I Am Both Things

Sometimes, I close my eyes and I imagine someone trying to EXPLAIN THIS BLOG to a friend and I imagine them say, "It's this girl and she talks about her big butt and how she wishes she could excercise more, lose weight and be attractive to every man she meets, especially THE CUTE ONES who still have THEIR OWN HAIR. Especially if it could be in front of her Old Bad Boyfriend who she swears she doesn't want to get back together with but if he could be so INSANELY JEALOUS of her new SMALL BUTT being cupped by a new attractive guy who most likely resembles David Beckham IN BOY SHORTS, that he (OBB) would spurt beer out of his nose in a fit of JEALOUS RAGE, I think she'd be okay with that, too.

Oh, and then she sometimes talks about her dead cousin and how her mother went crazy." This someone's voice would trail off as if they were trying to figure how how the two parts of my life go together. "Yeah... it's weird."

It is weird. But, I am both things.

I am the girl who likes pink and glittery eyeshadow especially with gloss (only if you are doing a subtle cheek). I like fake furs on a cold day with a Vogue and a Vanity Fair tucked in close on my way to a pedicure. I like gossiping about co-workers, dreaming about boys, praying that my ass will be smaller when I wake up in the morning and taping pictures of skinny girls in bikinis on my bath room mirror (in a non-lesbian way) as motivation to eat all the vegetables on my plate.

I am also my cousin's murder and my mother's nervous breakdown. I am the girl who can't sleep. I am the girl with nightmares and unexpected crying jags, who hurts and is afraid to get hurt, who wants to love but sees no point in it, who, at one time, (but not anymore) mixed prescription medication with lots of wine in order to only have to lay in bed for .5 seconds before sleep would come because THERE IS NO WAY I CAN BE AWAKE WITH ALL THESE THOUGHTS IN MY HEAD ALONE IN THE DARK.

I am both things. If I could save you from it, I would. I would type BAD THINGS in black and GOOD THINGS in pink. But I can't save myself from it, I can just... well, I don't know, I'm still figuring out that last part. So bear with me, I'll get there. I will get there... to a day it's all in pink.

I Am Both Things

Look What I Can Do !!!!

So I finally figured out how to work it so if you guys want, you can email a post to a friend. Just click on that little envelope at the end of a post.

You should do this if you want to: Make someone else laugh, MAKE SOMEONE FEEL BETTER ABOUT not going to the gym, eating those dozen Christmas cookies, not having a sex prospect (yet) for '08, hating their boss, having back fat& a muffin top, having a crazy family, missing their Bad Old Boyfriend or getting drunk and doing something embarrassing. BECAUSE I HAVE/DO ALL THAT AND MORE!

Look What I Can Do !!!!

How It All Began

There's a reason I dread when the phone rings late at night and there's a reason I freak when my Dad leaves me voice mails that don't end with, "And everything is okay," even after we made a pact that he must always end voicemails with, "And everything is okay."

We made this pact because my Dad NEVER calls me unless it's really, really bad news. Although, lately, he's caught me off guard, sometimes just calling to say "hello." This really throws me... as he has an incredible aversion to even using a telephone to the point that if it is ringing in the house he will walk over to it and pick it up and hang up on whomever is calling.

I can only guess it's because my family has learned that in a day YOUR WORLD CAN BE TURNED UPSIDE DOWN, it might be last time you speak to someone you love, that you can look away for a moment and then the unspeakable can happen.

On the day that I learned David had died, everything was okay. I was sitting in my office on the TV show I was working on and looking over my notes on a script and would it be funnier if she said this or would it be funnier if she said that, when I decided to call home and I knew because my father has an aversion to even picking up the telephone that the fact that he had indeed picked up the telephone that something was very, very wrong.

"What's wrong?" And he told me. And I started not so much immediately crying as howling and wailing and tears were not just streaming but spouting. I know I kept screaming, "What? What?" even though, I knew very much what was what. David had been murdered. The police had found his ID in his pocket and called our home, thinking my Dad was his Dad, thus making it my father's responsibility to call my uncle and tell him that his son had been killed. "Whatttttt?"

