, but I haven't yet done my inspection for the day so I'll have get back to you all.

Babies On Da Brain

2006-08-05T09:40:00.000-07:00

(Disclaimer: Before we begin, you should know that I am not pregnant. I do not plan on being pregnant in the next two or more years until I am done with both my undergrad degree and am well on my way through my master’s degree. I am not waiting for an “accident” to occur. I am taking proper precautions to make sure one does not happen. If you are worried about the content of the following post, you need to remember that I am just expressing my frustrations. I do not intend to follow them up with immediate action so please do not contact me about how it would be a major mistake for me to have a child right now. {And just so we're clear here} THIS MEANS YOU, MOM!)

Everywhere I look, I see babies. I see them in the grocery store, at school, on TV, on the internet, in a friend's email attachments, on cereal boxes and shampoo bottles, in the backseat of the car next to me while waiting at a red light, even at the Oregon Country Fair (and that’s why you aren’t seeing too many photos from that event. I took a bunch but I was terribly distracted by all the babies that kept crossing my path. I didn’t take pictures of them because parents are generally overly paranoid when it comes to that sort of thing). I’m not saying that babies are consuming my every waking thought… but they are definitely popping up a whole lot on the radar screen recently.

Here’s some background information for those who don’t know: I am 29 years old and in the last year of my undergraduate degree. I have no children, no spouse, and no mortgage. I feel like a nineteen year old fresh out in the world who has no clue what she’s doing most of the time. I don’t know why my car makes the funny noise that it does, I have a hard time remembering how to boil an egg correctly, I still eat spaghettio’s when I have to cook for myself, I clean the litter box when I feel like it rather than like every other day or third day, I’m not sure how my 401k works and whether I am utilizing it efficiently or not, and I’ve had ice cream for breakfast several days last month (mostly due to the weather). I rarely feel like an adult but somehow I manage to get the rent paid and get to work everyday and take upper division college classes whenever possible. So I am not a teenager and I am not planning on the unwed mother thing, (although with proper measures and a whole lot of maturity, I do believe that sort of thing can work), I have supposedly been around the block for a few years to know the demands that babies have on sleep, finances, time… basically every aspect of a mother’s life.

That being said, I still want a baby. Badly. The clock is ticking louder this year then ever before in my life. I’m not entirely positive why that is. According to one report, a woman’s chance of getting pregnant in a cycle is 50%. But for women between the age of 27 and 34, that chance drops to 40%. Ten percent isn’t all that much in the grand scheme of things, but oh my goodness, does it make a difference! And that could play a role in how I’m feeling. But I think a bigger part has something to do with my depression and one of the underlying causes I’ve been able to pinpoint in the last few months. I am depressed because I don’t feel as if I’m on the same time line as a lot of other people my age. There seems to be this culturally defined and accepted timeline for young people in our society: A person graduates high school at eighteen, goes through four years of college, gets a degree (unless graduate school calls), moves out into the big bad world, and struggles to jump up the ladder from all those shitty grunt work jobs. Soon a person is expected to marry “the one” just after landing their dream job. And then the babies start popping out once the ink is dry on a brand new mortgage. Our society and specifically the media makes it seem like all of this happens between the ages of 22 and 30 (unless we highlight the "desperate" attempts of a woman over the age of 30 trying to snag herself a man). I recognize that there infinite possibilities and technically everyone is different in their timelines. However, I feel like a failure for not following this prescribed timeline, even just a little bit. I’ll be 30 when I graduate with a degree. I don’t have a husband or children or a permanent place where I can paint the walls and start a vegetable garden. I feel like a drifter in my own life and it keeps me depressed.

Of course, that is the big catch-22. It seems like it would be a big mistake at this time for me to be in a family situation with my fragile disposition. I can’t imagine affecting a spouse and children with my short temper, my crying spells, my procrastination, and my bouts of suicidal thoughts. It’s bad enough on just a household of one. So how do I happily get what I want when it’s the very thing that keeps me depressed because I don’t have it? I could (and have an opportunity now) to go down the settled path but I fear the experiment might not work out. I can’t just try out a new life and then decide it’s not the thing that will help alleviate my depression. I know it doesn’t work that way. Pregnancy, marriage, child-rearing… they all take a toll on a person. I don’t know if I could handle that kind of toll and I don’t know if I’m ready for it. I know a lot of people out there would argue with me that having these things does not necessarily make a person happy. And of course, the grass is always greener. I know a few parents that wish they weren’t tied down. I know a few people who would like to travel and do other things besides pay a mortgage every month. I know a few people envy me for not being so stuck in one place. But I envy their groundedness, their predictable schedules, their baby pictures on the wall, the family time spent together, the holidays, the fights, and the quiet and peaceful feeling of everyone sleeping under the same roof.

I feel very wrong in my single life. Something is either missing or off on a daily basis. Some days it’s the baby seat I can picture when I look in my rear view mirror. Sometimes it’s the recipe I don’t cook because there aren’t enough people around to eat it. Sometimes it’s the combination of maddening silence, persistent darkness, and a freezing cold bed that I wake up to in the middle of the night. When someone is asked what gives their life meaning, they tend to say their spouse, their children, their home, their family as a whole. Since I left home, I can’t say that I feel as if I belong to any one family. I have this need to feel connected on a daily basis to a real home. Since moving out of my parent’s house, I haven’t found this for myself, even after 6 different apartments in 8 years. Apartments are not homes. They are square boxes that just hold stuff. Mine is missing a whole lot of stuff. I need baby pictures on my fridge. I need a toy chest to take up a corner of the living room with lots of little toys in it. I need a dining room table with seats that are filled come dinner time. I need these and many more tangible things in order to feel more whole.

I know that life would not be suddenly wonderful with a family. I know there would be many ups and downs. I’m sure I would make many mistakes, if not completely scar a kid with my ideas about life and my perseverance in making their childhood as perfect as possible. My goals for any child of mine are to create an environment where love is the foremost emotion, intelligence and creativity are encouraged at every possible chance, and where I can teach them to think for themselves and learn to be whoever it is they want to be. I want to watch a child discover her world and move far beyond all of the things I’ve learned and experienced. I want my child to be true to herself, make a few mistakes and grow up largely unscathed into a beautiful and healthy young woman. I have some specific rules that I intend to enforce (low sugar, minimal TV, no pink legos ever :), and I intend to instill respect and discipline without using corporal punishment… but I’m not sure how that will happen yet). I want a happy, healthy, bright child with a future that is limitless. That’s not too much to ask, is it? Of course, if I don’t use common sense and learn to be bendy when appropriate, I could end up on Dr. Phil or being immortalized in some Broadway play as a very bad mother. Or on the flip side, if I don’t grow a backbone around children soon, I could end up with a little hellion that terrorizes the family cats, throws tantrums before, during, and after the terrible twos, and who never learns to value his situation and be thankful for what he is given and what he has in life. I'm scared that I would make some horrible mistakes and really screw up my child. I'm scared I wouldn't be able to give her all the things she needs. And I'm scared that I wouldn't have the emotional strength to be a good mother. I think a person needs to be financially, emotionally and physically ready to be a parent. And from all that I've heard, even those things don't gaurantee success. Maybe my anxiety is why I'm almost 30 and childless.

As usual, I find myself avoiding the very thing I need to overcome.

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FOR THE DAY WHEN I NEED ADVICE- SARCASTIC OR OTHERWISE- I'LL TURN TO IMPERFECTPARENT. COM TO REREAD SOME OF THESE GEMS:

Stick a Fork in It: Ten technological marvels that help me ignore my kids.

Leashes. These are by far my favorite. I used to see children in harnesses and wonder aloud at how parents could tie their children up and walk them around like shivering Chihuahuas. But at a Renaissance Faire, I saw a woman dressed as a gypsy, roped to her children. I realized immediately that putting children in bondage can be fun. They can’t get lost, and I can take them home and enslave them or cook them later.

Pole Dancing Mama: My New Exercise Routine

Earth to Mommy:The fall from green grace isn't that far down.

Mother Earth be damned, I slunk to the store where I purchased my first pack of disposable diapers. When my time comes, I won’t go directly to hell, however, because I didn’t scoop up the internationally recognizable Pampers with the chubby pink baby on it. No, I chose the environmentally friendly kind made from pine fiber and yak’s hair. Well, they’re made of something other than that ooky petroleum-based stuff all the major brands use.

There Are No Secrets:Did I mention it was anatomically correct?

Ask the Angry Baby

Q: My 18-month-old takes off his diaper whenever he's in bed, and I often end up having to change the sheets. Why does he do this?

A: Hmmmm, why is he taking off a stinky, pee-pee soaked diaper? Let's do an experiment: Cut two holes in a plastic grocery bag. Put it on. Now shove one of those pad thingys that mommy has in there. And pee. Come on, keep it coming. Now go lie down in bed and try to go to sleep. You get it now, sucky? Sometimes you parents are so stupid. And what, you haven't heard of pajamas? Why the hell is your kid just in his diaper? Come on, be a big spender and spring for some nice soft PJs, not too small, and skip the duckies and teddy bears, I hate that crap.

Q:How Do You Know

2006-08-03T13:35:00.000-07:00

When You've Found The Absolute Wrong Person To Marry?

A:When they prefer to eat their pizza dinner rather than be a shoulder for you to cry on.

"Can I just talk while you eat? I just need to talk it out."

"No. I want to enjoy my meal in peace."

Words fail me. This is what it feels like to lose hope. It's a very odd feeling. Kind of like free falling and eventually meeting the ground with my unprotected skull.

More Later....

2006-07-24T20:14:00.000-07:00

But I just wanted to thank those who gave me advice (both here and out there) about my predicament. I do want to share one thing: After all the crying and yelling and hurt feelings and ‘I’m sorry's’ and 'I Love You's', a miraculous thing happened. I told Mr. Big that we could no longer use text messaging when we found ourselves in the middle of a discussion where a misunderstanding might occur. I wasn’t sure if he would remember that plea or not. But sure enough, last night when we were bouncing back a few messages, he suddenly called me and said he wanted to speak to me and avoid any confusion over the topic. I was completely blown away. It meant more to me to hear that than just about anything else in the last few days- including all the apologies! What that said to me is that there is a genuine level of commitment and desire to work through what problems we face.

I went to bed with a smile on my face and a hopeful lift in my heart for what we have now and what we can achieve in time.

(and yes, I am well aware of how damn cheesy that sounds.)

A Sad Girl Seeking Some Advice

2006-07-20T18:50:00.000-07:00

So first let me say that things have been looking up for me in the last couple of weeks. The financial and school pieces are doing better. My physical health is improving and my mental health is way better than just four weeks ago.

