Tuesday, November 18, 2008


So there's that,

Thursday, November 13, 2008

Road Maps

I've been thinking a lot lately about stretch marks.

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

I am SICK!

Why is this so damn funny to me?

Because I am tuh-wisted. Happy Friday mothahfuckahs!

So there's that,


Thursday, November 6, 2008

Goddang It

I begrudgingly started reading Twilight this morning, because it seems to be the hot book/movie sensation of the moment.  Normally when people get all culty about books, I shut down and refuse to read them until I'm good and ready.  Then I love them.
Did it with Da Vinci Code.
Did it with Harry Potter.
Now I'm 70 pages into this emo teen sensation, and I'm already watching the trailer and film clips online.  I need to see this movie.  I can't explain it.  The book's written for kids in its 13-point font, and I'm all, "Damn, this is great!"
I guess I need to loosen up about swimming with the school.  Because let's face it - refusing to get on the bandwagon for the principle of it?  Is just as bad as posing.  Especially if you're gonna like the shit anyway.
Oh, and I feel oddly pedophilic for finding a teen novel sexy.  But can you blame me?
So there's that,

Wednesday, November 5, 2008

No More Drama

Last night was probably the most amazing I've ever experienced in this city.
No pushing.  No fights.  No worries. 
Obama wins
Happy Faces
Obama wins
Horses' Asses
Obama wins
Baby Fists
Obama wins
Swarm of Bliss
Obama winning
Good People
Obama wins
Hooty Hoo
Supporters of Barack Obama watch the celebration of Obama's victory in the 2008 presidential election at Grant Park in downtown Chicago.
Tree Huggers
My Kind of Town
President-elect Barack Obama kisses his wife Michelle on stage in Grant Park during Obama's election night rally in Chicago. Obama was declared the winner in the 2008 presidential election.
After, my group parted ways.  I walked north on Michigan Avenue, consuming the entire thoroughfare with my fellow rioters, alone yet alive.  The city burst into cheers every ten feet.  The foreign-tongued posed for pictures next to the police horses.  We shook hands with the police officers who stood to the side this whole night as the people pulsed through them, toward the heart.  Shiny faces teemed over balconies, stood towering on the medians, and hooting from car windows.
I walked till the streets emptied, where couples held hands and stopped to kiss.  Where people sat on benches, gathered in doorways, and waited for buses - talking and laughing with strangers.  Somewhere in all this, I sloughed off my bitterness and let the crowds and kisses fly all around me, wanting only to stay awake forever.
It is summer in the city.
So there's that,

Tuesday, November 4, 2008

I Voted. Can you smell it?

I was gonna wake up at 6:00 this morning, crawl over to my polling place, then come back home to get ready for work.
Instead, I woke up before the alarm at 5:00, tossed restlessly in bed while watching the news and decided to just get living.  Got over to the polling place at 6:30 and was surprised at the "short" line.  I was all, "Man, I could get to work by 7:30!  Go me!" 
Little did I know the line snaked around every wall and elevator in this high-rise condominium lobby.  There was length of line that I didn't know existed until I turned a corner.  This line was intestinal.
But resourceful bitch that I am, I brought a book, and the time just flew by.  When the old lady at the registration table pulled my slip, I had to remind her that I needed to sign it before she filed it.  I was all, "I need to sign that, right?"  And she was all, "Oh...yes you do.
I was hoping for a little more passion on her part, but I guess she'd seen enough already today.
I checked over the president section on my ballot 5 times, making sure I voted for my guy.  I did.  I ran the card through the scanner, got a receipt, and the deed was done. 
I was out of there at 8:15, and at work by 8:30.  It was a long wait for sure, but I figure I can give an hour and forty-five minutes of my time for the country. 
But only once every four years.
So there's that,

Monday, November 3, 2008

Don't Tell Dad

I don't like getting political because - at this point, at least, I hope - people know who they're going to vote for.  I can't change their decision, I don't want to.  I don't care to tear down the guy I'm not voting for because...I'm not voting for him.  What does it matter?  The only thing I can do is vote, then it's out of my hands.  If the other guy becomes president, I just have to deal with it.  And I have a feeling whoever is chosen - as radical as the campaigns may seem - that guy will be pretty moderate, considering the nation is half-torn, in debt, and in war.
So, I don't lose my head about the election.  My dad, however, gets pretty steamed up about it.  He's conservative.  During the 8 years of Bill Clinton, the channel had to change as soon as his white mane and tippler's nose came on screen, for dad's eyes would bulge out of his head in rage.  Which is funny because Dad's pretty peaceful otherwise.  Shy.  Cool-headed.  Non-violent.  Just don't get a democrat in his field of view.
Now when he talks about Obama and his Chicago-style politics, repeating Fox News talking points about how terrible this guy is, he gets just as tense.  I tell him to cool off, make him promise me that he won't go apeshit if Obama becomes president.  It's not good for him.
So this is why I feel kind of bad that I'm voting Obama - because if he wins, my dad's gonna have 4 years of pure hatred for the government.  Sigh.
But on the other hand, I'm really excited about my vote.  Even if he doesn't win, I'm gonna be happy to have been part of such an historic election.  I got a ticket to Obama's election night party in Chicago's Grant Park.  I'm going to be in the mix of it all, in the same room as the man who could be the next president, when he gets the news!  It's a great time to live in Chicago!
So wish me luck - at least pray this guy gets the presidency so I don't get killed in an angry riot.  I'm too cheap for pepper spray, so I'm packing Binaca just in case!
So there's that,