Panic Room

At a work conference this morning, I woke up 6 minutes before I had to be presentable, downstairs, and learning new product.

7:54 am. The only thing worse would have been waking up at 8:05, officially 5 minutes late to start. Who, other than an angry god, makes you wake up at 7:54 instead of sleeping through the entire thing and waking up leisurely at 10:30 am? If you are going to be late, you might as well enjoy it. Instead I had to catch my breath while brushing my teeth and throwing on some slightly unwrinkled clothes. ick.

I made it, and now we are done. I don’t get to hang out with all these people I love until next January. The days of leaving our old lives behind as we learn new ones are gone. Boxed wine, hotel room hang out sessions, and looking forward to joking with my peeps. All gone.
My support is truly renewed when I am around them. Talk about feeling refreshed* and newly motivated.

* as refreshed as can be running on less than 3 hours sleep per night.

Looking for like

Dinner with friends. I was dreading it while at the CS bonfire (more on that later), because it is usually uneventful and I am usually holding back for fear of being the wild, crazy, and lonely one. You see, two of three are rather settled, and by comparison, I look unstable. About as unstable as a three-legged table.

So we ate and drank and were merry. We all seemed as though we wanted to be there. It was good and happy, and I mentioned I was sad but at least I was honest. I voiced my concerns over liking someone that, IF I had any standards, I wouldn’t normally. However, currently my only standard is that I want to be liked. So if you think you are a good candidate for liking me, well then, you can be mine.

They nodded and smiled at the fact that they never had to deal with the craziness of dating because, well, someone liked them. Permanently. And they laughed because I used to be permanent like them. And when I was temporarily permanent, S was “looking for like” just like I am now. And she found it. In two week increments, with a myriad of boys, during the most awkward time of our lives.

Enter me. Lonely and not really wanting to be permanent but not really wanting to be the odd one out, I have been the accompaniment to many a third-wheel situation. Which, I will admit, in my friend’s defense is not half bad because the boys they choose are just as good as company as the original friends. Plus, my friends’ permanents offer classic boy insight in commonly over-thought girl situations, including, but not limited to, “he’s just not that into you.”

So dinner with friends was great, and for a second we spoke of our real lives, instead of the one’s we like to think each other lives. Each time we meet, if there is not too much time in between, and no one else has anywhere else they would rather be, we are ourselves and we yearn for the support we used to provide for each other. Only then do we discuss sex in all its glorious/gory details, does S talk about her family and does K speak of true married life. And I get to talk about everything I wanted to tell them but didn’t since we stopped talking about the stuff that mattered.

We used to need the three. And now we are lucky if we can talk about anything other than what is happening in our lives. What we are feeling, however? That seems to be a little taboo for this table.

Weebles wobble, not triceps

Dear Body,

It appears that you and I have reached an understanding. I eat well, live well, and, well, am just overly nice to you, and you seem to have returned the favor by being so well behaved. Gold star for you.

Our agreement seems to be working out nicely, you provide a (teeny) urge to run rather frequently, and I change into those workout pants. Then you make my legs go. I love that feeling, and the view at Sunset Cliffs, so thank you. Also, I get the time to clear my head when it comes to other areas of my life where an understanding has not yet been reached between me and the world, like love, dating, and finances.

Our greatest achievement would have to be the no scale concept. Without that little (or big) number taunting me, I am able to treat you with a little more love and a whole lot more consistency. Plus, like I honestly don’t know when I am having a fat day? Not weighing myself means I am no longer fighting against the scale, but working with you to take baby steps toward the body I love.

Oh, and the understanding of the two week delay. Because we understand each other, and I have recognized that my mind is just as big a part of this as what goes in my mouth, I LOVE the two week delay. It is the perfect motivator. It keeps me going when I don’t want to go anymore becuase it’s not working. Instead I negotiate, “We just have to make it two weeks…” While I am busy waiting to see change, Whola!, a habit is formed! How? you say. Well, it just so happens that it takes two weeks of consistent activity to form a habit. Coincidence? I think not.

You also have been perfectly content with simple whole foods and together we quell the crazy stuff. However, the Great Fat-Free Jello Pudding Binge of last week? Well, I forgive you for wanting it and I am sorry I bought it.

I would like to apologize for a number of things. The first being hating parts of you. Of course I wish my stomach were flat, and the inside of my thighs just a little less wobbly, but my real point of contention is my triceps (mostly out of pining for my old ones to come back.) I never experienced a tricep wobble until Italy early last year, but I HATE it. I just want them toned and for them to stay in their place. They are not weebles, so there should be no wobbling. Oh and the love handles…. those I have come to terms with, because I am pretty sure they aren’t going anywhere.

I am sorry and not sorry about Italy. Eat I did, Unhappy I was, but I learned a lot about myself. I learned what I need everyday to live a happy, healthy life. Plus, how was I not supposed to gain weight in Italy?

I am sorry I abandon you for love. I should know you will always be there, but when love comes a callin’, I just want to be loved, from the outside in. We will work on this, and someday, it will be from the inside out.

I want to thank you for the freedom you provide me. The ability to do what I want, when I want, and with whomever I want. Thank you for standing by me, or rather in me. You are truly loved, flaws and all.

I am also aware that I am young, and that, Body, we have a lot more stuff to go through. This very letter might be Cringe-worthy by the time I am forty, but if I feel this content with you in 20 years, then I know we will be okay.