But there is one area that has not improved along with me. That would be the area of communication between Mr. Big and I. We have had a few disagreements over some minor and some major things since we started going out. I think a good portion had to do with my mental state and my insecurities surrounding him. I'll throw it out there (because everyone knows this anyways) that I should not have jumped into a relationship so soon after becoming so fragile and depressed from the dissolution of another potential relationship. I was (am?) very fragile. And if I had my wits about me, I would not have agreed to go out with Mr. Big for the sake of both our sanities. But we cannot erase what has happened.

I love Mr. Big very much and I can’t imagine my life without him. He gives me physical comfort, laughter, and excitement whenever we get together. There are times when I reel from the feeling that we get along really well and have so many things in common. But the problem that I have (that seems to be snowballing out of control as we speak) is our communication styles and the friction caused by the differences in each. Mr. Big is very rigid and unyielding when it comes to certain things. He can be down right pigheaded and not admit when he is upset or when he did something wrong. He makes me feel like I did something wrong when I’m sure I didn’t.

Let me interject here a minute and say something to my mother- Yes I know he sounds a lot like me, and yes, a whole lot like Dad. His birthday is one day after Dad’s. And it’s so not funny, Ma! So quit laughing cause I know you are!! :)

I’d like to think that I’ve improved a great deal on my stubborn nature. I try to remember how my mother was with my father time and time again and sometimes it helps to channel that when I feel like yelling and stalking off in a huff. But Mr. Big’s communication style is really putting me to the test! And I’m totally cracking under the pressure. In the last three weeks, the only thing I’ve cried about and found total frustration with is his lack of understanding and his uncompromising personality. He won’t communicate with me on a fair and open level. We have a lack of communication (usually about plans) and suddenly I am considered to be melodramatic about dinner being ruined because he didn’t show up on time or even at all. Regardless of the reasons why, I am still hurt whenever plans are broken or significantly changed. He doesn’t seem to think this is such a big deal and it hurts me.

Today, I left him a message telling him of some up and coming plans I was making. I had already suggested both of these things to him and he said he couldn’t do one and the other one he never gave me a clear answer to. I didn’t want to wait around for him and I didn’t want to nag him for an answer so I started making tentative plans.

He got very upset, left me a message where it was obvious that he was sulking, and sent me several text messages saying that he thought we’d be doing these things together (again, he didn’t give me clear answers to one and he said no to the other due to his schedule). I tried to smooth things over but I couldn’t get through to him by text so I took my break and text back that I was going to call him.

Not only did he not answer his phone, but he also hung up on me when I called several times in a row. He wouldn’t speak to me and it left me shaken and frustrated. I tried my best to be diplomatic and calm about the whole thing, used lots of “I” statements in my subsequent text messages, not blaming him or accusing him but trying to tell him that I love him, respect him and want for both of us to communicate honestly. His response was that he was taking a shower when I called (never mind that 30 seconds b4 he was texting me) and that I was suddenly being irrational and overreacting over the whole thing (usually when someone won’t speak to you and refuses your call, it makes you wonder what you’ve really done to deserve that kind of treatment).

I’ve come a long way in the way that I talk to my boyfriends. I used to pout and scream, hit and scratch whenever I was angry. I never dealt with the things that were really bothering me and I couldn’t discuss them in such a way that was calm. The last two relationships that I’ve had have taught me how to get closer to achieving that. Both men were very flexible, thoughtful and forgiving with me on many occasions. That has helped a great deal. I’m so grateful that both men graced my life with their personalities and taught me all that they did. I figured what I was learning would help me improve anything I would come up against in the future.

But when it comes to Mr. Big, I think I’m wrong.

I am trying very hard to talk about what is really bothering us. I am trying to be open with him. I am trying to be flexible and not get upset and do the girly thing where I pout when I think he doesn’t care about my feelings or he isn’t reading my mind (I know that men are not mind readers. It took me several years, but I eventually had that epiphany!). Now I am coming up against a man who turns thing around on a dime and accuses me of being ridiculous when I’m pretty sure that I’m not. I am dating someone who will not admit when he is wrong. If I try to point it out, it’s such an impossibility, that I must be the crazy one. I can’t get him to admit what’s really bothering him about our latest tiff. He chooses to ignore me and then say that he isn’t. He chooses to blow it out of proportion and then proceed to tell me that I am instead the one doing that. I feel like I cannot win.

And I told him my heart is breaking because communicating with him (on his level… I didn’t say that to him) is proving to be too difficult for me. I feel like I am a failure because all the things I’ve been taught up to this point about communicating effectively are simply not working. And I don’t know what else to do.

What does one do when this is happening?

Please don’t tell me to break up with him. I’d like to think that there is a solution here somewhere. He hasn’t done anything so incredible that I think we are over. I just need some help in figuring out how to get through to him and get him to start speaking to me on a level that doesn’t leave me so frustrated and deeply, deeply hurt.

For Reference: 100 Things About Me

2006-07-19T17:07:00.000-07:00

1. I must check the stove before I go to bed at night whenever I’ve used it during the day. I must check every knob including the oven knob, even if I used one single burner.
2. I’m addicted to propel water
3. I can’t stand to drink warm or lukewarm water.
4. I can’t always remember which way is left and which is right. This is more so when I am the passenger in a car and I am asked which way to turn. I have to point Every. Single. Time.
5. I still use my fingers to count.
6. My guilty pleasure of the moment is America’s Next Top Model. Of course, I watch just to see the finished photographs.
7. Whenever possible, I take two showers during the day.
8. I rely on Word’s spellchecker way too much.
9. When I’m nervous or jittery, I tend to pick at my cuticles.
10. I’m beginning to be prejudiced against fat people even though I’ve been one for more than half my life.
11. I am an atheist who has never been given an acceptable reason to believe in a god.
12. Both of my biological grandmothers were Bi-polar. I fear I may end up the same way.
13. I never tie my shoelaces. I like to slip in and out of my shoes.
14. I own just over a dozen pairs of shoes- most of them black.
15. I hate shoes. I can’t understand the shoe fetish that many women have.
16. Maybe I hate shoes because I am a size 9 and most shoes stocked at the stores are 7’s and 8’s. I never pay full price for shoes so I never go early enough in the season to get the best styles that actually fit me.
17. I am a tidy person trapped in the body of a messy person.
18. I use my tweezers every single day.
19. The Daily Show has turned me off to the whole news culture (because of the depressing state our country is in) but it hasn’t stopped me from voting.
20. I have a thing for redheaded women.
21. My biological clock is ticking.
22. I want to have a little girl more than anything in the world.
23. We’ve already started picking out her name.
24. I cannot blow my nose (don’t laugh).
25. I want a puppy. Perhaps he will show the cats how a pet is suppose to love its owner!
26. I cannot use a pencil unless it’s a Ticonderoga.
27. I only write with gel or gel like pens. The Pilot G2 pen is my absolute favorite.
28. I can’t keep a plant alive but I want a vegetable garden badly.
29. All the flowers in my house are fake. I think it’s positively sinful to cut flowers.
30. I hate fancy labels.
31. I cannot sit at a wobbly table and be comfortable. It’s a pet peeve of mine.
32. I have had 12 major jobs since I was 15. There may be other ones that I had to file taxes for but they aren’t memorable enough to count.
33. The shortest time I’ve spent on a job was 2 weeks. The longest will be four years next month. Now ask me if I liked any of them!!
34. I get nervous around people who intimidate me intellectually.
35. I despise people who butt lines, refuse (or conveniently forget) to open the door for me, or who are otherwise impolite.
36. I am unofficially allergic to coffee, donuts and alcohol. Officially, I can live without all of them.
37. My favorite songs include Sleepwalk by Santo and Johnny, Habanera from Carmen, Israel Kamakawiwo’ole’s Somewhere Over the Rainbow and What a Wonderful World put together, and Chet Baker’s (best) version of My Funny Valentine.
38. I have heard ‘More Than a Feeling’ by Boston at least 2 dozen times on the radio just by random chance in the last 9 months.
39. Of course, nothing to do with Clear Channel radio is ever random.
40. I prefer Mo’nique to Beyonce any day of the week. Luckily, my boyfriend does too!
41. The worst thing about being a girl (IMHO) was losing myself completely during my teenage years.
42. The best thing about being a girl is having that certain power over the boys and reveling in it.
43. I hate blockbuster movies. Where is the acting, I say?
44. My all-time favorite movies include ‘My Own Private Idaho’, ‘Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind’, ‘Memento’, ‘Requiem For a Dream’, ‘Amelie’, ‘Secretary’ and ‘The Sixth Sense’.
45. I notice that most, if not all of my favorite movies have been Sundance features.
46. Favorite short stories of all time: ‘That Feeling, You Can Only Say What it is in French’ by Stephen King and ‘Santaland Diaries’ by David Sedaris.
47. When I donate to charity, I give to Planned Parenthood, United Way, Relay for Life and St. Vincent DePaul’s.
48. I live paycheck to paycheck so it gets hard to donate on a regular basis.
49. Not including my student loans (which are too daunting to look at), I am in debt by about $5500.
50. I expect to have close to $1500 of that paid off by the end of the year (fingers crossed).
51. I like to knit but I have a very hard time finishing projects. I have yet to move completely past the scarf stage.
52. I’d love to learn how to sew. I would use Oriental prints as an accent to everything. I’d sew my own clothes to fit my weird hourglass shape and I’d make fabulous curtains for every room.
53. When I become a mommy, I don’t want to stay at home all the time. But I do want to have a schedule that allows me to spend more time with my child than a babysitter would.
54. Perhaps the budding photography hobby would help my spouse and I achieve that type of schedule without losing too much income.
55. I’m 95% sure that I found my future husband.
56. And he knows it because he said it to me first.
57. I’m happy to the point of wanting one of those dippy tee-shirts that says “The Future Mrs. _______”.
58. I just want to make sure that we do this the right way and we go into it fully prepared to be together forever. I don’t believe in divorce for myself except in extreme cases.
59. My best friend is getting married next year and I am her maid of honor. Secretly, I wish I was the one getting married. But maybe I’ll at least be engaged by then.
60. My ideal career would involve renovating buildings for single family use and selling them for affordable prices, maybe even setting up a management company on the side to help assist renters in buying the homes they would start out renting from me.
61. I’d do that because it would make me proud to find affordable homes that fit families perfectly. I’d also do it to avoid more new and butt ugly construction in this country.
62. I don’t like bugs in my home but I don’t feel right about killing them.
63. I usually point the cats in their creepy crawly direction whenever possible.
64. One strange thing that haunts me is being part of a group of little kids that tortured a slug with salt.
65. I fear coming back in my next life as a slug.
66. I love the way the French language sounds.
67. But I would have more use for learning Spanish.
68. My favorite places on earth include all of Hilton Head Island, my parents’ house in the middle of a silent winter night, a certain sand dune in Newport, and my shower.
69. I think all those grammar rules totally blow.
70. I am slowly becoming the person I’ve aspired to be. I naively thought I would be that person when I turned 18.
71. I hate using public toilets. Not because of germs but because I value my privacy from strangers.
72. At my worst, I’m self-centered and high maintenance.
73. At my best, I am passionate and occasionally thoughtful.
74. I’ve never broken a bone and until high school I managed to go through life with only 4 little stitches. Today I have somewhere in the neighborhood of 35-40.
75. ‘Runaway Train’ by Soul Asylum reminds me of my high school crush. ‘The Time Warp’ reminds me of one of my relationships. So does ‘Is This Love’ by Bob Marley, ‘Feelin’ Way Too Damn Good’ by Nickleback and ‘More Than a Feeling’ by Boston.
76. I hate people who immerse themselves in celebrity gossip and all the related TV shows but sometimes I find myself turning to it to avoid the horrors of the fighting in other countries and the constant ineptitude of our current president.
77. I have a thing about personal space. I need a certain amount and I tend to avoid giving hugs to anyone other than close friends and family.
78. The thought of going to a day spa, getting a pedicure, a bikini wax, or a professional massage makes me panicky. I just don’t like strangers that close to me.
79. I had a hard time finding a reason to stop shopping at Wal-Mart until recently when our local store became a disaster area with no employees and untidy shelves. I now go out of my way to avoid Wal-Mart. It’s not cheaper to go somewhere else, but there is a lot less hassle!! Now I can jump on the Anti Wal-Mart bandwagon and not feel like a total hypocrite.
80. I give evolution two opposable thumbs up!
81. I suffer from migraines. Probably due to stress in most cases and gritting my teeth constantly.
82. I like to walk barefoot whenever possible.
83. At my wedding, I will dance barefoot in freshly mowed grass. It sounds a thousand times more appealing than a parquet dance floor.
84. One of the worst things about losing weight is feeling colder more often. I have a lot less body heat to keep me warm.
85. One of the best things is being a thousand times less gassy! (Yes, it’s very true.. for me anyway)
86. I’ll avoid wearing a coat in the winter because I don’t want to look any fatter than I am. It doesn’t matter if I’m freezing- I refuse to look like the Michelin Man!
87. I had a form of body dysmorphic disorder for many years.
88. When I was in 9th grade, I refused to take gym class because we were going to have to swim for the semester. I was not about to get around my peers in a bathing suit. My counselor said I’d never graduate if I didn’t get in the pool.
89. I graduated in 1995 and I never put even one toe into the water. I transferred schools and got gym credit for bowling, yoga, and intense badminton classes.
90. Most of my English credits in high school came from acting. I had parts in 13 different plays in 2 and half years.
91. If you haven’t guessed, I went to a very liberal alternative high school- Malcolm Shabazz City High School in Madison, Wisconsin. It was both a good thing and a bad thing.
92. I have a bad habit of putting my foot in my mouth when I think others can’t hear me talk about them.
93. My biggest regrets include a very unhealthy lifestyle for most of my life, the way I have treated family and friends from time to time (especially when I was young), and certain people that I have fallen for that I wished I hadn’t.
94. There have been times when I wished for a massive illness to ravage my body just so I could lose weight.
95. When I lay down on my side, I love the way my hand can rest on my hip bone.
96. I have an irrational fear of choking to death on food.
97. I eat very small bites of food and small meals because of this fear.
98. I only feel like an adult because I choose breath freshening mint gum over bubblegum, news and history programs over cartoons and paying rent over living at home.
99. I’m waiting on pins and needles for the day that I have a wedding ring on my finger, a baby on one hip, and an architectural design practice.
100. Secretly I’m scared that I won’t be able to juggle all three and stay sane.

