Wednesday, June 25, 2008

Under the...See?

This is what I do to perk up during a midmorning slump: I use interoffice instant messaging to gain intellectual stimulation.

Laura R. Meyer/... did you hear my frenchman's laugh?

Amy Gerace/Chi... oui oui oui hon hon hon

Laura R. Meyer/... ROAR!

Amy Gerace/Chi... lobster style

Laura R. Meyer/... ???

Amy Gerace/Chi... Sebastian... little mermaid... HELLO!!!

Amy Gerace/Chi... he was supposed to french... he laughed like that... WHAT DO YOU KNOW ABOUT FRANCE?

Laura R. Meyer/... hey

Laura R. Meyer/... sebastian? was a CRAB!

Laura R. Meyer/... what do YOU know about CRUSTACEANS??

Amy Gerace/Chi... crap!

Laura R. Meyer/... huh HON

Laura R. Meyer/... !

Amy Gerace/Chi... I thought he was a lobster... a losbter is also crustacean I thought

Laura R. Meyer/... and that association between lobsters and the little mermaid? was separated by too many degrees for me to get right away.

Laura R. Meyer/... so THERE.

Laura R. Meyer/... on sebastian: I'm googling

Amy Gerace/Chi... me too

Laura R. Meyer/... i hope you are too

Amy Gerace/Chi... we are so nerdy

Laura R. Meyer/... Horatio Thelonious Ignacious Crustaceous Sebastian (usually called Sebastian or Sebastian the crab), voiced by Samuel E. Wright, is a fictional character in Disney's The Little Mermaid (1989).

Laura R. Meyer/... THX, wikipedia

Amy Gerace/Chi... I just found a bunch of websites that ask the question " is Sebastian a lobster or a crab?"

Laura R. Meyer/... loser

Amy Gerace/Chi... I know

Laura R. Meyer/... apparently people have been in a similar pickle before

Laura R. Meyer/... having IM battles, that is, over sebastian

Amy Gerace/Chi... I bet this is a trivial pursuit question in the Disney version

Laura R. Meyer/... hahaha

Laura R. Meyer/... I hope so.

Laura R. Meyer/... that, or we're even more lame than we claimed to be a few comments ago

Amy Gerace/Chi... you were right

Amy Gerace/Chi... he's a crab

Amy Gerace/Chi... they shouldn't have made him bright red

Laura R. Meyer/... and that is why I call you L'Amy

Amy Gerace/Chi... and that's why I don' speak to you anymore

Laura R. Meyer/... no crustacean is bright red "under the sea"

Laura R. Meyer/... aren't they all grey and blue and brown and dirty looking?

Laura R. Meyer/... they just get red when they're boiled

Laura R. Meyer/... which leads me to wonder how hot Ariel's little patch of ocean was

Laura R. Meyer/... and that above? is an awful statement

Amy Gerace/Chi... yeah... but despite the title lyric of his famed solo number he is mostly out of water in the movie

Laura R. Meyer/... but because he's red, does that mean he's dead on land?

Amy Gerace/Chi... that is awful... and this conversation has reached unprecedented levels of lame

Laura R. Meyer/... is he a ZOMBIESTACEAN?

Amy Gerace/Chi... no it means he is baked

Laura R. Meyer/... no, now it has

Amy Gerace/Chi... umm

Amy Gerace/Chi... scratch that

Laura R. Meyer/... yeah

Laura R. Meyer/... are we done?

Laura R. Meyer/... because I want to send this to my blog

So there's that,


Monday, June 23, 2008

All About the Pu**y

My dad is totally enamored with his new kitten, Percy. She has a name! And she lives inside the house!

I was talking to Dad last night, and he told me he was on the front porch with the cat. That means he actually picked up the cat and brought her outside to hang out with him. It's like his own My Buddy doll.

And I'll say it again - how cute is that???

If Dad actually enjoyed logging on to his slow-ass, dial-up internet, I have a feeling he would find so much joy in, and not the ironic joy drives me to it everyday. I don't care much for God's creatures; he, however is on the path to becoming a card-carrying Cat Person.