I have never had this feeling before. Not through all my father's surgerys, donating my kidney to my dad, my cousin Michael's death when I was fourteen, not even when my younger cousin had cancer when I was sixteen.

The room came up on it's side. The wheelie office chair I was in smashed into my desk. I stood up but the floor beneath me was giving way, tipping more and more on it's side. I was shaking so hard I couldn't keep my balance. There were attempts at calls to bosses and co-workers and assistants and "I have to leave NOWs!" I ran out of the building not even quite sure where I would go.

And the howling wouldn't stop.

I walked by co-workers, writers, production people, costumer designers wheeling their costumes, electricians pushing their cable carts, caterers laying out their morning spreads and I did not care and I did not stop howling. All the way to my car and all the way home.

I got in my bed and thought, "This nightmare is just beginning."

How It All Began

Making Out With A Stranger Is Good For Your Soul

I will say that my life is RADICALLY CHANGING in the last several months in, that, many months ago, I wouldn't even be out anywhere that a man would be, in fact, the closet I would come to one would be trudging down to 7-11 in hole-y sweatpants and a crazy ponytail for some "Combos" (They figured out a way to put cheese in pretzels! It's brilliant! It's like a fancy cocktail party in a 2 oz. bag!) and a bottle of cheap chardonnay.

I would see Rajewel look at me from behind the counter, shaking his head at my bed head and bed body as he rang up my purchase, "So sad, you are, little girl. That will be $8.95."

But now I go out and MAKE OUT with strangers in bars. I guess that's what happens when we finally get out of bed, realize there's more out there then there is in here, figure out that the only way out is through and that somethings don't have to mean everything and if I could measure my life in unexpected kisses rather than days in bed, I'd certainly take the first.

Unless I could take them both together.

Making Out With A Stranger Is Good For Your Soul

My Butt is My Own Weapon of Mass Destruction

My butt. I don't like it. It's big. It does not look cute in jeans. As a matter of fact, it has taken on a shape that barely resembles a butt... it's almost oddly square shaped as if the fat doesn't quite know where to go. I HAVE REACHED MY BREAKING POINT.

Apparently, so have many of my girlfriends, which is why we have started a kind of sorta of diet club. It's where we can get together, BE GIRL CLICHES, and obessively compulsively talk about diet and exercise until we (hopefully) give each other eating disorders. Whatever it takes, size 8 (6) here I come.

These last two years have been hell on the body and I feel sad for my little (big) self. Instead of treating my body like a temple, I've treated it like a crack den, if by crack, I meant lots of beer and cheese popcorn.

One of the reasons I broke up with my therapist is she kept insisting that what I weighed did not matter. Which is why I had to fire her because to me, IT REALLY, REALLY, REALLY DOES MATTER. I couldn't help but think after she said that, that after 2 years and 6 months of visits and paying her what amounted to what half a car costs - SHE DOES NOT GET ME AT ALL.

She wanted me to say, "I am not my weight."
ME: "But I am"
HER: "No you're not."
ME: "Yes, I am."
HER: "No you're not."
ME: "Yes, I am and you're fired, Lady!"

Then I flipped over her coffee table and her "Psychology Today" magazines and Co-Dependent No More pamphlets went splaying everywhere and I prompted STROMED OFF.

Okay, that last part might be a LIL' exaggerated. The point is, I AM MY BODY. And this body, with it's round belly and big butt, were hard won by grief, sadness, devastating break-up, unemployment, unexpected parent illness (read: mother going crazy), etc. So if I don't acknowledge that I AM MY BODY it's like ignoring all it took to get me here. And P.S., IGNORING what got me here is precisely what it took to get me here - to SQUARE ASS VILLE.

And when I exchange NEW CHUNKY SAD BODY for OLD SELF BODY WITH A ROUND BUTT, I will still be my body, because my body will reflect that along with shedding some LBS., I have also left behind all the sad things that it took to get me there.

My Butt is My Own Weapon of Mass Destruction

Why I Think It Might Be "That Time of the Month"

I think it might be that time of the month. All I want to do is unscrew OREOS, pour salt all over the yummy white frosted parts and then devour them. That would be after having a sensible lunch of MEAT BALL PIZZA and CHEETOS.

