Pre Mature Champagne-U-lation

I like to make up words. My favorites were "Stressful-itis" and "Overwhelmed-ness" as in, "I've come down with a horrible case of stressful-itis due to the overwhelmed-ness I'm feeling at work. I read on this girl's blog, 100 days in bed that, in order to recover, I must immediately get under the covers with two old fashioned donuts."

But my new favorite word is "Pre Mature Champagne-U-Lation." That's when your friends pop champagne for you and you celebrate some good news and then the good news goes away. See, it's like a play on pre mature ejaculation, but less disgusting and sad.

Anyway, my friends and I pre mature champagne-u-lated on a job I was told I got. "It's your job! You beat out all the candidates. You should drink mass quantities of quality champagne in order to celebrate!"

Ooo, and we did. Then this "job" has mysteriously not come to fruition and I have the embarassing task of every Wednesday night, when we have our Project Runway Party, of updating all the guests that ask, "Hey, what happened with that job of yours we were celebrating?"

I'm usually a CALM, COLLECTED GIRL, but I feel like if I am asked one more time about said, mysteriously disappearing job, I might just scream, "YOU GOT TO DRINK FORTY-FIVE DOLLAR CHAMPAGNE! ISN'T THAT ENOUGH???? MUST YOU KEEP BARRAGING ME WITH THESE QUESTIONS?????"

But quite frankly, I don't want to get kicked out of the Project Runway Party because it's like, the best thing I've got going for me. Plus, I imagine if I were to make such a scene, as the hostess was bouncing me and my pup out they door, she might just turn to me an say, "You owe me $45.00 for that champagne."

Pre Mature Champagne-U-lation

The High Price of Feeling Low

It's expensive to be depressed. You would think you would save a lot of money on going out, 'cause you never want to go anywhere or see anyone; groceries, 'cause a bag of chips from 7-11 will suffice for the day; hair cuts and colors, 'cause what's the point if you never go out; clothing, 'cause sweat pants will do; utilities, because laying in the dark and not showering are you're number 1 hobby.

But all that savings doesn't amount up to the high price of feeling low.

And I'm not talking about how relationships, in my case, were strained: with the boy I loved, the friends I have (you become a flake when you constantly cancel or never show up anywhere), you're productivity slows because you never have the energy to do anything and your ass gets fat because you simultaneously don't move and don't care what you eat.

I'm talking monetarily, the high price, the cash, the cabbage, the hundred dollar bills y'all. Money mistakes depressed people make because they have their heads buried under the covers. I know. I've been there.

This weekend, having seen Suze Orman on every book in the library and every TV show I seemed to turn on (PBS! Oprah! Larry King!), I took it as a sign that I really needed to deal with my finances.

There is money laying in a 401k that had never been invested. There is a broken phone from Sprint that had never been sent back so they changed me $179.00. There's two companies threatening collection, although I know I paid those bills (I swear I did!) although I have not wanted to deal with calling my bank for the cancelled checks. How about those receipts that if I don't send into my insurance, I won't be reimbursed for? How about that free plane ticket I found that had expired because it was not prpoperly filed away?

It's all haunting me, day and night but the more I think about it, the more I want to crawl under the cozy covers with my fluffy Chihuahua and escape the choking OVER-WHELM-ED-NESS of it all.

I'm trying to shift my thinking. All this money, it adds up to like, a free vacation. Would I give up a free vacation? Would I give up two months rent?

Come on, BE A GROWN UP!
But I don't want to be.
It's so cute you think you have a choice.

The problem with me is I am an ALL or NOTHING girl. I want to handle all of this in one day or NEVER AT ALL. I think the thing with us recovering depress-ties and those of you with serious cases of Over-whelm-ed-ness and Stress-ful-itis is we have to make up realistic goals. Small goals.

Could I do two things a day? If I did two things a day, eight things would be done by Friday. It would reinforce to me, that it's not so hard to do it that way. I have this cute pink folder with a Hawaiian flower on it. I'm going to call it my TWO A DAY FOLDER.

Every thing that needs to be done will be filed on the left and the two things I'm gonna do that day will filed be on the right.

And all the money I save, will go into a little vacation account I'm going to start. And that will be the first thing I'm gonna do.

