Tuesday, December 16, 2008
So there's that,
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
- Healthy Choice meals kick ass. Sooooo much better than when they first came out. Now I can get protein, starch, veg, and dessert for 7 Points or less.
- Thank God Yoplait Light yogurt was on sale this week, because I've fallen in love with it all over again. New favorites: Pineapple Upside Down Cake, the Light Thick and Creamy line, and Lemon Meringue Pie. I put a little bit of Honey Bunches of Oats Just Bunches on top for a little crunch.
- Clementines = jewels of pleasure.
- Frozen veggies. Nuff said.
- No substitutions, just compromise. I could eat my Wednesday bagel and schmear, I just had to cut back the rest of the day.
- Sharing food. A cupcake is bad news. A half cupcake? Just a bit better.
- Support from friends. It's so much easier to work out with buddies.
- A new BEAU. He's much more interesting than food.
Thursday, December 4, 2008
Monday, December 1, 2008
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Though I may not post about it as often, I am still on a path toward wellness and weight loss. I guess it got harder to talk about here because I haven't seen much progress on the latter. I have, however, kept up my rigorous walking schedule on Saturdays, and I keep my dates at the gym. I feel firmer, but I'm still awkwardly large and the scale hasn't budged.
I am okay with that. I have to be.
Every night as I fall asleep, I take inventory of my abdomen and thigh muscles, running my hands over them to see if there's new smoothness, new tone, a bone that presses against the surface more prominently before. I feel for the soft cellulite to give way to lean meat.
I can also feel the rivers of stretch marks that have carved through my thick hills of flesh.
On my hips, they run deeper than my skin. On my stomach, they are raised ridges more akin to scar tissue. They are the strongest evidence that my body is breaking and I'm always healing.
These silvery marks aren't new to me; they appeared before I became a teenager. I thought they were a normal part of growing up – these were the growing pains giving the title to that sitcom.
My mom saw them once and told me what they really were. She said only women who've been pregnant get them, and the tone of her voice implied she had no hope for me. There was a tinge of shame revealing it was another disappointment, that I was not the kind of girl she wanted.
I know that's not true; she does and always has loved me. But with her constant dieting schemes, girdling, and promises of new toys and clothes after I lost weight, how could I feel like anything but an eyesore? With that pressure, I could only feel betrayed and alone. No amount of personal success outside weight loss – grades, contests, music, scholarships, work – could overshadow my constant failure to be thin.
I don't want to make this an entry about blame, but these feelings are there. This is part of the history coursing through the tiny blood vessels in my fat, keeping it alive: stretching until it builds new seams.
Last night my thigh was smooth, the layer of cellulite was thinner, pliable. I pressed the skin taut between vertical lines of stretch marks on my hips, a feeling reminiscent of a round paper lantern. There is always something new. No matter how much I change, these marks will say everything. Braille documentation left behind by the blind author of my past.
These scars are unique. This is red; this is white. This is damaged; this is healed. This is my body. This is my story.
So there's that,
Friday, November 7, 2008
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Monday, November 3, 2008
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Friday, October 24, 2008
Guess where the fuck I was that night? In downtown Raleigh, NC, just miles away from Chap Hill. I was taking a group of 36 people out to a stand-up comedy show.
Do you know how much I hate stand-up comedy?
Do you know how much I love Ben Folds?
The answer to both? A whole fucking lot.
Granted, I couldn't go to the show because I was working. And for that, I got paid sweet sweet overtime. But still. I probs would have snuck out after we got back to the conference center and hung around their venue. Just to breathe that air, I tells ya.
But thankfully, as the BWE blogger pointed out, the concert was streamed live to myspace.com, and now I'm watching it and getting all sobby.
Seriously? You don't even have to watch it, but at least put it on in the background and give it a listen. It's beautiful. I want to make babies with it...and so should you.
At least check out my favorite song beginning around the 13 minute mark.
And "Magic" at 18:45 mark. I'll stop now.