Why I Think It Might Be "That Time of the Month"

Totally Reasonable Explanation of Why I Did Not Go to The Gym Today

Operation Emaciation is in effect and I could not be taking this diet more seriously. Only five or so posts ago I said I would never diet, calling diets FEMALE TORTURE and shaming anyone who would even think to crack a hard copy of "South Beach Diet" or "Skinny Bitch" in front of me.

And then the wedding invitation came. The one, in which if I attend, I will see Bad Old Boyfriend. Since, currently, I have the waistline of A MAILBOX and I certainly can't have Bad Old Boyfriend see me like this or how will he want to DEEP TONGUE KISS MW "HELLO" behind an ice sculpture? (Of course, if he even tries to touch me, I will throw hot soup in his face... if soup is available... do they even serve soup at weddings?)

Anyway, this morning I woke up starving. Good. It's good to feel hungry when you wake up. That means your metabolism is fired up. NOW IT'S TIME TO GO TO THE GYM. Except I can't go to the gym unless I eat something. Hmmmm... it seems once I'm at the gym, I'll probably be running (walking) for hours (minutes) so I should have something substantial. Plus, I should have something that's a treat. Something that says, "Congratulations! You're going to the gym! You go girl!"

Mmmmmm... a homemade bagel from the corner bakery, the one with cheddar cheese (calcium, very good) and jalapeno (a vegetable) would be so great right now.

So I got one... and I ate it. Well, now I have to digest the bagel, that should take like what? An hour? Cool, that'll work.

Three hours later, I wake up with a "Vanity Fair" (Okay, "US") magazine stuck to my face. Apparently, eating a salad bowl's worth of bread and cheese makes one NAPPISH and I had just frittered away my GYM-TASTIC MORNING.

I'll just have to go now. Except now it's practically lunch. If I go at Lunch time, the gym will be very crowded and I will NOT GET THE MOST EFFCIENT WORKOUT I CAN GET. I must get the most efficient workout I can get or really, I'm just wasting my time. I better go at 2:00pm. I'll just watch TV for a bit.

Wow. There was just a preview on for Oprah. She's having Elizabeth Gilbert, the author of "Eat Pray, Love" on. And even though I haven't read the book, I have been incredibly touched by what I've heard from others who have read the book. It just seems like, SURE, I COULD GO TO THE GYM at 3:00pm or I could hear all these incredible women talk about how this amazing book changed their lives and set them on a SPIRITUAL JOURNEY. Life changing experience or ab crunches & leg presses?

I REALLY HAVE NO CHOICE. I must stay home and watch Oprah.

Now it's 4:00pm. I'm spiritually nourished but nutritionally famished. Better eat something. Mmmm, good. Ooops, now I'm too full to go to the gym. Damn you, Lean Cuisine!

Okay, I'll go in one hour.

One hour later. It just seems like now EVERYONE IS GETTING OUT OF WORK and the gym is going to be so crowded and DON'T I DESERVE MORE THAN A CROWDED GYM? If I go to a crowded gym and the experience is bad then I will forever associate going to the gym as a bad experience.

DO I REALLY WANT TO PUT A ROAD BLOCK LIKE THAT IN MY WAY? No, I most certainly do not. It's really best if I just stay put. I mean, there's always tomorrow.

Totally Reasonable Explanation of Why I Did Not Go to The Gym Today

Things I Hate About Myself

1) That if I say something scares me I have to immediately make a joke of it so I will not make people uncomfortable

2) Making people uncomfortable

3) Constantly apologizing for making people uncomfortable

4) That I don't want to go home for Christmas. That I don't want to see my Mom. That I'm scared that if we are all home for Christmas in that same house that she will have another nervous breakdown and there will be hospital trips and consulting with doctors and night time pacing and tears and Dad saying he feels lost and rescheduled flights and lies to friends because who could EVER BELIEVE this was really happening and I kind of like the lies because they are an escape from the reality, and me feeling like I want someone to PLEASE BE A GROWN-UP and take charge and having to pretend in front of people everything is okay while we have Mom hidden in the other room because if someone, anyone saw her, they would know things are FAR FROM OKAY. Yeah, I don't want to do last Christmas again.