Someone told him this weekend that a tomcat had attacked her kittens. He got so hot and bothered by this, he told me, "If a tomcat ever thinks about trying to hurt this kitten, he's gonna be sorry." As if a tomcat is a drunk 20-something that should know better than to hurt a woman.

In my opinion, the adorability factor of this man-cat relationship is sky high. Don't let that influence you.

more cat pictures

So there's that,


Sunday, June 22, 2008

Urgent Letter to Myself

First off,

Five Rewards:

1.       Mani/Pedi

2.       Great Haircut by a (Quasi-)Outlandishly Paid Professional

3.       Wicked Tickets

4.       Lollapalooza Tickets

5.       New Desk!

There is a lot to lose, but don't think about it so much.  Like skinny women do, focus on ten pounds.  After each 10 lost, you will be eligible for the above prizes.  Not to mention, you'll be able to fit into all those professional clothes you bought last summer, you sexy thang, you!

Like Tim wrote to Dawn in the conclusion of The Office (BBC) – Never give up.

You know you, you're always giving up.  You used to be better than that.  When did you start giving up so easily?  When did you start acting like a victim?  Get on, girl!

In the next month, work on these 3 goals:

1.       Make your own dinner and pack your lunch.  You have the time.  If you don't have the energy, you'll be stuck with eating a Nutrisystem meal.  Two words:  LAST RESORT.

2.       Squeeze in more activity:

a.       Get up 5 minutes earlier each week, and walk a ways before grabbing the bus.

b.      Go work out over lunch.  It's free.  You don't need to go buy your lunch outside because you brought yours, 'member?

c.       You planned on going to Crunch 5 days/week.  Do that, if only to log minor time on the elliptical, take a shower, and/or silently slobber over that tall Middle-Eastern guy.

3.       You are beautiful.  Don't make any cracks to the contrary.

When you're spiraling into negative territory, think everyone's against you, or overpowered by images that tend to steer you away from your goal, just think "neti neti neti."  Not this, not this, not this.

Be decent to yourself.  Live again.  Bud to blossom.

So there's that,


Thursday, June 19, 2008


So, Amy and I totally called these kids douchebags outside of Subway.

A bunch of sweaty little rat kids were hanging out with their bikes on the cramped stairwell leading from the street down into the Subway shop on Ontario. As Amy and I were getting our fountain drinks, she says to me, she says, "I'm about to yell at these kids."


"Because they are throwing food back and forth while other customers are coming in."

"Are they throwing food at people?"

"No, people are trying to come through and these kids are blocking the stairwell and throwing food over the entryway."

As one of the topless boys come in to refill his water, I say loud enough for him to hear, "That sounds pretty douchebaggy."

A moment.

Kid: "I'm not a douchebag!"

Me, in a hate-to-break-it-to-ya tone: "Yeah you are."

Kid, to friends: "That lady called me a douchebag!"

Amy: "That's because you are acting like one. The way your friends are laughing at you, they think you are, too. Douchebag."

I wanna high-five Amy at this point, because while other friends of mine would try to wuss out and steer me out of the situation, this tiny woman (who is a former teacher, bee tee dubs) has my em-effin' back.

We pass without further incident, and revel in the heartpounding joy of putting teenagers in their acting like teenagers.

So there's that,


Thursday I Don't Know Whys

I don't know why:

  • I wore these freaking gold ballet flats today, especially after I wore them yesterday and complained all day about looking like I belonged in a bingo hall or was in bad need of a slot machine and a coin bucket. I'm regretting this choice AGAIN!

  • I went out and bought more clothes last night, just because I felt like a bingo queen in yesterday's outfit.

  • I've been going to the gym for 1 day in each of the past 2 weeks.

  • I spent practically all weekend ordering Thai food from Penny's, lying in bed and watching the 4th season of LOST on my laptop.

  • People have to go to the toilet stall next to me to do their business, WHEN I'M ON THE END AND THERE ARE TWO OTHER EMPTY STALLS THAT COULD BE BETWEEN US!!!1!