Love,

busy pretending.

three way

Last night I had a three way phone conversation on skype with my mom and my sister. It was hilarious and everything I loved about being happy and being a family. Sad how those moments strike me as being so few, but my parents bring with them a heightened stress level. It is not every day that I get to enjoy them as people and friends and confidants, instead of parents.

In an sad attempt to set up my mom’s skype, while talking to her ON skype, she shrieked at my suggestions. I can only imagine her eyes darting around the desktop, “green bubble? I see a green bubble, but its next to your name, not your sister’s”

me: ok, what does it say in your contact list next to her name?

mom: um, where’s my contact list? I see file, edit, view

me: Mom, its the thing with the bubbles!

After spending what felt like days finding my sister’s contact info, I was trying to confirm she had the right name for my sister by having her identify my sister’s icon:

me: mom, what do you see?

mom: it says melbourne, austrailia…

me: do you see a hamster?

She lost it. I mean she completely flipped out in only a way my mother could: A HAMSTER!?! what do you mean? A hamster, no I don’t see a hamster? You mean, like a RODENT?”

me: ya, with a carrot?

mom: a carrot? what do you MEAN a carrot? where is the hamster and why is there a carrot?

Insert sister via conference call. I relayed the story via chat while we were talking to my mom. My sister died laughing. Then my mom caught on because my sister can’t type quietly. Busted. just like the old days.

plain and blank

I am missing waking up with someone on the other side of the bed

feeling plain like yogurt and blank like paper. basically a little blue, or rather, white?

raised by wolves

Lord knows I am not a perfect roommate, but holy hell there are a few things I think everyone should know (and be aware of, and practice…)

Dawn does not go in the hand soap dispenser. two different soaps. for two different purposes. and don’t even get me started on the fact that they were two different colors.

No one ever taught you how to load a dishwasher? oh and while we are on the subject of the dishwasher, it is not magic. it is a dishwasher. it cleans with hot water and steam. Your crusty-ass dishes come out dirty, because you put them in there REALLY dirty. It’s not rocket science.

Caphalon pans also don’t belong in the dishwasher. Neither do Teflon pans. Not unless you want to be eating cancer in 4 months.

Replace the TP and Refill the Brita.

If you take out the garbage, you have to replace the trash bag. Half-assed effort doesn’t count.

Don’t use my towel. ever.

The cutting board doesn’t clean itself. Especially after you let tomato seeds cake to it.

What were you, raised by wolves?

jinx or hex…

… but either way it was bound to be fucked up before it even started. all because of this.

01.05.08

So I am a little scared to do this. It seems that every time I get into it with anyone and then I start writing it is doomed to fail because I am inevitably telling my computer or journal instead of telling my partner or seeking advice from friends. It also leads to fovever-doomed over thinking. Go figure. I am a month into this and I am over thinking.

So I am also a little scared because I am so quickly falling back into the old me. I am becoming the girl that will do anything for two seconds of feeling loved. It is an addiction and is my vice. I cannot believe it. Where did all rational thought go? And all for I guy that I think I am smarter than and that I think wont go anywhere with.

Who knows though. I don’t want to give up on him yet, seeing how my past strategies didn’t exactly work. Maybe he is perfect for me?

And here we are, I am writing about it and ruining it. Someone come save me from being the girl that I used to be.

I’m a real, live girl!

i’m going to quit you like Brittany Spears quits crazy.

I want so badly to be strong and able to move on. Last Friday was Get Over It Day… which turned into At Least I’m Not Mad at You Day. weird. There was a whole lot of fat-free Jello Pudding involved. swirl flavor. because at this point I am just trying to keep it exciting.

Funny, I talk to myself a whole lot more when there are boys involved. There are “I hate yous” as I pull my top off the hanger and “I can’t believe you are going to get away with thats” as I hang my towel up in the bathroom. “What happeneds” are pointless, as I think I know the answer. and I have always known it had nothing to do with me.

Looking back, I don’t think I ever knew what you were thinking. And I believed what you were saying, so I never even thought to investigate further. bummer for me. I should have known better. And like Pinocchio’s nose grows when he lies, I build my walls up higher with every lie you told me. maybe that is the difference between boys and girls.

emailing the enemy

Emails I shouldn’t send to a guy (C.) I shouldn’t be talking to:

Dear C:

thinking that your pudgy, naked winged child missed. Hope you had a good week. Really sorry it ended the way it did and I am busy wondering why you didn’t want to talk it out.

I’ll give you the time of day if you ever need it. mostly because I like the attention.

pretender

or:

Dear C:

hey,

i got nothing and I think I am done emailing you. I am sorry I’m not a Christian… and you let an old gf talk you out of spending time with me. I’m sorry you let me think that I wasn’t worth your time, when really, you just didn’t want to hurt me or you before we got too into it. I think now how hard it must be for you, but respect that you aren’t faltering on what you believe in.

and if it was because you just weren’t that into me, well then, fuck you.

pretender

I like to call this therapy. for me, anyways, a good never sent email does a lot. plus, it allows me to be a lot more cordial in the ones I shouldn’t be sending anyways.

beginning of the end

So the end of a relationship* gave birth to the beginning of this blog. I became so enamored with fish and the fact that I could relate to her and I was sick of my computer just devouring my late-night divulgences in Word, that I have decided to venture out into blogger land. I used to keep a journal, old-school style, that I seemed to write in only whenever things went to shit. so hopefully I will keep it up here. but write about, you know, anything other than shit.

this my friends, is merely the beginning.

*hardly a relationship: more like sarcasm, sex, sarcasm, sex, sex, more sarcasm, then food.