I'm sorry, did I make you uncomfortable?

Things I Hate About Myself

The Mental Boogie of My Over Active Brain

I am very stressed out and my BRAIN is flying a thousand miles an hour. I think it's the coffee and the leftover Prozac I had for breakfast. I found an extra pill when I was cleaning out my medicine cabinet (DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME). Now, a GIRL ON A DIET who needs to look her most absolutely FABULOUS & as close to Kate MOSS 1997 emaciated as possible in four months or less MUST NOT BE STRESSED.

I once heard if you list stresses, they become LESS POWERFUL. At least that's what I think it said in the Self-Help book I got from the library that has collected dust somewhere by my bed and is now easily three years over due.

STRESSES:

1) That my library books are so overdue that the police will come to my house and take me away. They will see that my place is a disorganized disaster, call a camera crew and I will featured "The Montel Williams Show" (Dr. Phil passed). When Old Bad Boyfriend sees me at wedding, it will not matter how thin and beautiful I look. All he will see is a girl who lives among thousands of old "IN STYLE MAGAZINES" and piles of shoes I can't give away BECAUSE WHITE BOOTS WITH FRINGE ON THE BACK might make a come back.

2) That I will not get this JOB that I really want

3) That I will get this JOB that I really want and not have eight hours a day to be on the elliptical. (Eight hours is minimum of what it's going to take to REVERSE what two years of INACTIVITY, donuts for lunch and wine for dinner has done to my body.) Is there a treadmill you can be strapped to in your sleep? That moves your legs while you're in a PASSED OUT STATE OF SLUMBER?

4) Must invent TREADMILL THAT YOU CAN BE STRAPPED TO IN SLEEP.

5) That I will not invent Treadmill that you can be strapped to while you sleep and when Old Bad Boyfriend sees me, not only will I most resemble what looks like a Morbidly Obese Manatee with a Chub Rub flipper but I will not be a successful inventor of said Treadmill.

6) That actually naming all my STRESSES has in fact made me EIGHT THOUSAND MORE TIMES STRESSED and 10:30am seems completely an inappropriate time for a GLASS OF CALM-DOWN WINE.

Oh, wait, there's mimosas. They have vitamin C and make you feel better.

The Mental Boogie of My Over Active Brain

The Letter Part 2

It was not so much a letter as a fancy envelope with calligraphy on
the front. Nothing good can ever come from calligraphy on the front.
(At least, not when your unemployed. Calligraphy equals someone
wanting expensive gifts from Crate & Barrel.)

I opened it.

It was a wedding invitation. My heart started racing as I scanned it... I didn't even have to see all the names and places and wheres and whens - I JUST KNEW. Old Boyfriend would be there. If you continue to read here, you will learn there is Good Old Boyfriend and Bad Old Boyfriend. With Bad Old Boyfriend things ended badly, but with no one else juicy-delicious to think about, I can't stop thinking
that now that I AM OVER Bad Old Boyfriend (I swear) why can't I toy with the possibility with meet-up-at-the-wedding MAKE-OUT (or more) in four months? How else can I CRUSH HIM WITH REGRET?

Good Old Boyfriend is another story for another time. (Why are WE ONLY TEMPTED BY THE BAD ONES?)

Of course my mind immediately races to the important things: HOW MUCH WEIGHT CAN I LOOSE IN FOUR MONTHS and WHAT AM I GOING TO WEAR? But the second thing doesn't matter as much as the first thing because without the accomplishment of the first thing, there can be no second thing. A SEQUINED MUMU FROM LANE BRYANT does not say let's grab that half bottle of champagne and meet in the bushes. Well... not the
bushes... not if I'm thin and wearing something expensive from Bloomingdale's WITH THE TAGS TUCKED IN THE BACK so I can return it the following day.

So much to think about. With so much to think about, I don't even have time to think about, how do I really feel? Which is good. I don't really want to think about that right now.

All I want to think about is... Is forty pounds even in the REALM of possibilty of losing if I only eat hard boiled eggs and carrots for four months?

The Letter Part 2