Figuring Out What The Real Gift Is

2006-07-15T11:22:00.000-07:00

So Mr. Big wants to buy me a "relationship gift" which I'm guessing is just a little token of appreciation and love for having dated for two months. I'd like to think of myself as someone who is not necessarily totally above material possessions, (I like my clothes a lot because my new shape and new attitude beg to be noticed most of the time. I also love my family photographs and my music and books because without those, life becomes meaningless pretty quickly. My car is my lifeline that I take for granted), but I’d like to be know as someone who doesn't need to be constantly validated by a ton of belongings- especially those with fancy labels. I do like items of good quality and craftsmanship. And I adore homemade and handmade items (there is something special about knowing that a person has had their hands touch every inch of the item they make rather than a cold machine just programmed to spit out a duplication of something). I mostly shop at thrift stores for everything except food, toiletries, and the all important underwear. I find the things that I need and things that I want. Right now I am wearing a hand knit 100% wool sweater from Peru that I picked up for $2 at Goodwill. It was just too pretty to rip up for recycled yarn. And it keeps me warm when my bosses can’t figure out how to turn down the air conditioner here at work.

But I digress.

So I’m trying to figure out what I want him to give me. He knows that I am very picky about the clothes and jewelry that I do wear. I never buy anything unless it is just “me”. I have particular tastes and a particular style that I’d like to achieve. As progressive as I assume I am, I have to admit that I’m still distracted by shiny things- baubles and diamonds and sparkly silver ornaments- that are down right girly. And I found a shiny thing last night that gave me some pause.

There is no need to adjust your monitor; that is in fact a picture of a cross.

A week or two after Mr. Big and I started dating, he asked me if he could buy a crucifix for me to wear. I hesitated and stumbled when answering him. He threw me off guard with that offer. I think at that point he knew I was an atheist. I knew he was Catholic and I was (and still am) trying my best to understand where he’s coming from with his spirituality. It's taken me a while to realize is that no one person’s spirituality is exactly the same as another person’s. Just like we all have different physical shapes and developing minds, each person has their own tailored beliefs based on their upbringing, their experiences, and their challenges in life.

I saw this cross last night and I thought of Mr. Big. He would be proud to give it to me- there is no doubt about that. And there is no doubt that I would be proud to wear it. But a part of me worries about having to explain myself. If someone were to notice the necklace as I talk about my religious beliefs, would it suddenly destroy my credibility? Would I feel the need to clarify my gift Every. Single. Time. someone asks? Should I even care what other people think at all? No, I suppose not. But I am concerned about the message that the symbol gives to the rest of the world.

We define our language and our symbols both individually and collectively. The same item can mean one thing to one person and it can have a whole different meaning to someone else (a good example would be the tainted meaning of the original Hindu figure now known as a swastika). When we go against the “common” and “acceptable” meaning for a symbol, we risk being misunderstood, harassed, shunned or perhaps even celebrated on the other end of the spectrum. I don’t want to offend others with my personal choices. But I also don’t want to give a crap what people assume about me (usually incorrect anyhow). I don’t want to feel like a hypocrite for accepting this gift from Mr. Big. I just want to wear something that reminds me of him, of our love, his faith in me and us as a couple. That’s what the cross would symbolize to me. For him, it would have that added spiritual significance. And I’m okay with that (I’ve been okay with listening to him talk about his spiritual convictions, I sit quietly and wait for him to pray before we eat, I’ve offered to go to Church with him—I’m learning to be as tolerant and open as possible because he means so much to me). I don’t have to believe everything that he believes. I don’t have to find faith in his religion. I only need to find faith in us. I think that would be the gift I’m looking for. If this necklace helps me achieve that, why shouldn’t I be proud to ask for it?

On The Other End (Oregon Country Fair)

2006-07-14T16:44:00.000-07:00

The Places In Between

2006-07-11T18:40:00.000-07:00

It's not so much that we're afraid of change or so in love with the old ways, but it's that place in between that we fear . . . . It's like being between trapezes. It's Linus when his blanket is in the dryer. There's nothing to hold on to.

-Marilyn Ferguson

I Want To Be…

...That girl last year who was so happy to be alive. I used to be that happy person at a time that seems so far away from now. I used to wake up every morning at dawn and wonder why I was so lucky to have another day to live. I was on top of the world for so many reasons last year and for the first time this week, I want to be back there again.

My depression hit a scary new low last week and I didn’t like it one bit. I didn’t tell anyone how suicidal I felt and what I was thinking. I didn’t want them to worry about me any more than they already were. I was just so tired of everything. I felt like such a failure as my life was just littered with bad choices and horrible luck.

After contemplating and seriously considering a plan to kill myself this year, I took the night off and thought about what it was that I wanted to be happy again because thinking about death every single day for a week straight was exhausting. I thought about the goals that I had developed over the last few years, the ones I had accomplished and the ones that I had yet to reach…

-End of April, 2006

I’m struggling to figure out why I’m so depressed. But more importantly, I’m trying to figure out how to crawl out of my deep dark hole of depression. I’ve been working on it for months (if you don’t count all the other times I’ve been depressed over the last 20 years). Last year, I was struggling with motivation, concentration and procrastination issues. I had a hard time sitting still and concentrating on anything. I couldn’t watch more than 20 minutes of a movie, read more than a page or two of a book or do anything that required a high amount of mental capacity- like study for school. I sought help at the end of the year and started seeing a counselor in January. She helped me work through some issues. I found some balance with my thoughts by using CBT (Cognitive Behavior Therapy), I found evidence against my belief that people would severely judge me if I asked for help, and I figured out that keeping my home incredibly messy was a way to distance myself from having to come in contact with people. But I still feel exceedingly depressed. I’m sure that some of that has to do with my finances (in shambles), my education (stalled and in shambles), my continuing weight loss efforts (also seemingly in shambles)… but it doesn’t explain everything.

Here’s where I’m having a hard time with this depression thing: I look back on my life and when I start to break down everything, bit by bit, I recognize that I’m in such a far better place then ever before! Below is a list of changes I’ve gone through in 5 years time:

1. I used to live in Wisconsin. I moved to a brand new place to start over without knowing another soul in Oregon. I created a brand new life out of nothing. I attend a university that I never thought I could get into. I live in a nice apartment with a washer & dryer, and a view of a quiet park instead of a busy street like many of the apartments in Madison.

2. I used to live in filth (I know exactly what grows on a shower curtain when you don’t clean it for 6 months. I could have cataloged the new species created on my shower curtain by size, weight, color, and off-handed comments about local politics that they would make as I bathed in the morning. I’m totally serious). For the last two months, my home has been the cleanest ever and on a more regular basis. I’m not perfect (no one would want to venture behind my stove or fridge and some of the closets need to stay closed for fear of a deadly yarn avalanche), but I’m making some good habits finally stick. It’s funny because I actually realized that my tendency towards a dirty lifestyle was actually my way of distancing myself from the rest of the world. And where might I learn such an insight, you may ask? From my therapist? Nope. From a glossy magazine all about clutter and organization? Uh-uh. I learned it from VH1’s Can’t Get a Date. Go figure. There was an episode with a really attractive man in dreads who was smart and cute and capable but his apartment could qualify for federal disaster aid. He lived like a filthy hermit. And the show’s counselors advised him that by keeping his apartment that messy, he was foiling his chances at successful and intimate connections with other people. He didn’t want to bring anyone home to that mess! He kept people at bay through his mounds of dirty laundry, several weeks’ old coffee grinds and sticky dishes piled several inches high. I had that unmistakable a-ha moment right then and there. Suddenly, I’m finding motivation for keeping my spaces more tidy more often. And I’ve felt better about having people come into my personal and private spaces.