So there's that,
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Basically, I feel like Kylie Minogue in the Spinning Around video:
I've decided to take my vacation in Chicago this November, seeing as how I blew so much money in San Francisco. I made an appointment for a facial and body treatment at a local spa. While I'm excited, I also feel like I need to train for this treatment. Like I need to go in looking like I know how to live.
I'm going to spend the week alternately relaxing and excercising, making some good food, basically having a spa week. I'mma clean out my apartment top to bottom, slough away the old and reorganize the rest. I'm ready for a life makeover.
So there's that,
Sunday, October 19, 2008
The last few days have been pretty effing awesome. I think I'll go into it more when I've had a few hours to decompress and reflect. Until then, here are some highlights and lowlights:
- This city is so hilly that my quads got beefed up. I've been waking up sore in all the right places.
- The public transit is pretty reliable.
- This crazy homeless guy came up to me and Christie yesterday, saying "watch out for the rapist! That guy's a rapist - he just tried to rape me!" So I said, "Then I don't have to worry because if he wants to rape you, I'm probably not his type anyway. He's your team's problem."
- C and I went to see a stand-up show Friday night after missing out on theater tickets. I gotta look him up, but the opener was HOT. When he came onstage, I asked C if he was in Dead Poet's Society. That's how hot he was.
- Seriously. We wanted to have his babies. We talked all night about getting his seed in our bellies.
- There was a homeless guy on the Wharf who held tree branches in front of himself, then shoved them out at you if you got too close. Pitko got too close. He was an asshole.
- The Haight smells like Nag Champa, and that's not a good thing.
- The homeless. Jeez. There was one guy who had a dog that had a cat on its back, and the cat had a mouse on its back. The animals walked and sat like that all the time! It was messed up. Food chain in harmony.
- Chinatown: good for looking, not for eating. We were had. Went to Dick Lee Pastry for a dim sum buffet...bowed out after 5 bites. Worst. Meal. Ever.
- I saw sea lions! Or or or! *claps*
- C and I had the best meal of all time last night. It made me reflect on my life. Seriously - all other food has to go through an application process before entering my mouth.
I'll go into further detail once the pics come down the wire. You really have to see it to believe it. I wish you were here!
So there's that,
Laura R. Meyer
Saturday, October 11, 2008
And I'm totally in love with the a/v guy.
He's got the goods: average height, not skinny, not fat, short short hair on a balding pate - basically all the good looks of an out-of-work improv actor. Oh I think I love him. But then again, I'm always in love.
He was reading The Onion, and we talked about how awesome it is. Squee! He told me he thinks the course is interesting. Sigh! As far as I'm concerned, he's all but put his dick in me.
But I'll worship him from afar. I don't want to come on too strong...who knows? He prob has a girlfriend, then I say, "Hey, wanna make out in my hotel room?" And he'll say, "I've got a girlfriend," or "I'm totally gay." And then I'll run into him later in the week, and I'll blush and scurry away, giggling like a schoolgirl.
This is all hypothetical, mind you. I'm a professional, and I won't mess around while on a business trip. I'll save that for Thursday 10/16 when I'm officially on vacation in San Fran. Until then, I'll do as I always do: Dream.
Lots of panhandlers and buskers in San Fran. Just an observation, but many of them are white hippies with dreadlocks, patched pants and many scarves.
If you know anything about me, you know that if there's one thing I will not abide it is white people with dreadlocks. On black people it's natural, it's soulful; but on white people? They just look dirty, look like they're trying too hard. Which is funny because they don't have to "try too hard" to get dreadlocks, they just have to stop washing their hair. White dreadlocks are the trademark of a people against trademarks. And because white people with dreadlocks run in the same social circles, I'll venture to say that they are also conformists. Conformist nonconformists. Not unlike the goths, the hipsters, and the Mormons.
If you know me, you will also know my general discourse on the homeless: Fuck 'em. Except for the mentally/physically disabled ones because that sucks. But otherwise, fuck 'em. If you're not born rich, you still have the opportunities presented to you in public school. You compete, you pour your sad little heart into your education, your work, and you keep climbing. I know it's broadly idealistic, but if you live your whole life thinking "why me?" instead of "why not?" you're gonna be fucked. This is probably one of the only topics I'm strictly conservative about, but I can't think any other way. It took only a few minutes of cleaning up people's shit and puke for me to want more. Learn to trade up, motherfuckers!