  • I can't get out of bed when I'm supposed to get out of bed. All week: 7:00 am turns into 7:30, 7:45, and 7:50. It takes 20 minutes to get to work, and I should be there by 8:00. Laura: You have to get up at 7:00. That's a great time. It's not 6:00 am or 5:00 am. GET THE EFF OUT OF BED!!!

  • I'm not cleaning out my coffee mug at the end of the day, instead leaving it till the next morning.

  • I'm scraping by at the bare minimum of effort.

  • The 145 bus driver has a death wish.

  • McDonald's has iced coffee.

  • I keep buying books online. Seriously? I have a $60/month habit.

  • I can't replace food with books.

  • I can't replace food with clothes.

  • I want omelettes all the time. And soup.

  • I've allowed a coffee addiction to slowly engulf me.

  • I like meat substitutes.

  • Shit happens.

  • My bathroom isn't sparkling clean, all the time.

  • I still haven't bought a decent vaccuum. COME ON!

  • I'm not social anymore.

  • I make so MANY excuses.

  • Elizabeth Smart didn't reveal all about her weird kidnapping in her interview with People magazine.

  • I want to know so bad what happened when that crazy-eyes guy took her as a second wife and held her in a homeless camp with his other wife.

  • I'm a tourist to trauma.

  • A lot of people are tourists to trauma.

  • I want to go to Subway today, even though I've put them on notice many, many times in the past.
  • Every time I see or hear talk of foods like Fruit Roll-Ups, coconut cake, McGriddles, and other things I shouldn't eat, I immediately obsess over them and go out and eat many multiples of them to "get my fill."

  • I can't get enough of Stephen Colbert.


So there's that,


This? Made me "void my bladder."

Laura R. Meyer/... you need to get the My Morning Jacket album Evil Urges

Laura R. Meyer/... i bought it this weekend, and i'm in love

Elisabeth Davis/... my morning jacket was on snl

Laura R. Meyer/... it's a southern rocky band out of louisville and they're hitting it big in the mainstream

Laura R. Meyer/... i know

Laura R. Meyer/... that's where i fell in love with them

Elisabeth Davis/... they remind me of friends from college

Laura R. Meyer/... yeah

Elisabeth Davis/... i would love to have a beer with them

Laura R. Meyer/... hahah

Laura R. Meyer/... you can listen to it on my itunes library

Elisabeth Davis/... i love it when artists dont sell out their appearences

Laura R. Meyer/... for real

Elisabeth Davis/... you know?

Elisabeth Davis/... like, the lead singer

Laura R. Meyer/... oh i know

Elisabeth Davis/... he's kind of chubby, and looks like he hasn't bathed in a while

Elisabeth Davis/... but hes awesome

Laura R. Meyer/... (for example: fall out boy, letting pete wentz appear to be the face of the band when it's that chubby guy who's got the voice and the talent)

Elisabeth Davis/... exactly.

Elisabeth Davis/... pete wentz isnt even that hot

Laura R. Meyer/... i know

Laura R. Meyer/... he looks like he does more grooming than i do

Elisabeth Davis/... than both of us combined.

Laura R. Meyer/... hahaha

Elisabeth Davis/... it takes time to get your hair to do that

Laura R. Meyer/... i don't even wear's too fussy

Laura R. Meyer/... he needs a carmindy makeover

Elisabeth Davis/... i dont think you have ever seen me without it

Laura R. Meyer/... hahah

Laura R. Meyer/... i couldn't tell

Elisabeth Davis/... thats the point, baby!

Laura R. Meyer/... ah yes, THANK you

Elisabeth Davis/... any time.

Laura R. Meyer/... some people? can't do it

Elisabeth Davis/... ?

Laura R. Meyer/... eyeliner...without looking like a tranny

Elisabeth Davis/... right.