3. 5 years ago, my dating repertoire consisted of a heartsick crush in high school, a short-lived liaison with a woman who was committed to a psych ward just weeks after we started dating, a long term relationship a young man that loved me very much but who I treated like dirt, and a second long term relationship with man who had just as many problems as I did and who I fought with constantly. In the last four years, I have had another long term relationship with a wonderful man who is and will always be my best friend, a too short, incredibly passionate, and lovesick infatuation with another man who has also become my best friend, and a brand new relationship with a man so good looking and self-assured that I have no choice but to question the self hatred I possess for my body, mind and soul because the evidence suggests that he wouldn’t waste his time with me if there wasn’t something good and beautiful to be around (groan- I really want to erase that sentence for fear that I’m not being modest enough. I’ll leave it in with the hopes that I am proud to admit it some day soon). It’s been an interesting four years on the dating scene. I thought for sure that I would have been married by now. Perhaps even have a child to tend to. Maybe that’s part of the depression but I’m wise enough to recognize that it’s far better not to have stresses like that in my life as I deal with clinical depression.

4. 5 years ago I weighed somewhere between 250-275 pounds. I’ve lost 70 pounds in two years. Today I’m not going to focus on the numbers. I’m going focus on the way that I’ve changed as the numbers changed. I finally am able to look in the mirror everyday (oh dear, do I admit that I’ve come obsessed with mirrors? It’s not in the way you may think, either. I like to look in a mirror and smile. Groan. There’s something else I don’t like admitting about myself. I. Like. My. Smile. Boy that sure is hard to type. And I don’t know why. Why is it so difficult to admit something good? I like my smile. Oh fuck that… I really like my smile. I think I have the ability to win someone over with my smile when I really need to. I think it’s adorable and every chance I get, I smile back at the girl in the mirror because I know she’s me….. I need to go put my head between my knees now and breathe deeply until this fearful drop in my stomach goes away). I now try as much as possible to dress a certain way (I got my red dress finally and it is the color of every angry, passionate, bloody, sensuous, erotic emotion I feel when I slip it on). Gone is the oversized coat I wore through much of high school. Mostly gone are the black workout clothes I wore when I thought nothing else looked nearly as slimming. Gone are the oversized jeans with the flared legs that I always assumed looked good on me. Today I own a half a dozen skirts, 2 dresses and one halter top (and yes, I think they all are adorable on me). For the first time ever, I own heels. I’m working on infusing color into my wardrobe, including the fat girl’s dreaded color enemy- white! I refuse to buy baggy clothes (I’m not gonna hide behind yards of fabric anymore!). I shop in the maternity section for size large shirts because the designers give just enough in the stomach but they don’t over do it and the sleeves remain at a normal proportion. The maternity sections of many stores tend not to treat woman as if they’ve suddenly become unsexy just because they have a belly and widening hips. I find some very flattering things from time to time. Whether it’s $5 or $50, I don’t buy anything anymore unless it completely flatters my emerging hourglass shape.

5. Before I left Wisconsin, I had very few hobbies that stimulated me unless you count TV watching and sleeping (and I do not). Out here, I’ve tried geocaching, blogging, book making, violin lessons, hiking, jogging, knitting, and photography. I’ve had a busy couple of years! I hope to add dancing lessons, sewing, volunteering and canoeing in the next year or so.

6. I used to be a very angry person. I learned early in life how to relate to other people through a passionate manner. I am stubborn and I have a hard time saying sorry. I will admit I’ve gotten in physical fights with a few close friends and family. When I moved to Oregon and met a man with a very gentle soul, I had to learn how to forgive and forget sooner than I was used to because… it seemed like the right thing to do. There was no longer a reason to stay so damn mad at him. And it feels good to let go of so much anger. I’m lucky to be changing this habit now versus 20 years down the line.

So things should be looking up for me. I should be excited about my present situation. I’ve come a long way in a few years. I should be a helluva lot happier, right? I’m not and that’s the thought that keeps nagging me. I’ve been searching for reasons for months.

Am I afraid of success?

Am I just plain lazy?

Am I holding myself back so I don’t have to experience any failure or hurt down the line?

Am I afraid of change?

Do I have ADD or Bi-Polar disorder?

John Lennon is quoted as saying “Life is what happens when you’re busy making other plans.” When I look over my accomplishments of the last five years, I can’t help but notice that I’ve done a great many things to better my situation even as I continue making ever changing plans because I feel like I’m at a standstill. I feel like I'm at one of the places in between. I'm far from the destructive person I used to be, but I'm far from the confident married woman with an architect's license, a child to protect and teach and nurture, and a safe, permanent home that I and my family call our own. I'm stuck somewhere in between and it's driving me nuts. I'm sick of the paint-by-number's future that sits before me incomplete! I want fill in the blank spaces with permanent inks so I know that I'll be okay in some way.

My wish for the immediate future is that I am able to improve on the things that keep me from living my life gracefully. I'd like to get through these uncertain times with less stress and fewer complications. There is a way to do it- I'm sure of it. I'm just unsure as to where to begin. If I could fly through the air with the greatest of ease and do it without missing a beat, I think I could stop worrying so much about letting go of the last trapeze and just focus on grabbing the one hurdling towards me.

Oregon Country Fair 2006

2006-07-10T18:45:00.000-07:00

Welcome to the 2006 Oregon County Fair. Please keep both hands inside the moving tram at all times. Do not jump, slide, squiggle or otherwise attempt to release your earth tethered body from the tram. Do not laugh at the hippies, goths, yuppies, guppies or any such group visible during the ride. Do not taunt the happy fun ball. Hold your nose when the overhead b.o. red light flips on. You may be tempted to drum along with the fantastic tribal beats heard along the route but please refrain from drumming on the head of the person sitting directly in front of you. Remember, you are the person in front of the person seated behind yourself! Be kind to the animals. If you are hungry as a result from the billowing clouds of special smoke drifting around the park, there will be time to stop for vegan delights at the end of the ride. No littering- and this applies to the very clothes you are wearing. If the spirit moves you, please wait until the tram has come to a complete stop before quickly exiting the ride and puking or pooping your brains out.

Thanks for coming to the fair and enjoy your stay!

(Photos will follow all week long. One a day so no one overdoses on hippie goodness!)

Untitled

2006-07-06T08:45:00.000-07:00

© 2006 Punkin Dunkin Productions

This past Saturday was a really bad day. I took two naps because I was so depressed. I didn't want to do anything except sit in bed and cry. I was lonely, angry, and suicidal. I lay in bed around 4 pm and watched the blinds sway in the window with the gentle summer wind. It was a sunny day and I should have been overjoyed for a lot of things: my family, my friends, my health, time to relax, my boyfriend, my cats, my roof over my head... but I couldn't seem to focus on any of those things.

So I looked at the blinds rocking back and forth and from no where, my internal voice said:

"If you are there, you need to help me. I feel like I'm at a new low today. If you really exist, you will help me. I need it. I need a sign. I need you to do something to show me that you are real and you are listening."

Yes, I was talking to someone whose existence I've been denying for a long time. I'm not saying I've suddenly had a change of heart or anything. I was just very desperate.

Needless to say, no sign appeared right then and there. I was disappointed to say the least. So I got up out of bed and tried to get through the rest of the day.

But some things have happened in the last few days:

1. I spent some time with my boyfriend, some quality time that we were really lacking, and while we were watching the fireworks last night I came to the realization that he is the man I am going to marry. He's it. He's what I've been looking for. He's not perfect, he's not the knight on the horse. In his own words, he's "just a man, that's all." But he's mine. And while our differences seem great at times (he's freakishly tidy, I have a tendency to be freakishly messy; his political views keep me foaming at the mouth; we're from slightly different worlds; he's overly confident, I'm overly paranoid and full of residual self hatred) I think there is a whole lot of love and passion between us & that's what's important.

2. My financial issues are starting to not look so bleak. The financial aid is set to kick in here shortly and it should be a nice chunk of change to put towards bills and savings. My mother is generously helping me to turn things around and I am so grateful to her for her help through all of this.

3. I put in a request for more hours at work and not only did I get that but I also received an opportunity to reenter the insurance program as well. Originally, I was just asking for more hours but now things are so good that I can get insurance once again starting this week, if I'd like.

4. School is going well. I earned a 98 on my first exam- a very acceptable math score (even if it's only easy math).

5. I am seeing a therapist every week who is starting to direct me towards better habits and relaxation techniques.

6. I have just over 3 car payments remaining on my loan.

7. My boyfriend has repeated his offer to have me move in with him in November when my lease is up. I'm not 100% I'll do it- I don't want to just do it for financial reasons. I'd prefer to be engaged so that I know it's a permanent thing. But he's willing to help me move, no matter where I decide to go, and he's willing to let me store stuff at his house.

8. I'm thinking a little more clearly these last couple of days than I have in a while.

So now I'm sitting here and I'm thinking about my afternoon in bed and what I'm supposed to make of it. Are things turning around because I asked for help or are they turning around because my string of bad luck is over and it’s statistically improbable for my life to continue to suck? Does this mean I’m supposed to now believe? If I don’t, do I incur some sort of angry retribution? Am I being greedy by asking for an unmistakable sign, proof of some kind that I should believe? What happens if I never get that or I don’t interpret something “correctly”?

It struck me yesterday as I was driving home that if I could have just one wish in regards to religion, it would be that I could throw out all of the cultural and historical influences surrounding the notion of a savior and a creator and I could just find spirituality in a pure form- no rules, no right or wrong, no hell or damnation, no one telling me what to believe, no white beard and sandals interpretations- no religion to screw it up for me. And I wonder if that is truly possible? Can I ignore the voices of everyone around me and everyone who has come before me and can I create meaning, comfort, love and spirituality out of something unknown and undefined? Is that even possible?

The Universe, She Mocks My Pain!

2006-07-01T10:23:00.000-07:00

So I'm lonely, cranky, depressed, and at my wits end. Apparently I'm in the mindset that resembles Hitler's. Grrrrrrrrrrrreeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaatttttttt...

What Famous Leader Are You?
personality tests by similarminds.com

Gotta laugh or will go crazy. Gotta laugh or will go crazy. Gotta laugh or will go crazy.

Failure To Entertain Is More Like It

2006-07-01T10:02:00.000-07:00

If you were thinking of seeing this movie- perhaps on the fence about it- let me help you make that choice. It sucked. It just sucked. It was basically How To Lose A Guy In Ten Days with just a few changes to the plot. And it didn't have Kate Hudson in it. She had far more chemistry with Matthew McConaughey then Sarah Jessica Parker does (and I like SJP, especially from Sex and The City). In this movie, her tan was too dark and her face too made up with makeup. She was just annoying. I did enjoy the side characters played by kathy Bates, Terry Bradshaw and Zooey Deschanel (who was the only truly funny character). I only wish that more of the movie had been shot involving them and their trials. As a very annoying subplot, there are some stupid scenes revolving evil animals that bite and pick at Matthew's character. They are out of place in this movie and they undermine any sort of credibility this movie could have ever have hoped to attain.