*steps down from soapbox*
So after all this, WHY did I give two of my hard-earned Fiber One bars to the homeless dreadlocked white guy outside of Walgreens a few minutes ago?
He asked for change, and I really didn't have any, so I did the grimace/I'm-sorry/nod to him and walked away. Then I freaked out because I couldn't find the twenty I slipped into my pocket earlier. Then I walked back into Walgreens while feeling my other pocket, finding the twenty. Then I walked past him again, knowing I was going to get some Chinese food next door. I didn't want to look like a complete a-hole, so I walked back to him and said,
"Hey guy - you want one of these bars?"
I tore open the freshly-purchased box, and offered him two...apologetically explaining that I had 10.
Why the eff does that matter? I have 10-bars because I will eat ten bars this week, because I have a job and can afford 10 bars - why should I apologize for having a lot of food bars? Why should I apologize for eating? Why should I feel bad for this guy?
I did it because I didn't want to look like a fat asshole. Hell, I did just buy a big box of bars and I was gonna get some greasy Chinese right in front of him. I shouldn't have given him anything and instead walked out of the restaurant with lo mein noods hanging off my chin like a beard, saying "Nuts to you, guy!"
But I didn't. Because given enough exposure to food and homeless people in a 5 minute window of time, I will cave in. I will "do the right thing."
So there's that,
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
Which is strange, because I haven't had food sex in some time. I haven't really been overeating or having anything out of the ordinary. I just feel like someone's washing dishes in my stomach and intestines - they're roiling so with gas bubbles. In the past few hours, I've taken to standing, arching my back and rubbing my stomach like I'm expecting. But it doesn't make me feel better. My farts still sound like I'm opening a fresh can of tennis balls.
I do leave for San Francisco in a few days, but I'm not really nervous. At least, I'm not nervous enough to have it manifested gastrointestinally. I always seem to go through funky stomach things right before, and the first few days of, traveling. Whatever's happening hurts, though, and if I didn't have 45 minutes of work left, I'd totes leave, which I never do. It's that bad.
Gah! A big bubble just popped in my stomach. Argggh...
Anyway, onward and upward. This weekend I got a cut and color job that's so hip it makes me feel like I'm trying too hard. Like I'm middle-aged trying to be 26 instead of 26 trying to be 26. Here's the instant message bit that Justin and I had earlier on the subject:
Justin: so did you get your hair did? how'd it turn out? less mousey?
Me: it's interesting...there are 3 different colors in it - dark brown, a lighter dark brown, and a deep red
it's gonna take some getting used to
i feel like when i do something new to my hair or get flashy clothes, i'm not unlike a middle aged woman trying to stay relevant.
will I ever feel like I'm my age?
no, i never do
i feel too old to be doing the things i'm doing, and yet to young to be wearing any loafer style shoe with fringy bows on the fronts
or wear anything with a pleat
me: no one should wear any of the above, ever
me: but i feel like if i were old, this cut/color would say, "Yeah I'm 50 and single and I shop at Chico's, what of it?"
Justin: but, because you aren't 50, it's okay and because you've seen it ill-worn on older women, that's what the issue is?
you notice on someone whom it doesn't belong on
i know a woman who's fighting it. wears dark spiky hair, dark makeup
looks like a stout witch,
and picked on me for talking about bringing healthy food to Thanksgiving, gave me all that "life's-too-short" hullaballoo.
Justin: aww...yeah, and it's like those that fight it look worse than those who just let it happen
me: she's one of those people I see and think, "you're nice and all, but I never want to turn into you."
i think the main reason i colored my hair was because i saw a mid-aged woman on the bus who was saggy-plump, had long mousy hair that was frazzled and grey
me: i thought "no no no no no, this won't be me in 20 years"
how sad is it that I'm 26 and am already worried about looking like a 45 year old?
or feel like i'm well on the path...