Laura R. Meyer/... i know

Elisabeth Davis/... i need more coffee

Elisabeth Davis/... and to void my bladder

So there's that,


Monday, June 16, 2008

Awful: A Replacement

I was reading some comments about Tim Russert's death - which was very sudden and truly sad - many of them were speculating on who should be the next host for Meet the Press. 
My vote?
And this is awful...just tell ya now...
Rachael Ray.
Why not?  I think her talk show is based out of the NBC studios.  And she's already doing so much - between 30 Minute Meals, the cookbooks, the talk show (though I still don't understand why or how she has one), the Dunkin' Donuts commercials, the other Food Network shows, the COOKWARE!  Girlfriend needs to branch out into politics.
So there's that,

Items of Note

A few things:

On the way to work this morning, I saw an old, white-haired man in a sleek black Mercedes. His vanity plate? Said JLO. J-Lo. What?

Now, either this is a reference to Jennifer "Jenny from the Block" Lopez, or perhaps these are the guy's initials. Either way, shame on you, Mr. James Lewis Olsen for either using your vanity plate as a tribute to J-Lo or not realizing that your initials mean something quite different to the rest of the world.

You're rich. That doesn't mean you're smart.


I watched all of Lost Season 4 in a marathon internet streaming event yesterday. I was delighted to learn I could stream all the episodes for free from Yay! I didn't have to wait until they came out on DVD!

The bad thing is, now I'm driving myself crazy knowing that I will have to wait until January for the new episodes. This season was so insane! Polar bears in the desert? Good people working for the bad guys? Jack going all crazybeard? I don't like it one bit, writers of Lost. I can only hope that you do us all justice in the end.


It's not big news, but I got a blemish on my chin Friday. Okay, it was a zit. On my perfect skin. When this happens, I go crazy: feeling the beast all day to see if it still hurts, to see if it's grown to teen drama proportions. I could hardly wait for the time I could come home and do some damage to it, if you know what I mean.

And that's exactly what I did. What started out as a tiny red bump on my chin grew into a 1/3 inch diameter superficial wound. Seriously? The whole thing got bright purple from all the useless pinching and squeezing. Now, two days later, it looks like a burn scar. Like someone put a cigarette out on my face. Ugh. I've been slathering it with Mederma for the last few days. Gar.



My dad rescued a kitten yesterday. How cute is that? He goes to this "place" on the Patoka River every Sunday morning to watch nature, balance his checkbook and record his work hours. He even loads up the trash and litter that people dump there and takes it off to the landfill on his own dime, because he can't stand to see his spot destroyed. Yesterday he heard a kitten screaming, and he saw it hop from the bushes toward him. "It was just an awful sound. I think someone dumped him off, and he was scared." He decided to leave for a few hours, and come back; if the kitten was still there, he'd take him home.

He and mom went out there later, and sure enough the kitten was there. Mom - adamantly anti-house-pet for all my life - went out and bought a litterbox, food and toys. When I talked to Dad last night, the cat was crawling all over him and according to Dad, wouldn't leave him alone. "I'd like to find a home for it, but I'm afraid someone will abuse it. Poor thing. But I don't want you stinking up my house, either! Heh heh heh."

How sweet is this guy? It all makes me think of Koko and his kitten:

So there's that,


Wednesday, June 11, 2008

You Dreamed for Your Ticket Out

I'm sorry I haven't written in the past week. I guess when you write something like that, it's kind of hard to get back into the swing of regular snarky posts.

But I definitely want to thank everyone for their kind comments. Even though I cried every time I started reading, they really lifted me up and kind of helped me clear through the clouds. Does that sound like a greeting card?

I've spent the last week taking a personal and moral inventory. I understand that my relationship with Mom is very volatile, and I've decided to distance myself from her for awhile. Even when she left me FIVE voicemails on Sunday, ostensibly to ask what I put in the pasta I made when I was visiting. (She called Manda a few days before with the same question; apparently that's her "in.") Then it escalated to threats that she would call the cops if I didn't call her back in 24 hours. I left her a voicemail late in the evening, blankly telling her the recipe secrets and that I was fine. I haven't heard from her since.

I understand that my relationship with food is very volatile. I am tired of binging and laxatives and secret eating. What I didn't mention in my last post was that after that conversation with Mom and Dad, I went to the corner store and bought a frozen Pepperidge Farms Coconut Cake (which could be a bit symbolic - it's the cake Mom always gets for birthday dinners). I devoured the entire thing in 20 minutes. It was still frozen.

