Born a few centuries too late…

I was watching Bo Derek on Oprah last week, and she was talking about what it’s like to be one of the most beautiful women of her time.  She said that she lucked out on getting the genes she got, at the time when they resulted in a look that’s revered.  The woman has a great point.

She’s tall, naturally thin.  Beautiful, right?  A few hundred years ago, she would have been considered homely.  Back in the day when being plump meant you could afford to eat, my body type was the one that people would have wanted.

I took a DNA test (because I do that sort of craziness), and I found out (among other things) that my body really digs being overweight.  I’m having a bitch of a time losing any weight, and I can officially blame genetics.  At least for part of it.  After all, that’s what causes my body to want to cling to the fat in a cupcake, but that’s not what puts the cupcake in my mouth.  (Red velvet with cream cheese frosting… come on, who would turn that down??)

New year, fresh start

I’m so happy 2011 is finally here.  I did mention that 2010 sucked, right?  Yeah, I think I did.  And it continued sucking to the very end.  Seriously, it went out kicking and screaming.  And even though I’m starting 2011 with a cold (thanks, Foster) and I’m not a millionaire (boo to the Texas lottery), it’s still better than 2010.  I’ve even got some New Year’s resolutions that I think aren’t totally setting myself up for failure.

1) Get organized.  Fine, I might be setting myself up for failure with this one.  I’m so not organized.  I’m messy.  Always have been, always will be.  But I’m trying.  I bought these fabulous storage boxes that slide under my bed, which is where most of my shoes are currently living.  There’s space in the closet for the two pairs I wear most often, but the rest will stay tucked away, out of reach of the dog and cat hair and dust that insists on accumulating on everything in our house.  I bought one for my purses, too, but I’m yet to determine if there room under the bed for it.  I’ve even organized the bathroom, buying nifty red cubes from Ikea to fit into the wire shelf I already had, and a wicker basket that will eventually live on the vanity, holding toothpaste, hair products, moisturizer, etc.  It’s slow going, but I’m getting there.

2) Oh, number two.  This is the tricky one.  Considering the unbelievable amount of issues I had in 2010 with people who have different beliefs than me, I decided it’s time to nip that issue in the bud.  But I’m still not sure of what path I’m going to take.

The back story… My oldest friend became a born-again, Evangelical Christian in 2010 after a major break-up.  The complete 180 she did threw me, and I didn’t know what to do.  So, I did nothing.  She told me this was unacceptable.  (I thought it was better than saying, “Hey, I think you’ve lost your marbles.  You’re just behind Tom Cruise on the path to Crazy Town.”  She disagreed.)  And then she dumped me, letting me know that it was for my own good, because “the enemy” was working on me and she wanted G_d to be able to step in, allowing me to accept Jesus.  Not gonna happen, but I digress.  The other major thing is the disagreement I’m in with a family member that stems from me A) inviting her to the Gay Pride Parade, which I didn’t realize was offensive, and B) telling her she should educate herself on Islam before declaring all 1.5 billion Muslims to be anti-American terrorists.  This led to her saying I refuse to “let anyone believe their own way”.  Yes, I’m so repressive.

Anyways, the point is, these things have caused so much stress in my life.  More than I’m okay with.  (And do you know what stress allegedly causes?  Weight gain.  And in my case, copious consumption of chocolates and fried foods.)  I need to figure out how to deal with it.  My choices are A) agree to disagree with people, and move on, or B) come to terms with the fact that I’m a big ol’ hypocrite who isn’t going to tolerate anyone’s intolerance.

You don’t have to be Einstein to take a guess that I’m likely end up going with Option B.

Good riddance, 2010

This year has sucked giant donkey balls.  Not that I’ve ever seen actual donkey balls, but I can imagine they aren’t very appetizing.

I was running through the list of reasons why it’s sucked today, and individually they don’t seem so horrible.  But when you add it up, it equals misery.

BFF moving away?  Check.  Second BFF losing her mind and then ending the friendship?  Check.  Loss of social life?  Check.  Major weight gain?  Check.  Milestone birthday plans in the shitter?  Check.  Loss of a pet (that I keep telling myself could have been prevented if I had more money)?  Check.

It’s a string of things that make me feel thankful that I’ve managed to hang on to all of my limbs.  So far, at least.

I truly can’t wait for this shittastic, sorry excuse for a year to come to an end.  I want to start 2011 on a happy note.  Maybe I’ll practice by starting the next entry on a happy note.  😉

Truth?

On a scale of 1 to 10, with 10 being jubilant and 1 being suicidal, I’m at a 3.  I’ve been there for a while.  It’s taking so much energy to keep my head above water, to remember to breathe, that trying to lose weight just isn’t on the radar.  I’m very aware of the fact that I want to maintain, and not take any steps backwards.  But primarily, I just want to get myself to a good place mentally.