Justin: yeah, just be spritely now
me: spritely? please...
Justin: wear ridiculous clothing and be obnoxious in your choices
that's how i feel
me: i want to be sophisticated, not obnoxyin other words, i want to drink the red wine of sophistication without getting the purple teeth
Does this make sense? I feel too old for my age and fear of looking too old for my age. I think it's because, in spite of all the fun, imaginative pallin' around I did as a kid (and still do), I have always been taught to think like a Cathy cartoon. Watch my calories, fear the swimsuit, more shoulder pads! Panty girdles! Ever since I was eight. Seriously. I can honestly say I've never been a young girl, a wild teenager, or a partying college girl. Even when I was in a sorority I didn't feel like a sorority girl. I felt, again, like I was trying too hard to live the life of a "normal" young woman I could never be.
Is it weird that I feel robbed because I was semi-responsible during my irresponsible years? That because I couldn't get by on my looks I had to have loads of personality? That I didn't date 4 guys at a time, to use one for the money, one for the car, one for the sex, and one for the affection? Yeah, I walked away disease-free with all this personality, but people still only judge books by the covers; I'm still passed over all the time. Do I really want those kind of people in my life? Probably not. But It'd be nice to have the chance...if only to shoot 'em down.
So there's that,
Friday, October 3, 2008
On last night's episode, Dee had to ride the bus after Mac and Charlie blew up her car in order to fake their deaths. That bus scene? Said everything about city buses that I would ever want to say. First off, the bus was packed so that people were forced to stand in the aisles. Second, there was no room for personal space, so Dee had to ask a hulking man if he could possibly avoid breathing directly into her mouth. She got so frustrated that she wedged through the mass of people to get to the bus driver, crawling under a man who refused to move his arms or acknowledge her. She complained to the driver, who told her to get behind the line. Then Dee finally crawled back to her original spot in front of the big breathing guy who kept staring at her.
Then he threw up.
My reasons for recounting this scene are threefold:
- I love this show.
- This is what my commutes are like...only the bus is generally crowded with businesspeople, but crowded and impersonal nonetheless!
- While the guy vomiting totally grossed me out, I felt like him this morning.
Strong perfume/cologne. It's unbearable! I don't know what it is anymore, but I can't handle the stuff. I get dizzy, nauseous...I feel like my body rejects strong perfume. But I also think, hey. How long have you been wearing fragrance in your life? Have you learned in the past 15-20 years that you have been overdoing it? Seriously, you're not 13 anymore.
And I think the worst part was that the smell was coming from 2 different people - one in front of me and one to the side of me. And I couldn't go anywhere, couldn't crack a window. I was trapped in perfume.
Last night at the gym, I was having a grand ole time on the cross-trainer until an obscenely-perfumed woman got on the machine next to me. I had about 13 minutes left on my workout, and I didn't know if I could make it. I couldn't breathe! As soon as the countdown was over, I hurled myself off the machine to do some deep breathing elsewhere.
I think if I had to choose, I could handle 20 minutes of straight body odor before I could handle 20 minutes of perfume.
I know I'm not alone out there. There are people like me who can barely make it past the perfume counters at department stores without burning my lungs. People who minimize their time in the detergent aisle.
I think my sense of smell has changed. As a teenager this didn't affect me. But now? It just tears me up. Does this make me a bad person?
FYI: I was dancing in the office today, when I remembered David Brent's desperate dance routine from The Office. Mine is not unlike this:
So there's that,
Thursday, October 2, 2008
- Rage: I shouldn't have to shop online for a basic pair of black shoes! These stores need to realize that people with big feet need stylish shoes, too! We are a force to be reckoned with! I will not settle for plastic Payless shoes that start to stink after two days! I deserve leather! DRY LAND IS OUR RIGHT!
- Despair: I didn't ask to be this way...when will life hand me lemonade instead of all these lemons? Will I ever find a pair of shoes in this town?