To that end, I am beginning to concentrate on the reasons I overeat, with the aim to stop before I start. I've allowed myself no secret dinners alone in a restaurant. No ordering out. This weekend was probably the first weekend in AGES that I didn't go out to eat for at least one meal. I've been focusing on a food plan, so I'm not susceptible to overeating. It's a lot of work to avoid a binge, but I can honestly say that it feels a lot better than the guilt of continuing my habits.

And I'm not doing this for Mom. I'm doing this because I'm out of control, and I need to bring myself back to center. I need rigidity. I need some conviction. I need to stop blaming my problems on the past, and start fixing them for the future. If it ends in weight loss, so be it. But that's not the goal right now. The goal is some effing sanity.

So there's that,


Wednesday, June 4, 2008


This happened last night. I've been hesitant to blog about it because I'm still trying to sort out my feelings. But I figure fuck it; I started this thing so I could relieve some stress and just put my voice out there, since I don't really have much opportunity any more to say what I fell. Hopefully as I write this out, I can start to deal with it.

I forgot to leave a message at my parents' house on Monday night letting them know that the flight went okay and that I made it home safely. I got home long past bedtime, and I just wanted to unpack, air out my clothes, take a Benadryl to counteract all that cigarette smoke I'd been exposed to, and hit the sack.

So I wasn't surprised to get a call from Mom last night to confirm my safe arrival, while gently chiding me for not calling when I came home. But the next bit was unexpected.

"So have you given up every diet you've ever started?"

What? "No, I'm just trying to find the right thing."

"Well you better find it fast because I can't deal with you like this. I don't want to bury you at 27."

Slightly pissed now, "I should have no problem with that, I've gotten pretty experienced at this since I was 8."

"Laura, you will get off your ASS and stop complaining, and do something NOW because I will not bury you at 27."

"Mom, I'll make my own choices and I will not answer to you about it."

Not listening, talking over me, "You WILL do something about this because you're killing yourself --"

Cutting her off, "Why don't you stop smoking? Why don't you stop drinking? We can do it together --"

" -- BECAUSE I will not bury you at 27. That's the end of discussion. If you disagree with me, and you can't do this, then I will never talk to you again."

GUH? Bitch just said that to me?

Then sweetly, "Now you want to talk to your dad? He's on the porch. Dad, it's your daughter!"

And I almost can't finish writing this because I'm bawling. Right now, as I write, big fat tears are rolling down my hot face and I am choking out sobs. It hurts so much! It hurts so much to even remember hearing her say these things. For as long as I can remember I've been trying to do everything to satisfy her, to win the prizes for myself. I couldn't have new clothes for school until I lost weight, I could get a doll when I lost weight, shopping sprees, I could name my price! All I have to do is lose weight!

And now I'm still making plans for when I lose weight. I'll start dating again when I lose more weight. I'll plan a real vacation when I lose more weight. I'll buy a bike when I lose weight. I'll go to parties when I lose weight. I'll go to grad school when I lose weight. I will allow myself to feel human in public when I lose weight.

But now, I'm still at START, where I've lived and left and come back for 18 years. It's been a whole voting age since I lived normal life. I'm old enough to vote for change, but I don't even know how to start choosing the right candidate anymore.

Then I get on the phone with Dad, and I tell him about my flight, how it was extra good because the plane was just about empty and I had a whole row of seats for myself (and my big ole two-ticket-needing ass). The conversation is pretty benign, until he mentions how he worries about my weight, and my knees going out on me eventually. "You're a young kid, you should be able to run up the stairs."

"I know you're trying, you eat healthy, and you excercise and have to walk everywhere in that town..."

And then I start to cry, because even though Mom's comments always make me mad, Dad's comments somehow have a way of making me feel even worse - because he never makes them. Sure, he comments on how we "shouldn't eat so much" at family gatherings and how he needs to lose some weight. The only times I remember him ever commenting on my weight before was when I was losing close to a hundred pounds and he said, "If you lose any more weight, you're going to shrivel up like a leaf and get blown away." Which I thought was very sweet and never made me feel prouder.