And since there’s no one thing that’s happened or one event that’s triggered this, it’s hard to “fix”.  Really, there is no fix.  I’m trying to remember to take my meds regularly, cuddle with my dogs as often as I can, and get off my sofa as much as possible.

I definitely feel better after socializing, but that’s something that happens so rarely.  I work alone, I don’t leave until after dark, Foster has been working 60+ hours a week, and there’s just so much drama happening around me.  Drama and crazy schedules and it’s too much.

I’m honestly proud of myself for even thinking about the fact that I need to maintain my weight during this.  I know that things will turn around.  They always do.  (I’ve dealt with depression/anxiety on and off since I was about 12, so I know the drill.)  It’s too bad I’m the sort of person who tends to eat away depression instead of starving it away.  (Just kidding.  Sort of.)

Movies you need to see. Now.

No one’s talking about the three best movies I’ve seen all year.  What’s with that?

It’s Kind of a Funny Story with Keir Gilchrist, Emma Roberts, and Zach Galifianakis (who isn’t just there for comic relief).  I laughed, I cried, I left the theater feeling like I had just seen movie magic.

Going the Distance with Justin Long and Drew Barrymore.  It’s a chick flick, but it’s not.  It’s so funny.  Like, lose your breath, tears streaming down your face, funny.  Sometimes it’s just sweet.  It left me wanting to watch Top Gun.  (That’ll make sense if you’ve seen it.)

Hereafter with Matt Damon.  It might just be the best of all.  (Christ, how did Eclipse not make my list??)

If only I could watch them with a giant tub of buttery popcorn and a box of Milk Duds.  Nom.

Thankful.

I’ve seen lists all over the internet today of things people are thankful for.  Friends, family, poodles … you name it, and people are thankful for it.  As much as I’d like to talk about the weirdness of a holiday where we give thanks for taking over a nation and decimating the people who already lived here, I’ll leave that for another day.  I might as well follow the trend and be thankful for some things, too.

• My dogs. I have the best dogs ever.  Gretchen is currently hanging out downstairs, and Sebastian is sleeping next to me.  These two are my shadows, and I love them more than most people.
• Foster. We have our arguments and bad days, but he remains to be one of the best things that’s ever happened to me.  He encourages me and questions me when he thinks I’m doing something half-assed.  He might refuse to watch reality TV with me, but I still love him.
• My job. Because I have one.  Even better, I don’t hate it.  Well, sometimes I hate it.  But for the most part, I’m doing what I set out to do.  It’s not just a job, it’s a career.
• Choices. I have them in spades.  Maybe not as much as some people (looking at you, Paris Hilton), but I’ve still got an abundance.  I can decide to have a kid or not have a kid.  I can decide to cut my hair off or stop shaving my legs.  I make dozens of choices every day, and a lot of women in the world don’t have that.
• Air conditioning. No, seriously.  As much as I love antiques and old houses and dresses with corsets and bustles, I love me some air conditioning, and I’m damn thankful to live in the age of technology.  The temperature has dropped outside, but I’m still sitting here with the a/c on.  Just because I can.
• Cymbalta. It allows me to feel sane.  I tend to think that drug companies are the devil, but I’ve got to say, my life is so much better because of Cymbalta.

This is the last Thanksgiving in my twenties.  Jesus H. Christ.  That’s a scary thought.  I suppose, though, I should add in that I’m thankful to have made it through.  Most of the time, my twenties didn’t feel much easier than my teens.  There were just more bills to pay. *wink*

I’m also thankful that I made it through writing this post.  Now I have to go pass out, accepting the consequences of eating too much turkey and mashed potatoes.  I’m not even going to mention how the dieting is going.  Eek.  We’ll save that for next time.  Let’s just say, the turkey wasn’t the only butterball at the family meal.

 

FYI…

Sorry for being MIA lately!  I  had intended to participate in NaNoWriMo, but that came to a halt when I realized that I wasn’t connecting with my characters.  Then along came a serious bout of PMS, which ushered in a mild depression.  I’m working on it!  In the meantime, go see what I’ve been up to at the other place where I write on a regular basis…

Save the rice for a meal, and don’t bother with the bubbles

I was always one of those little girls who dreamt of her wedding day.  When the “November Rain” video came out, I gushed over the bride’s dress.  I love watching wedding shows and looking through example photos of floral arrangements.  I know what colors I would choose, and who I would want to be in my bridal party.

And it’s recently come to my attention that these fantasies are just that … fantasies.  And I need to get the fuck over them.