- Disbelief: I can't believe the only shoes they got in a size 12 are Peggy Hill loafers and ghetto-fabulous bejeweled atrocities. There is a time and place to spend $100 on shoes, and I am not going to spend it on flashy streetwear that will just end up embarrassing me.
- Pain: Mah feet hurt...when will this evening end?!
- Bittersweet Joy: These shoes fit...but they're hot pink satin...but they FIT! ...But they're not practical...but they fit...I can find a way.
God I'm so bitter. What was I saying about that earlier?
No. You can't.
Friday, September 26, 2008
1 whole wheat pita pocket
1 oz brie cheese (or any soft cheese, like goat or even cream cheese)
1/2 roasted red pepper (jars can be found in the pickle/condiment aisle of most stores)
1-2 oz cooked chicken breast, chopped into strips
2 tsp horseradish sauce (or another sandwich spread, like mayo or dijon mustard)
salt, pepper, garlic powder to taste
Place the pita flat on a cutting board and gently slice it in half so that you have 2 circles, and lay them open.
Remove the rind from the brie cheese, if applicable. Spread the cheese on one side of the open bread.
Place the red pepper on a paper towel and press off as much moisture as you can. Slice the pepper into strips and arrange over the cheese.
Arrange the chicken slices over the cheese and peppers. Season with salt, pepper and garlic powder.
Spread the other half of the bread with horseradish sauce, mustard or what have you. Place this side over the chicken.
In a toaster oven or in a skillet, toast the sandwich until it is warmed through and the bread is a little crispy. Slice into quarters and enjoy!!!
I've been packing this little puppy for lunch, alongside some salad. I also keep a box of creamy tomato soup (it exists!) in the fridge at work so I can just pour out a cup and heat it in the microwave. This sandwich? Is spectacular with tomato soup. Try it!
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
So I went on youtube today to find that clip from the movie, and I came across this lil' gem:
So there's that,
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
I think I get it from my dad, who, unable to let food go to waste, held an impromptu frying session for the packs of discolored bacon left in the fridge, unwrapped, for weeks. I distinctly remember distrustingly staring at a pile of fried bacon, while Dad happily munched away saying, "It won't kill ya. All the germs were killed by the heat." Then after further meditation, "People say they're starving...they can eat like kings if they want to! Just gotta get it out of their heads!"
And so it was I ate the once green-tinged bacon and learned frugality alongside morality.
So it's pretty astounding to me when the thought of certain foods can lead me to physical repulsion. Before this afternoon, the only food on my gag list was beets. Although, I have had them prepared well in recent months; it's just hard for me to get the canned dirt taste out of my mind from meals of yore. And liver is pretty gross. And curry...yeah, ANYTHING with curry is out of bounds for me. And pickled ginger. And canned meats. And I'm pretty leery of gelatins - the goo on canned ham, aspic made to gloss up baked goods and fish, some of that funky green Japanese seaweed. Relish. Mealy Red "Delicious" apples. I think that's it.
What happened today? One of my coworkers very kindly set out some homegrown watermelon for the whole office to enjoy. Now, I love me some watermelon, but this stuff came with a past.
She emailed the staff, telling us to enjoy the watermelon grown in her "backyard, home sweet home Des Plaines."
I know what you're thinking. What's wrong with that?
Nothing. I was really happy to have watermelon. I like this coworker. I have nothing against her backyard. But Des Plaines is another story.
Do you know what happened in Des Plaines? Uh, John Wayne Gacy lived there, murdered a bunch of boys and buried them in his crawlspace. Back in the 70s. Guy dressed like a clown, abducted teen boys...shiver. I watched the really awful movie about him, aptly titled Gacy, and I couldn't even watch it all the way through because I got sick to my stomach.
Me. Sick to my stomach. And every time I see Des Plaines, I think of Gacy, and how even after they bulldozed his home they still can't get buyers for the property.
So I hope you can imagine my stream of consciousness as I read the email. It went like this:
Seeping into the soil...
Food grown in that soil...
= Gacy's victims!