I was looking for a movie to help escape from my depression for a short time. Instead I ended up even more depressed. Comedies are not supposed to do that, people!

Do yourself a favor: skip it and go play in the backyard. You'll be glad you didn't waste 97 minutes of your life.

Like Something Out of War of the Worlds

2006-06-29T18:49:00.000-07:00

This picture was taken in Iowa about 10 days ago. There is no official name for this type of weather phenomenon. It is simply waves undulating in the clouds. Much of Eastern Iowa saw this overhead and it's documented at a local news channel site. For more pictures of this weird event, click here.

Depression Can Be A Real Bitch When She Wants To

2006-06-29T18:10:00.000-07:00

I am sick of being depressed. I’m angry that I can be having a fine morning, with everything seemingly going my way and then WHAM! I am hit by a sudden wave of melancholy that knocks me backwards. I hate this unexpectedness that the illness has, this crazy suicidal feeling that follows a blissful few hours of thinking everything might actually be okay for once!

Today I am lonely.

I am facing the following week with that feeling of gut rot and sadness rolling throughout my entire body. I don't like being alone for extended periods of time as it is. But when a holiday rolls around, I find myself getting weepy at the thought of having no one to spend the day with. I am used to holidays full last minute cleaning and dusting, hurried showers as everyone cleans up 5 minutes before the guests arrive, a ton of hors d’oeuvres, never ending casserole dishes, dessert tables a mile long, people filling up small rooms and spilling out into the lawn, presents, special drinks with tropical names, sometimes a board game, and just this safe feeling that for that one day everyone is happy and healthy and all together in the same zip code.

I don’t have any of that (or even the remote possibility of it) this weekend and it’s causing me to sob uncontrollably. The last couple of holidays have threatened to be like that and it always gets me so down.

The child in me screams that all she wants for the Fourth is a brat smothered in mustard, some sparklers, to be able to wear her cute red dress, a piece of strawberry cake, and some quality companionship. But she isn’t going to get any of that. And she’s just as pissed as I am.

I won’t get to go to the Oregon Country Fair either because I’ll feel incredibly stupid with fairy wings on my back, trying to belly dance with a drink in one hand and my camera in the other, as I stand all by myself in the middle of the crowd. There is no way that I’m doing that event alone.

I keep trying to look at this from a pessimistic point of view: if I don’t expect that I will do anything at all, I shouldn’t be disappointed in the least. I got exactly what I expected. But sometimes that little sliver of optimism comes out during the holidays or when I get really excited about spending time with someone I love. When it doesn’t happen, that little sliver gets even smaller. Maybe one day it will disappear completely and I won’t have to worry about being let down by my ridiculous expectations to be happy once in a while.

Fern Ridge

2006-06-28T07:38:00.000-07:00

A Semester of Architecture

2006-06-26T18:55:00.000-07:00

I signed up for fall classes recently and had to make a few changes. As it turns out, my fall schedule will be filled with architecture, architectural history and urban geography classes at the UO. I am very excited by the possibility of immersing myself in the epicenter of exactly what I want to do in life. I'm hoping that this is the recharge to the batteries that I need to finish my undergraduate degree and get going on the master's of architecture (after a slight detour into photography, of course. But the way I see it, that can only help me in my career with new skills, not hurt it). It's no secret that I've been struggling this past year with classes. Today is the first day that I find myself truly excited about a new semester, not just relieved to forget the old one in the dust. Perhaps one of my problems has been that I've lost myself on a temporary track of something I'm not entirely passionate about. I don't hate the PPPM program (planning, public policy and management). In fact, if anything, I think it is helping me to refine my interests and exposing me to new ideas. I hope that it allows me to go into the architecture program with a slightly different perspective- one that is a bit more relaxed and more willing to take into account the wishes of the community and neighborhoods that surround new architecture, versus the sometimes self-centered designs of some architects that ignore basic practicality and human comfort. It is my hope that if I do become an architect that I build for people, not for myself. I want a design to work for a person, a family, and a community- I could care less what it would look like on the pages of some glossy magazine where architects tend to forget who they are or should be designing their art for. The PPPM program has kept me slightly sidetracked and a little mopey this year. My heart knows when it’s in the wrong direction; the sadness tends finds a way out in some form. I remember the stint into interior design quite well. I didn’t belong in a design firm picking out pillows and curtain rods and I don’t belong in a firm that only deals with the bureaucratic issues of planning and design. I belong in a place where I am interacting with clients, making mockups of design solutions, and where the nameplate on the desk has AIA next to my name (american institute of architects). That way, I know it's where I am supposed to be.

The Final Hold Out

2006-06-22T18:59:00.000-07:00

For those of you who are not familiar with my newest Honey Bunches (aka Mr. Big) and don't know about our difference in opinions, let me recap it for you: He calls himself a "moderate conservative" (and I had to stifle the eye-rolling... that's not entirely true though. I'm trying to be respectful of other opinions) and he assumes that I am moderately liberal. I might be but I've never voted for anything other than a democrat in any election, I'm a huge fan of Jon Stewart, and I think this latest administration is made up of dominions from the underworld. At the very least, I think someone has an over inflated ego and needs a reality check as to his scope of power. But I love my honey boy and I certainly don't want to fight with him over political issues. I have a couple of years to convince him to leave the dark side and join the better half of the human race by voting against evil forces (if they so choose to run).

So far I haven't minded the ESPN viewing (I did audibly object to watching bowling though) or a constant check of BET (I'm learning new things after all and sometimes I get to see Common doing his thing). I absolutely adore Go-Go music and I need to snag me some copies of Mr. Big's cd's. I enjoy getting into his world and I like when he ventures into mine. I'm tempted to drag him to the Black Sheep Gathering show this weekend and submerge him into the world of yarn but that could be a little too much for him. He's already put up with my camera in his face (can't help but constantly photograph such a beautiful specimen).

But there is just one thing I won't let go of and play nice over: Fox News and Bill O'Reilly. The man makes me physically ill. The network gives me the heebie-jeebies for their spin on everything. I had a migraine last night and my patience was already being tried just by the fact that I couldn't crawl into the fetal position and die. I asked as politely as I could without barfing up all over the place if he could change the channel. I will watch paint peel over Fox News. Just give me a TV with one channel with ugly and disgusting paint peeling all day long- slow motion, sped up, instant replays- I don't care. It's just more entertaining and calming in the long run.

If we end up together, I will have it written into our wedding vows that he never watches Fox News while I'm in the room. Till Fox News do us part, hon. Hrumph!

It's a bubbler, dammit!

2006-06-21T08:59:00.000-07:00

Via, NPR today, I took the "Are you a Yankee or a Rebel" quiz. And while it's no surprise that I'm a Yankee through and through, I was astonished at how many questions pegged me as being from the Great Lakes region. Most notably was the bubbler question. I've been in Oregon for 4 years and yet I'll always be a Wisconsin girl.

It's not a drinking fountain!
Is Not! Is Not! Is Not!!!

Oh Yeah, Brack To My Core

2006-06-15T18:45:00.000-07:00

While surfing one of my new links on this site, I unearthed this wonderful gem. I thought it was hi-larious

My Favorite Kind of Meme

2006-06-15T08:10:00.000-07:00

Stolen from Allison and developed by one TopBoy:

This is a surrealist game I’ve been working with my friend Ana. It’s an electronic update of the classic surrealist questions game “the exquisite corpse”. The idea is that you answer all the questions by typing your answer into Google Image search and post the answer in the form of an image that comes up. For poetic license we’ll say you can choose from the first 10 results but the idea is, of course, to work with the randomness of the responses.

1.What makes you happy?

2.What are you most ashamed of in yourself?

3.Where do you see yourself in 10 years?

4.What is the first thing you remember?

5.What has gotten you through your darkest hour?

6.What did your parents' house smell like?

7.What is one word that you use far too often?

8.One word you associate with your best kept secret:

9.One word describing a recurrent theme in your dreams:

10.What disgusts you most in others?

11.One word that describes your first lover:

12. (and because I have to always add to any meme I play) One word that describes your current (or last) lover:

The Double Standard

2006-06-14T07:10:00.000-07:00

So we've only been going out a little while. And already hints and jokes at marriage and babies have come up in our conversations. But I must point out that I have never been the one to openly joke about either topic or initiate a conversation surrounding "The Future". On Sunday, yet another mention of a baby came up and I stewed on it for a couple of hours before I came out and asked him what he wanted from his life and where he saw himself in the next few years. His responses were candid and honest and I respect him for everything that he says.

Last night he called me Mrs. _____.

"Doesn't that sound really good?" He asks. I giggle and say its not fair and he shouldn't play around with me like that.

"But damn, it sounds really good! Mrs. Punkin _____. Or what about Mrs. Punkin Dunkin-_____. It sounds so professional when you put them together."

My outwardly response: "Ha-ha-ha. Don't do this to me sweetie! It's not fair! You can't do this to a girl. We don't like to be played with!" Inside, I'm fighting the urge to cry me some seriously happy tears or get a little moody with him. The galaxy quest guys are buzzing around my brain trying to interpret this latest round of weirdness and we all are having a hard time comprehending the implications.

"I'm not playing, Mrs. _____"

Sigh.

There is such a double standard when it comes to discussing marriage with a dating partner. I think women are not allowed to open their mouths at all for fear that we are moving too fast or appearing as if our biological clocks are ticking too loudly. But it seems like the man can say whatever is on his mind at the moment without any fear of what his partner's response will be.

I've experienced this before- especially at the beginning of a relationship. I've had my heart toyed with and been told all sorts of things about what "The Future" could be like. My partners don't do it to get me in bed, nor do they do it to mess with me. They are just being honest at that very moment based on the euphoric feelings they are getting when we're together. I can understand that. But if I'm not careful, I let myself start to think the same things. What would it be like to be married? What would the baby look like? Where would we retire? I can let my fantasy run completely wild.

But I don't. It's too painful to start planning out a future that is as uncertain as the weather. It's not healthy to imagine what the rest of my life will be like with someone I've only begun to get to know. I need to protect my bruised heart and this is how I choose to do it. I try to live one day at a time and not worry about anything beyond a few weeks. My little heart just can't take much more than that.

On The Horizon

2006-06-12T09:21:00.000-07:00

I'm Just The Luckiest Lady In The World

2006-06-09T00:15:00.000-07:00

Because my sweetie is taking me to see this place:

I'll take my camera along but something tells me I might not get the chance to shoot some really good photos. It's just plain poor etiquette to ignore your date while visiting such a romantic spot in favor of your art!