I have a family member who got married over the weekend, and the hoopla and snide comments are what’ve finally brought me to that conclusion.  (Well, that and my mom’s constant worry about my dad retiring and having no income.  It seems that starting an IRA or savings of some sort was never on his to-do list.)  My parents didn’t fund my college education.  I’ll be paying that off until I’m in my mid-40s.  My mom has always been frugal.  She’s made countless remarks about how couples who live together before getting married don’t deserve a lavish celebration, or any celebration at all, really.  After all, if we wanted a party, we would have waited and done it right, instead of living in sin.  (This is the part where I start smacking myself in the forehead.)

Oh, and then there’s the huge argument we got into over the weekend about how I don’t want to be given away at my (never gonna happen) wedding, because I don’t believe I’m anyone’s property, but that’s a different blog entry entirely.

Long story short, it’s finally sunk in that I won’t ever have to make the difficult decision of going with jewel tones or a gothic deep red with black accents.  I won’t need to worry about finding the perfect dress in my size.  No one will be going through my Crate and Barrel registry trying to decide between the garlic press or the throw pillows.  I won’t have to save up for a honeymoon in Paris.

I finally realize all of that.  Now I just have to come to terms with it.

Oh, she totally went there

Today marked day two of a very heated discussion with a family member, all via Facebook, about politics and religion.

Whoa, did she say politics and religion? Yep, I did.  I did indeed seem to fall from the very tippy-top of the masochism tree, hitting every branch on the way down, because I just dove right into the pit of snakes screaming “Bite me!  Come on, you bunch of morons!  Harder!  Oh, yeah!”

I won’t post the entire conversation, because I’m sure it would result in a lot of comments that looked like this: tl;dr

Here’s the abridged version:

 

Her: Obama isn’t a godly man

Me: What the eff are you talking about?

Her: He funds terrorists!  He loves the terrorists!

Me: No, really… what the eff are you talking about?

Her: The Muslims!  He’s friends with them, and they hate America.

Me: Stop getting your news from chain e-mails written in comic sans with obnoxious GIFs.

Her: He’s making us pay for abortions!

Me: Didn’t you get one of those?

Her: Obama hates Jesus, Muslims hate America, those are the facts.

Me: Read a book.

Her: I did.  It said “Obama hates Jesus, Muslims hate America.”

The.  End.

 

Clearly there was more to it than that, but trust, the version I just gave you is far less migraine inducing.

When the whole ordeal was done (and signed with “see you at the holidays!  xoxo”), I made the huge mistake of asking Foster if I handled the situation with a modicum of grace and remained respectful.  This led us into an argument that we’ve had time and time again.  It’s this circular discussion where he says “Why do you care what they think?” and I say “I’m not quite sure, but I do” and he says “Well, you shouldn’t” and I say “No shit, but I do”.  So on and so forth.  Somehow it always comes back to him telling me that I am the problem.

Me.

The one who doesn’t believe that all Muslims are trained from birth to hate America.  (Direct quote from the family member.  Direct fucking quote.)  The one believes in educating yourself on a subject before making a judgment.  The one who believes in checking up on what you read in those damn chain e-mails before passing them along and spreading the ignorance.  Me, the one who tries (and sometimes fails) to not be an ignorant, bigoted ass.  It’s my fault.

Why?

Because I give a shit about my family being ignorant, bigoted asses.

On a totally unrelated note, this uber-liberal non-bigot has officially lost 10.5 pounds.  Does that mean I deserve a cookie?

And my life just gets busier…

First, an update on those deviant little brownies from earlier.  The rough score is brownies – 4, me – 1.  I ate four of those little bastards, but no matter how many times I walked past the container, there was one left.  One delicious, bite sized brownie, covered in frosting and topped with a single piece of candy corn.  And I kicked that little brownie’s ass.

In other words, I didn’t eat it.

And last time I checked, no one else had, either.  Me leaving the  ideal junk food on the counter for someone else is rare.  Me walking away when it’s clear that it’s mine, all mine?  Unheard of.  Which is why, despite the fact that I ate four of them, I figured I earned a point.

(Insert wacky ninja moves here.)

Today is November 1st.  (By the time I hit “publish”, it’ll be the 2nd.  But just go with it, okay?)  November, for dorky writer types like me, is also known as NaNoWriMo, or National Novel Writing Month.  The goal is to write 50,000 words before December.  Last year, I only made it to 15,000.  The year before that, I didn’t even make it through the planning stages.  I really want to do this.  But it takes so much motivation!  I’ve got a rough story idea in my head.  I’ve got pages and pages in a notebook of notes and outlines and plot points and various scribbles.  I’ve even got actors and actresses who I picture as I’m writing about my characters.  Now all I need is the time.  And a swift kick in the ass to make it happen.  Because writing involves a lot of thinking, unlike, say … watching The Vampire Diaries or The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills (Can you believe those women?  I mean, seriously?).

So this month will be packed.  Packed with me trying not to lose my mind over various things and stay away from all of the holiday goodness.  I finished my first NaNo session tonight with 1,300 words.  Only 48,700 to go!