Yeah. I know it's irrational to think that murder victims from the 70s can fertilize food grown in the same town nearly 40 years later, but it's not that much of a stretch. And yes, people are buried in graveyards all the time, so the likelihood of them being part of my food is pretty high, too...but it's different. It's the thought of that horrible, criminal, putridity that makes me gag. My stomach is turning as I write this, that's how freaked out I am by Gacy.
So, I can't eat that watermelon. I even hovered over it for a minute, contemplating the choice. I just cannot eat it.
So there you have it: more evidence that I am a fuh-reak.
So there's that,
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
There's a meat purveyor in Chicago with the silliest jingle I've ever heard. Makes me belly laugh every time I hear the last three words of it - "moooOOOOOO and OOYEEENK!"
I've been meaning for weeks to search for it on YouTube, but I kept telling myself that no one could possibly have found this as interesting as I have. I was wrong.
The Whole Jingle, Str8 Up:
Talent Show Dance Routine:
Do the Wave:
Um, Check the Barrels of Chicken Wings at 0:26:
*record scratch* REEEE-MIX!!
I'm not so much about the guy in the last vid, practically jerking it over his genius, but this bitch needed a remix - KNOWUTI'MSAYIN'? Cow and Pig telling people to eat them? YEAH BOY!
So there's that,
Thursday, August 28, 2008
- PS, we can probably get crabs there, if you catch my drift.
- I don't need no steenking television! We can make shadow puppets!
- I'mma need to pack a bunch of uppers! Let's just do meth all weekend to get the most out of it.
- Do you realize how much fucking fun we're going to have? Do you?
- I can't wait until I'm tipsy and try to go to bed at night, but realize I have to pee like 20 times and have to keep going out into the hallway bathroom to tinkle.
- 'cept I ain't going back Chicagy way till Sunday!
- I can't wait to share a bathroom with strangers. Do you think we'll make lifelong friends on this journey? I'll have to leave a few pubes in the tub for them to remember me by.
- Girl, you know we're gettin' seafood, right? I'm sick of this midwest bubba gumpery.
- I wanna see flayed ducks and pigs hanging from windows. I wanna see Jet Li in a street fight.
- We should have a picnic on that hill in front of Danny Tanner's house, like they do in the opening credits to Full House. Better yet, we should film our own shot for shot reenactment of that opening sequence. Right? Right.
- We should find a shady store that has a secret back room full of knock-off designer handbags.
- I can smell the pleather Gucci bags and taste the dumplings as we speak!
- I wanna buy a mogwai from an oriental.
- You what else I can't wait for? To take a gigantic dump in the shared bathroom.
- I can't wait to get drunk and walk the streets with you just like old times. REALLY MARGE?!
- every time i get an email about this trip, i clap my hands together like a baby seal! OR OR OR!
- Everytime I get an email about this trip I fart in a jar and close the lid and then open it and smell it later.
Friday, August 22, 2008
View Larger Map
I figure it's better for me to start at the top of the line so that if I start to crap out or get injured a few miles into the trek, I won't have to travel far in the city for a bus or a train.
The estimated distance? Between 12-13 miles. The map estimates 12.6, but I know I'll be heading a little farther east on the walking paths. I'm taking my pedometer along for a more accurate measurement.
Please pray that I have no problem finding toilets along the way.
So there's that,
Thursday, August 21, 2008
I finally left the apartment at 12:00 pm, took the Red Line north to the Purple Line, and took the PL all the way to the end of the line - Linden. I'll tell ya, the Linden stop is nothing to write home about, so I will. I know the area pretty well now, because I had to scour it for a public bathroom once I got off the train. I went to this little coffee shop, and knowing they probably wouldn't let me pee with out purchase, I got one of their "all fruit smoothies." When I asked what it was made of, the guy was like, "It's all fresh fruit." Suuuuuure it is. I didn't want to argue so I laid my money down, went to the bathroom and picked up my smoothie. Another customer came in and asked what was inside it, and he said, "Well, it's ice and this frozen fruit puree we get shipped in....but it's made from real fruit." I KNEW IT! I was eating a sugar-happy treat. Oh well. I guess I needed the carbs.