Two Versions

2006-06-07T16:41:00.000-07:00

Clarification

2006-06-07T09:30:00.000-07:00

VeganKid mentioned that many people didn't actually talk about sex for the recent blog carnival:

"As you may remember, i asked folks to talk about sex. Well, i got what i asked for. What i found interesting, however, is that most folks talked about theoretical notions of sexiness and beauty but not the actual act of sex. Are we not ready yet to place our bodies into physical context? Perhaps we simply have not done enough collective work yet to heal ourselves from the trauma associated with sex. And if there was ever an area of our lives that needed some serious healing attention, its sex."

Lord knows I'm not ready!

I can't stand the sight of my own body. I don't like being physical with someone unless we're in the dark or I'm covered up under a blanket. I have a hard time relaxing and getting in the mood because I'm constantly worried about what he'll think of body part X or Y or the massive scar that I despise so much. I don't like being naked around anyone- including myself. I can't stand the full length mirrors on the closet doors in my room because I don't want to get turned off during the actual act of lovemaking.

I can't handle my fucking body.

And it's screwing with my love life.

In the last year, due to losing weight and meeting men who are far less inhibited then myself, I find that I'm coming face to face with things I'd rather keep hidden. I have to confront the fact that a potential partner may be comfortable walking around the house naked and I can only come so far wrapped up in my big blue towel. I must face the possibility that there are certain positions I will be asked to be in that reveal way more skin than I want to show. I've had moments where my lover physically moves my hands away from my body and I am so ashamed that I want to cry.

I'm doing the best that I can and regardless of what I write here, I have made some serious strides in coming to terms with my body. I only hope that it's enough each time I get intimate. And I hope that my partner understands and does his best to nurture me and encourage me to find that acceptance with myself that I long for.

This Is Why I Want To Be A Photographer

2006-06-06T15:59:00.000-07:00

This past weekend, as I was flipping channels, I stumbled on a 20/20 segment about the Heart Gallery. Originally started in New Mexico, the project has spread to several other states (at least 40) and helped countless foster children find permanent homes. The pictures are taken by professional photographers and they are vibrant, stunning, and dynamic. These traveling galleries move from city to city within each state and try to garner attention for children that sometimes seem otherwise forgotten. There are galleries all over- Washington, D.C., Michigan, Iowa, Nebraska... just about anywhere you can imagine. You can visit the Time photo essay to see more examples. The next time one rolls into my neck of the woods, I will be first in line to experience it.

David Bergman was featured in the 20/20 segment during the photo shoot that this picture came from. And he is just my new favorite idol now.

Whenever I thought about being an architect, it was always about the buildings. I didn't think about making a difference in anyone's life when I imagined my career and my life's work. I wanted to build, is all.

But whenever I think about being a photographer, it is always about the people. I can see such wonderful possibilities for helping people through art. I was greatly inspired when I first heard about the FSA photographers of the Depression or Jacob Riis who documented slum conditions at the turn of the 20th century. I am inspired and touched in ways that I can't describe. I want to see something change for the better through art and journalism. I want to see a better world created just by the flick of my wrist and the focus of my lens. And I want others to be able to see it too.

World, Please Meet Mr. Big:

2006-06-04T18:50:00.000-07:00

(Sorry, He doesn't want his picture on the internet. Let me know if you still want to see what he looks like and I'll forward a photo on to you)

Here is the Man I have been gushing about to everyone for the last week. Here is the Man who has made my little heart flutter every time we meet up, every time he laughs, every time he looks my way and smiles. When I think of him, I can't help but catch my breath. He came out of no where and in one week all I can think of is "I cannot imagine not knowing him. I cannot imagine what life was like before I knew him." He makes me so incredibly happy. He makes me giddy and shiny and euphoric and positively stupid with happiness.

Before the last day and a half, I kept saying to myself that this wasn’t real, that he couldn’t possibly be real. No man could be that kind and serious and old-fashioned and responsible and smart and sexy and hysterically funny… I didn’t know that a man like that was out there just waiting. I am a pessimist by nature. I just assume bad things are going to always happen to me and life is always going to suck and that I don’t deserve the best of anything. I’m pretty sure this is a defense mechanism. If I assume the worst will happen and it prevents me from trying anything in life, I’ve taken steps to minimize the amount of hurt I will go through.

This new man I have been seeing, that henceforth shall be dubbed Mr. Big as he’s got so much going for him and he's a real catch for any woman (but thankfully without all the emotional unavailability of the original one), has come along and knocked me on my pessimistic ass. I feel like I’ve had the wind knocked out of me and I am so happy I could burst into a million pieces. I hope this continues and I hope my pessimism takes a back seat to all of the things he can show me and make me believe in- most notably myself

He let me take his picture today and I was honored to do so. Admittedly, I’d like to log a thousand more shots with him and get deep into his soul through his eyes. I can see down in there when I look at him and when I’m close to him. And I want to capture that feeling, that core essence of him on film for everyone to see just what I’m beginning to see.

Fern Ridge Sunset From The Car

2006-06-02T08:40:00.000-07:00

Sex, Sexuality, And the Fat Girl

2006-06-01T00:05:00.000-07:00

I decided to participate in a little blog carnival that Alas and Vegan Kid have got going on. I thought if there's anything in the world I could write about, is what life is like as a Fat girl who needs sex like she needs water but who couldn't get a sip to save her life. This post comes from a personal space of great debate, pain, and longing. I've had the opportunity to delve into this subject in the real world due to some current dating situations. Every time I meet someone new, I get nervous and spend inordinate amounts of time wondering if and why they find me attractive. It's fascinating to face my fears and try to overcome them. I hope this post helps me on my journey to happiness.

There’s Always A But(t) In There Somewhere: You Have Such A Pretty Face...

Rarely does someone finish that sentence and be completely honest with me. But it’s okay, I know what they mean. I am and have been for some time, the victim of the “pretty face” syndrome. Over the last several years many people have commented that I have an attractive face and so why do I hide it behind all that fat? The implication is such that if I were to lose weight, I’d be a very attractive woman and my sexuality would be restored. I would be the kind of desirable person that people fantasize about when they have sex or want to have sex. And I have such mixed feelings about all that. (Do I want to be objectified? Am I substituting one kind of objectification for another by staying in a body that repulses me and others?)

I’ll tell you now (in case you were hoping for a really juicy post) that I do not define sex as simply the act, because there’s so much more to it then that (so now you don’t have to go looking for something perverted here). When I think of the word woman or love or passion or curves, I think of sex. Sex is an expression. Sex is supposedly my gender, my hips, lips and tits. Sex is the color that seeps from between my thighs each month. It is a way of life. It is a look, a smell, a touch- even the most innocent in each category can turn into an interpretation of sex in some way. Sex defines every part of me. It is the swaying of my hips to really excellent Turkish music. It is the way he ogles me when I know I’ve captured his complete attention. It is the box I check whenever I fill out a personal form. It is what I was assigned from birth. It is who I am and always will be.

And still, I am not considered a sexual being because of one thing- the bloody number on the scale.

Most women can agree that beauty confines us, liberates us, and torments us at every stage of our lives from every external source imaginable. Sex is beauty and beauty is sex to me. But I haven’t felt beautiful beyond the age of six, so in my mind, I haven’t ever felt like a sexual being. I haven’t even really ever felt like a woman. The two items that have given me the most validation in terms of femininity have been my hair and my breasts. Boobs are a fat girl’s consolation prize. Seriously. We don’t garner much positive attention from the opposite sex but at least we’ve got massive twins to compete against all the stick figure A-cups out there. It’s not really a fair fight but it is something, I suppose (One problem I find myself facing every so often is how much of my chest should I emphasize? ‘Cause I can do the full on tight sweater, low v-neck, white mounds of flesh popping out thing but then I feel a little cold and more than a little slutty. I don’t really want to be known for my cup size, just as many of the skinny girls don’t want to either).

But simply put, my boobs = my sex.

One thing that’s constant throughout my life is my long hair-even when I was at my highest weight (as you can see). I had one former crush actually say to me that I hide myself behind my hair. And I’d agree with that. I hide behind the one major thing that designates my sex to the outside world. It’s the one feature that’s made me feel feminine when I’m stuck in a body that seemed to lose any resemblance to being female. I am not comfortable with short hair. Too much of my self-image is wrapped up in those chemically tortured locks of mine. I need to make sure that I’m still recognizable as a girl, even if it’s an ugly girl. My hair is my sex, no doubt about it. And as I thumb thru a Newport News catalog left in my cubicle, I can pretty much surmise that long hair equals sex and it is the epitome of sexy for the ideal American woman (please don’t get on me about the word ideal. Ideally, there would be no ideals. Okay, people?).

As a rule of thumb (or perhaps more appropriately, of thigh), when a woman is fat, she is nonexistent in public. Other people most often ignore her, except in the cases where she is ruthlessly made fun of for not conforming to this society’s ideals, and she is generally treated as a subhuman. How do I know this? I’ve been treated that way for some 17 years. I’ve been shoved aside, had doors slammed into my face by people who did not think enough of me to leave them open as I walked through, been sneered, jeered and leered at, have had people look right through me as if I didn’t exist, been subjected to comments that make me sound like a cow in need of butcher cuts, had my stomach touched inappropriately, and have been called everything possible under the sun in relation to my weight:

(You’d think by now people would get a little more original with their metaphors!)

A woman cannot be sexy and fat at the same time. We are denied our sexuality on a minute by minute basis. We do not serve any sexual function, we simply take up space *snort*. We are the butt of every joke, the ones whispered about when people think we’re deaf in addition to being overweight. We are the people that skinny people fear. “I don’t ever want to look like that” (sometimes they can’t even assign us a gender because it’s just another sexual reminder of what we could actually be). For the life of me, I can’t figure it out. What is it about me that scares other people so much? They say it’s my lack of self control. They say it’s that I’m not beautiful to them. Is it really that? Or is the reason that my body scares others perhaps have something to do with an ever present reminder of who potentially could have more power, if only she realizes it? I certainly feel powerful when I walk down the hallway in my size 9 pumps with a tall and proud walk with my hips swinging. I do weigh more than you—I should be able to break you like a twig if you don't get out of my damn way. And sweetie, my Amazon ancestors probably did just that. Every time I turn on the TV and get a glimpse at the latest tiny actress or stupid bulimic girl in a video, I have to stop and remind myself that they are not women. I am the woman. I am the one with the calves that can withstand 10 mile walks. I am the one with the hips that can give enough room for life to be created and developed and born without killing me. I am the woman (ROAR!!). They are the little girls. And it kills me that this is our standard of beauty. I was a little girl once. It wasn’t all that empowering or fun or rewarding. I was something that needed protection and daily baths and ribbons and dresses and coddling.