But now he says something, and I just lose it.

"I've done it before and I don't know why it's so hard this time. I just get discouraged that I even let that weight come back in the first place. I feel worthless. I don't even want to go outside. I'm so embarrassed to let people see me, and I wonder what people who saw me at my lowest weight just a few years ago think of me, of how shameful I am! And what's worse is that it's clear you and Mom have talked about it since I left yesterday. That's what hurts the most!"

"Oh now, I didn't mean all that. I know you've done it before; you can do it now. I know you can. I just worry about your body giving out on you."

"Do you know how discouraging it is to see Mom, and how she can smoke and drink regular soda and whiskey like it's water, and eat steak and potatoes, and 4-whole-egg omelettes, and still weight 95 lbs soaking wet? And here I am eating fruits, veggies, high-fiber carbs and lean meats, and I can't beat the fucking game?"

"I know you eat right."

"And then when I come home, she makes fun of the healthy food I cook for everyone and refuses to touch it? And when I try to make broccoli, she puts a half a cup of margarine on there - even though I protest to the point of screaming and/or crying - because, 'that's the way she always makes it' and 'it won't kill' me? How do you think that makes me feel?"

"I didn't mean to make you cry. I thought I was being inspirational, by saying that I needed to lose weight, too. I know you can do it; you have my support."

I calmed down and then the conversation ended not long after because - as is custom - both of us confessed to needing take a shit.

I cried for probably half an hour after that.

I feel like I'm breaking down here, like I'm all alone in this little bubble in Chicago, and everyone I care about is far away, expecting great changes the next time they see me. I'm halfway between wanting to live up to that and wanting to die.

My friend Shana said that after her bicycle accident, she was freaking out in the ER - her blood pressure was skyrocketing as all these people were moving around her. All she really wanted and needed to calm her down was "human touch":

"Finally my Mom, Aunt and Friend Amanda showed up and I ordered them to put their hands on me immediately. They chuckled, not quite understanding the truth behind my request, but immediately obliged and with much love. I stopped crying and shaking, my Aunt said my BP dropped like 40 points in a few minutes."

Oddly enough, I feel the same way now. I feel like, and I think I've always felt like I'm in need of human touch. I've lived two-thirds of my life, it seems, on the periphery of real human relationships, and I've committed to staying there "until I lose the weight." I fear I will always be there, even if I do. Because how can I trust that people actually like me for who I am, in absence of my fat, when they when can't really see who I am in the presence of this fat?


i am here.

So there's that,


Tuesday, June 3, 2008

Vaginasaurus Rex

Well, I guess it's time to pack up my day-of-the-week underwear because it's the end of an era.

After years of denial and fear, I have to put on my "big girls." I have to see a gynecologist.


I know. I'm 26 years old and have never seen a gynecologist. Big whoop.

And no, there's nothing wrong with me to warrant such an invasion of my vaginal privacy - my Velvet Lair. I'm just due for a physical and my doc thinks I should get a pap/pelv on record.

What does that even mean - "have it on record?" Do I have to have a uterine alibi for my early adult years? In case I have to face a war crime tribunal? Can't I just say it's against my religion to allow foreign objects up my shoosh? Will that make me look like some kind of Mormon bride?

All in all I think it's barbaric. I mean, some stranger's gonna crank my cerv open and poke around at the stalactites and stalagmites of my Fortress of Solitude . I'mma need a stiff drink before that happens. And a steak dinner. And maybe a good movie. And a hot smooch.

I guess it's immature to be so squeamish, but damn it, it's my first time and I'm allowed to be nervous. Sure, gynos see all kinds of vag in their career, but not me and not mine. That's why I'll campaign for a sedative drip before being exposed. Failing that, I'll just knock back a Ginadryl - 2 parts gin to 1 part Benadryl - before pulling into Cooch Poke Station.

Does anybody have any good advice for a first-timer? I haven't felt this dirty since Sunday night, when my mom said "titty" at the dinner table. *shudder*

So there's that,