I can’t tell you when I first realized I was a girl. But I can tell you when I realized I was turning into an unattractive FAT girl because people simply do not let you forget when you’re a former pretty baby (I won a baby contest and a week’s worth of groceries when I was two). It seemed to be a very gradual change from age seven and nine. I developed into a geeky package that consisted of huge pink coke-bottle glasses I had to wear to see absolutely anything farther than 3 feet away, braces cemented onto my teeth in fourth grade, (I didn’t have an open mouth smile in any class picture until they came off after freshman year), the Puma Velcro shoes that wouldn’t be cool for a mere 20 more years, garage sale clothes straight from the seventies (nowadays I’d kill for a retro look), and the Dorothy Hamill haircut (that looked fabulous on her but made me look like an ugly boy). But above all else, was the combination of a sedentary lifestyle and the genetic predisposition to grow outwards faster then I grew upwards which made for one chunky little monkey. And trust me, as funny as you think it would be to see some of the pictures from this stage in my life that haven’t been “mysteriously” lost over the years, they are truly a horrible sight to see.

People began to treat me differently when I hit puberty and couldn’t figure out how to stay the pretty girl. There were fewer smiles and more frowns. Strangers didn’t coo over me any longer. They looked down at me and whispered to their own children that this is what happens when kids eat too many Twinkies and not enough broccoli. I wasn’t freakishly fat; I was modestly fat with an unfortunately high number of unattractive features. I wasn’t outgoing. Instead, my personality most closely resembled that of the quintessential wallflower. I liked to read and I found it easy to escape the awkwardness of my childhood through books (I’d say literature but when you consider my favorite author was V.C. Andrews and I devoured all of her books written {by her and not the subsequent ghost writers} by the time I was 10, it’s a stretch to call it literature I was reading or even time well spent). Children around me began to act crueler and their taunts and insults intensified once I entered middle school and could no longer hide the fact that I was much fatter than everyone else. I couldn’t understand the rules of popularity. I wasn’t popular, pretty, athletic, smart or even funny. I was an oddity. And no one around me was gonna let me forget that my weight was the weirdest thing about me.

I look back now to my childhood and define it as a series of 3 major stages. Stage one is birth to six when I was an adorable and feminine little girl that wore dresses, practiced her wedding day with white tablecloths for veils, and enjoyed the carefree summers on her banana bike. Stage two starts when my beautiful hair is cut and doesn’t end until boyfriend #1 enters the picture some 12 years later. This unbearable stage is filled with many afternoons spent in front of the television, fearful of both the outside world and the changes that were taking place to my body. My fatness was proportioned in such a way that I seemed to start puberty early- and was very much unprepared for it. School was a nightmare and I lost the eagerness to learn and to succeed. I didn’t want to raise my hand in class and call attention to myself. I didn’t want to join any activities that involved other people who judged me. At a time when most children are learning about themselves and who they will be, I was too busy hiding from myself and the rest of the world that I inhabited to figure out that life wouldn’t always be like this. Stage three starts when the first boy to truly love me enters from stage left. And his first assignment was telling me how sexy he found me to be. Poor thing really had his work cut out for him. He began the daunting task of slowly peeling back the layers of self-hatred that had hardened around my soul. He was very good to me and very good for me. I am eternally grateful to him.

Suspicion of the Opposite Sex:
This Little Piggy Would Rather Go Wee-Wee-Wee All the Way Home

It’s true. I have never actually heard of this sport before stumbling on it while blogging. And it’s sick, really sick. After reading the whole article from the Cleveland-based Scene and finding a more in-depth research paper on the subject (“Knocking off a Fat Girl:” an Exploration of Hogging, Male Sexuality, and Neutralizations .... let me know if you'd like a copy), I can’t help but wonder who the real pigs are?!? I’m a pig because I have some fat rolls but the average man interviewed in the article is supposedly some stud because he’s skinny? I’d give up a serious number of Ding-Dongs just to get a good look at these guys (and no people, I don’t actually eat Ding-Dongs. I’m avoiding high fructose corn syrup as much as possible. But skinny people just assume Hostess products are a part of a Fat girl’s daily consumption).
These men make cavemen seem like Harvard graduates. And I just don’t understand. Its one thing to admit that you’re not attracted to a fat person, but it’s a whole other thing to actively seek out the object of your disliking and degrade them repeatedly. I don’t seek out the incredibly shallow and egotistical, material possessions coveting, drink-beer-simply-to-get-drunk drunks, highly insecure in their masculinity, more likely than not to be the owners of little wee-wee’s... and make them feel inferior for not having a single positive contribution to society (stereotyping just a little? I’m angry so you can just get bent if you don’t like it). So why must they come after me?

“Sometimes you just say, 'Fuck it, let's get a pig.’” It’s not that they prefer fat women, they say. It's just easier…

Many guys claim the hog should be, and often is, grateful for their attentions. "Fat chicks never get laid, because no one wants to see 'em naked," Scott explains. "They feel appreciative just because a guy will let them give him a blow job," adds his friend Justin. "They understand their place," Rick says. "They know they're pigs. They don't get it like a normal girl could. They're desperate."

"Perfect hogging is big fat tits, fat thighs, but a good-looking face," Rick explains. "The hogs don't think they're hogs, ever," Mark says.”

It’s been suggested (and mostly confirmed for now) that I’m one of those fat chicks with good-looking faces which makes for a more coveted prize, depending on the rules and who’s playing. So now the $64,000 question is: How Desperate am I? Guess what you jackasses, I’m not. Ha! I may know my place, as the fattest girl everywhere that I go to and I may have extremely low self-esteem, but that doesn’t mean I’m going down on you, dickhead.

One of my ex-boyfriend’s friends, when asked what he thought of me, said I was “doable.” “Yeah, she’s doable… I’d do her.” WTF?!! I wonder if he ever stopped to question whether I’d do him?!? Maybe if he let that little thought roll around in his little brain he may have come up with the honest truth that I wouldn’t get within 10 feet of him and his dick. I’m fat, bitch. That single fact does not make me a slut.

Until I read the articles and research about hogging, I only had a hunch that something like this existed. I’d certainly felt enough glaring stares, heard enough rude comments, had numerous inappropriate advances from tactless men over the years to “know my place” on the sexual food chain. I’m fat, bitch, not clueless. There’s a big difference. But coming face to face with such a brazen admission for such a misogynistic activity is still a shock to my system. As a consequence, I’m more distrustful now then ever before. I’ve always had trouble recognizing when a good man is flirting with me. I had a very attractive fellow student flirting with me recently and it took me more than a half an hour to realize it. When it finally dawned on me, I just assumed I was on Candid Camera or something because I couldn’t understand why anyone would give me that kind of attention unless it was a joke. He was extremely attractive, the right age for me, very athletic and very smart. He had bonus points in all categories and I just couldn’t figure out why he was being so nice to me. The automatic thoughts that flood my brain are always the same:

“This isn’t really happening. I must be imagining things.”

“There must be something wrong with him.”

“He needs to try his skills out on me because he’s bored or feeling rejected. I’m just practice for the real thing.”

“I must look like a slut today if he’s paying attention to me.”

“Is there a nipple hanging out or something?”
(Never mind that most men probably couldn’t talk, let alone actively flirt, if a wardrobe malfunction actually occurs)

“Where is the punch line?”

“What does he want with me??”

It’s simply inconceivable that anyone would relate to me as if I was a sexual being. It doesn’t match the previous encounters that have shaped my self perceptions. Because of my weight, I believe that just about every possible date is out of my league. Never mind the fact that this same man asked me out a few weeks later and with no hesitation I said yes. Never mind the fact that one minute I’m on cloud nine around him and the next I’m wondering when I’ll turn back into the pumpkin because it’s simply too good to be true. It’s all coming down to trust. And I just don’t know if I can trust potential skinny partners- especially in the bedroom. I’m struggling a great deal to overcome my phobia of skinny people (yes, you heard it here first). And I don’t always win the battle. I recognize that there are a thousand different attitudes out there and a thousand different ways to see beauty. I have to keep telling myself that every time I look in a mirror and obsess over all of the flaws.

Before I met a fellow blogger in person, I worried incessantly about how he would react to my appearance. I obsessed all summer long. I lost nearly 20 pounds in the process but I wasn’t satisfied because I wasn’t to my goal weight or even my half way mark. I knew he was skinny and I knew I couldn’t hide the fact that I wasn’t. I could flirt with him over email and be at ease in my comfort zone, but the minute he said it was time to meet, I sent him one of those “I Really Am Fat” emails:

Ah, this plays real well into the email that I just received from you. It’s time
for me to admit something cause I’m working on being wholly honest. I make jokes
about you being some ax murderer or predator but I’m just hiding behind all
that. The real reason I’m afraid to meet is that I really don’t think you’ll
like me. All of me. I don’t like my appearance right now. I’m in the middle of
some major changes and of course I never feel like it’s enough. I’ve lost (and
kept off) more than 50 pounds in the last year. I’m learning to like myself no
matter what I look like or how I act but it’s a slow process. And I feel like
I’m transparent when it comes to that sort of thing. People have the intuition
to see when someone doesn’t like themselves.

And here is an excerpt of his response to me:

I know. I know you're worried about that, and so I really treasure that you either have developed enough trust in me, or like me enough and want to meet me bad enough (or both) that you're willing to risk it. I have the same issues and insecurities. You once said I looked "handsome" in my pictures. Thank you--that makes me feel all warm inside. But I get a compliment like that and I want to frame it and hang it on the wall inside my head, but it doesn't match the decor. I find it hard to believe anyone could find me handsome. One thing is that I'm only about 5'8" tall. Women always say, "tall, dark, and handsome." I only got one out of three, and that's just because of my mom's Hispanic blood.

I stuck his picture up for the entire world to see because um, quite frankly, I don’t think he should worry about his appearance, AT ALL. Most people who’ve seen this picture don’t think any less of him. In fact, the most common reaction is one of some serious drooling. But I guess it just goes to show that we all have nutty insecurities about ourselves that don’t fully make sense through the eyes of others. As a budding photographer and long time self-hater, sometimes I wonder if I should make it a goal to seek out people who have horrible misconceptions about their bodies and photograph them to show how beautiful they truly can be. I wouldn’t ever run out of clients, at least not in our current culture! This woman is certainly doing a good job.

How Many Licks Does it Take to get to the Center: Reclaiming What’s Rightfully Mine

(psst... that's me. It's an interesting look, don't you think? :)

So the question now after all of that is: How do I reclaim my sexuality? How does any Fat girl do it? And unfortunately there are no easy answers. I (and my lovers) must constantly try to undo the damage inflicted on my psyche. I’ll recap some of the ways that I've found some level of success so that it may be of some benefit to others out there.

I love it when someone compliments my body. I love to hear that my butt looks delectable in my jeans or that a sexy raised eyebrow is getting someone’s undivided attention. I also love it when someone I’m with continues to compliment me. I have a zillion different incidences throughout my life where I’ve built up the core belief that my beauty is based on the number that the needle hovers over on the scale. It helps when a lover doesn’t take it personally if I don’t believe them the first time or the 10th time or even the 75th time that they say “You’re beautiful!” It takes years of conditioning to believe something that should be automatic.

I find that dressing up for no reason at all is extremely therapeutic. In some parts of the country, they might call it “getting all gussied up.” And it makes me feel sexy, powerful, and attractive when I wear tights with little designs on them or a shirt that hugs my curves. Heels are nice- thick ones that support my ankles and don’t make me wonder whether my next step will be my last. I do enjoy the lift that nice shoes give to my lovely legs.

I like to be touched in all sorts of places and complimented for things I never thought were even remotely sexy. I had rock hard calves last summer with all my walking. I didn’t think it was attractive but someone else sure did.

I love role playing in the bedroom (admittedly outside of the bedroom is kinda fun too *giggle*). There's something to be said for leather boots, black lace panties, and a couple of really good whips or ropes. It's nice to skirt the dominant and submissive roles now and then to give a Fat girl a taste of just how powerful she could (and should) be.

Dancing is the bomb. Belly dancing is the nuclear bomb. I love to shake my hips and whip my hair around. For the last few years, I've only had enough guts to do it at home. Recently, I went out dancing several weekends in a row and there is something so liberating about getting on the dance floor and just letting loose. It makes me feel like my entire body is a lighting rod for sexual energy.

I like to walk down the street and notice a fellow Fat girl who also has got it going on. When a woman is in her zone and has the most confident stride to her legs and look across her face, I can't but be in awe. I always try to remember to tell another thick woman just how gorgeous she is. Pay it forward, know what I'm saying?

Finally, I must say that it’s encouraging to type “Plus Size” into Yahoo and see sexually provocative. images listed first. I think that’s somewhat hopeful… although it then begs further questions like, what is considered sexy? Why do we define sexuality in such a way? If we’ve been marginalized pretty much our whole lives, do us Fat girls really want to fit into a larger version of this culture’s sexy mold? I’d like to explore these questions further on down the line when I have more time to ponder it in my daily life.

For now, I'll leave you with this thought: All women are sexual. Whether they are skinny or thick or blond or brunette, all women have an aura about them that makes them beautiful. If you are a Fat girl, know that I'm giving you a silent thumbs up from here for every time you stand up tall and demand what's yours- your sexuality and the freedom to explore & express that sexuality every single moment that you are breathing. You know you deserve it. And so do I.

CAUTION: A Lifetime of Hangups Just Ahead To Your Left (Can Sir Mix-A-Lot Counteract Any Of It?)

2006-05-30T18:50:00.000-07:00

Two months after my heart was brutally destroyed and rendered useless (or so I thought), I met someone. And this someone is truly amazing. Handsome, smart, funny, smooth, and incredibly sexy with a body that makes me drool uncontrollably, this man is just about any heterosexual woman’s *ahem* (wet) dream come true.

So what’s the problem, you may ask?

For some strange reason, he likes me.

I’m skeptical- Extremely skeptical. I know I say this all the time, and I mean it all the time but this guy is really out of my league. Way, WAY out of my league. Like Babe Ruth’s bat cracking the ball way out of Sportsman’s Park and across the street out of my league. Know what I’m saying?

What does a gorgeous, single, young, handsome, track running, muscle-defined man with long, luscious limbs, and a smile that could melt a girl’s heart want with me? Out of all the single women on campus, why pick me?

My galaxy quest guys (you know- the censors within everyone’s heads) are having a field day with this one. They are debating this old school style with white wigs, coat tails and gavels (they can be so dramatic when they want to be) I keep mulling it over and over as each new hang-up comes bubbling up to the surface.

He’s already reassured me a bazillion times on our two dates this past weekend how much he likes me and how attractive he finds me. He tells me that back East, brothers like their girls thick. Wha-Wha-Wha-What?!?! Come again? You mean to tell me that there’s a whole gaggle of men out there that aren’t into the Barbie dolls? And I haven’t been paying attention? I’ve got some hard core bruises from kicking myself so hard.

Still…

He’s extremely affectionate towards me. The personal space invasion began the very minute our first date started when he asked me to hold his arm old school style and accompany him in the rain (everyone say awww…) And it ended with some serious cuddle time on the couch on our second date. Actually, it didn't end at all. He had to see me today for a school project we're working on together and let me tell you that if we're not careful, we might just find every quiet nook and cranny of Knight Library.

Yet…

I'm really nervous here. And I and the galaxy quest guys can't quite pinpoint why. I know that he throws me way off balance. I can't even flirt effectively. He calls me out on anything I attempt (Um, I usually have the raised eyebrow and sexy gaze trick locked down... but he makes me too giddy to even try it). I'm nervous around a body in such good shape that I just want my flabby limbs to shrink up and die. He sure is something else. And he talks about wanting to have a relationship. Perhaps that’s part of the problem too. I’m not really ready for a relationship right now. Intimate relations- sure, who wouldn’t pass that up? But an actual honest-to-God relationship? After all I’ve been through? I don’t know. I still feel a little shell-shocked. But I don’t want hurt him and I don’t want to ruin anything that could potentially happen. My usual thing is to jump right into a hot and heavy relationship with someone, see them exclusively while I let the rest of the world rot all around me outside of our protective coupledom bubble, and then dump the poor guy two or three years later when I realize that I’m not happy. I tend to blame the lack of happiness on the guy too. Bad, Bad, Punkin! I’m ready for a change here. I’m ready to break free of my hang-ups and my binding cocoon and just step outside of my comfort zone for good. And he’s offering me that chance. Is that the Universe offering me an unrealized gift again?

I don’t know for sure.

But tonight I'm just gonna kick it back with Sir Mix-A-Lot and thank my lucky stars for the guys who like skinny waists and big butts. Just where have they been all my life?!?

I'm tired of magazines
Sayin' flat butts are the thing
Take the average black man and ask him that
She gotta pack much back
So, fellas! (Yeah!) Fellas! (Yeah!)
Has your girlfriend got the butt? (Hell yeah!)
Tell 'em to shake it! (Shake it!) Shake it! (Shake it!)
Shake that healthy butt!
Baby got back!

So Cosmo says you're fat
Well I ain't down with that!
'Cause your waist is small and your curves are kickin'
And I'm thinkin' bout stickin'
To the beanpole dames in the magazines:
You ain't it, Miss Thing!

Baby got back!

Now Tell Me How You Really Feel

2006-05-27T11:15:00.000-07:00

I’ve been searching through a ton of blogs about weight issues and weight loss (pun not actually intended). I wade through story after story about the evil donut that must die or the elliptical machine that saved someone’s life or the occasional abbreviated post about the weirdness that comes from inhabiting a changing body. There are also Fat positive blogs and body image blogs that stress an end to discrimination, some embarrassing and heartfelt stories of life as a Fatty, the daily barrage of hate that we must deflect from society, followed up by positive little blurbs that say things like “love the skin you’re in!”, and offer helpful comeback quips for the moronic comments made about our bodies in public. They’re all well and good but I find that I’m still yearning for something else. It seems that I have yet to find a really juicy blog that deals with the truly nitty-gritty psychological aspects of losing weight.

What I mean when I say psychological aspects is that I want to see the posts about the girl who loses more than 25% of her body weight and suddenly finds the prospect of socializing with skinny people as absolutely terrifying because she still doesn’t think she measures up.

Perhaps she’s afraid to order the cookie at the deli counter because the little blond server might look at her funny (even though she’s lost all that weight and hasn’t eaten a damn thing all day and the chocolate chip oatmeal cookies are her absolute favorite. Plus she just made it through another week juggling school and work and this is her just reward regardless of what tee-shirt size she’s wearing at the moment).

She still thinks of herself as grossly overweight (because, duh, the government tells her it’s so and why would she ever disagree with something they’d say?!?) and she can’t help but stare into every mirror that she passes by and glance at the remaining troublesome spots. Yesterday she caught a quick look at a reflection in the glass insert of a doorway and it took her several seconds to grasp the fact that it was actually her and not someone else (where did all those curves come from?!?!). This event happens with greater frequency as the fat melts away.

Sometimes she’s scared of the person she’s becoming- more narcissistic and concerned with coordinating fashion because she can fit into so many more articles of clothing than ever before (is she just wasting her time worrying about such inconsequential matters when much of the world lives without safe drinking water, daily risks of infection, starvation, lack of basic human rights, and the ever present danger of death? Hmm, but seriously- does that handbag really match those shoes or what….?).

Where are the posts that have the girl wondering if she’s made a mistake by losing weight? What happens when she loses enough weight to start to creep up on the radar of the male species and suddenly these men want to dance with her and want to kiss her and want to publicly acknowledge her attractiveness? Can she trust them? How can she learn to let herself trust skinny people at all? Wouldn’t it just be easier to put the weight back on than have to face what she fears- a brand new type of vulnerability in social situations and more chances for intimate connections?

I want to know how others struggle with the hidden psychological aspects of losing weight. What happens to our psyches when we change so completely that we are no longer recognizable on the inside (as well as the outside) as the people we used to be and the bodies we used to inhabit? Who stands up to those things that terrify them the most and doesn’t go back the way they came on the scale? Where are the posts that mark these struggles and give real life advice on how to get through them to reach our goals?

This girl could sure use them right about now.

Goodbye Old Girl

2006-05-25T16:25:00.000-07:00

© 2006 Punkin Dunkin Productions

Mollie died last night at the ripe old age of 12 and she was one of the sweetest dogs I ever encountered. Mollie used to nudge and nudge and nudge people on their elbows to get them to pet her. I once spilled wine all over my lap when she butted her long nose against my arm in an attempt to get noticed.

I remember one of the last times I spent more than just a minute or two with her. It was a cold morning, when I took this picture, and she was on her blankie in the laundry room with her paws stretched out in front of the wall heater. She sat quietly as I snapped away in the Sunday morning light. She looked happy and content, even if a little confused with my lens right in her face.

"My, what a magnificent collie..."

The First Song

2006-05-24T14:10:00.000-07:00

I'm learning my first official song for the violin (if you don't count 'Mary Had a Little Lamb' or 'Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star'). Only a month into practice, my teacher handed me sheet music for Camptown Races. I've never read music before. This is a test of my abilities- a real test! Even though my wrist often finds a home underneath the neck of violin and I can't seem transition from one string to the next without some serious squeakage or a noticeable pause in playing, I am actually having fun. My goal is to learn this song well enough to play it for someone other than my teacher in another month. So far, the only time that my playing sounds great is when I practice open strings (no fingers) or when I play along with my teacher and her playing covers up my squeaking. She also put tape markers on the neck for me to hit the right notes but they keep falling off due to the heat and my sticky fingers. Now she wants me to learn to find the spots without help from the tape! I'm trying to accept that it's okay to be pushed beyond my boundaries a bit. Just so long as she doesn't suggest a formal recital for a good long year...

Light In The Dark

2006-05-24T12:33:00.000-07:00