The High Price of Feeling Low

The Importance of Being Still

When I was a high falutin-tootin' regularly employed TV writer, I knew how to treat myself right. Twice a month I would go to this cute little Thai massage place and get rubbed down right.

(Even, if for a moment, you feel a flash of jealousy, please note, my current life of luxury allows me to treat myself to only one Starbucks drip coffee a week. It must be a Venti (Large) so that I can drink half and then run the other half through my coffee machine the next day to heat up. Yup, don't even have a microwave.)

Anyway, the gentleman who did the rubbing was the sweetest, most forgiving soul I ever met. I could go in there with three weeks of leg stubble and he would not care. When I found out he was a former Buddist monk, I realized why I saw such love and beauty radiate out of him.

When I went just a few weeks ago (Birthday gift certificate - thank you, A!), I found out that Nicomb would be leading a monthly one hour meditation and would I like to reserve a spot? WOULD I!!!

This is something I have wanted to do for a long time. I am sometimes so hyped up on anti-depressants and coffee that I am vibrating with this false kind of energy that, though it seems to propel me forward, often leaves me depleted. There seems to be no time to sit, reflect, think about WHAT I WANT. There seems to only be time to get things done (errands, phone calls, the blah-blah-blah of life).

I've gone from Mattress-ridden Bed Head Girl to over stressed, frazzled "Must get to the bank, grocery shop, rewrite this script, oooo-coffee, honk! get the f' outta my way" Mad Woman. (Although, I cannot tell a lie, there is still a lot of regressing into the warm and cozy of the queen size bed).

So I reserved my spot to meditate.

But I did not go.

I was too scared. Too scared to be alone in my head with my own thoughts.

When my cousin first passed away and I was desperately, desperately sad, I started popping Ambien as a way to sleep. I would go to acupuncture as a way to try and get off the Ambien and the good Doctor would poke me full of needles and shut off the lights and close the door.

And I would promptly burst into tears. I did not want to be alone. I was too scared.

This Tuesday all the girls got together and celebrated the end of the Writer's Strike. One friend who is starting a job March 1, talked about wanting to go on a retreat that would include all sorts of meditation and body treatments.

I was very argumentative about the idea. First of all the price was astronomical... 3x my rent for five nights. But let's put that aside. My objection is why do we need to do these drastic things (go to far away places and spend GOBS of money) to BE ALONE & MEDITATE & FIND OURSELVES when WE ARE RIGHT HERE!

Maybe my friend, like me, knows she won't do the meditation, the being alone with her thoughts, the finding oneself, UNLESS she is pummeled with the guilt of paying the GOBS of money she'll spend.

So even though I am against the idea (we have all suffered so financially and I hate to see her spend this money), I can understand the fear of doing THE SCARY WORK you need to do, on your own, to get in touch with yourself.

But ladies, let me tell you, WE CAN EAT, PRAY, LOVE in our own living room or bedroom or my favorite, the bathtub. (Ever had a glass of wine in a bubble bath? Ever eaten some fancy cheese & crackers in bed while reading a good self help book or journaling? Live, ladies live!!!!)

My point, my friend is going to have to do it her way and I'm going to have to do it my way. (I will FORCE myself to go to the next meditation, first SUNDAY of March). It's not that I don't have the money to do it her way (I mean, OF COURSE, I DON'T!!!!) it's that, I want to push myself to do it on my own terms, in ways I can keep reapplying to my life.

And while I respect the five days away she'll do to JUMP START her spiritual practice, I think the EAT, PRAY, LOVE phenomenon has done a bit of diservice to woman in making us think that unless we can run off to some far flung place, we will never find our own inner peace. So that's what I'm rebeling against.

How do you slow down and stay in touch with yourself? How do you become quiet and listen to the answers that are inside you? Is it easy? Is it hard? Is it something that scares you, too? Inquiring minds want to know!

The Importance of Being Still

The Silent Treatment

Sunday was Day 7 of my mother not speaking to me. You can read how this all started in the eloquently titled: "Why My Mother Is Driving Me Bat S%#t Crazy."

I know exactly how this will play out because it will play out just how it has 1000 times before. She will have my Dad call (he did), then she will get on the phone (she did) and pretend to have a terrible migrane (It's awful! It hurts to blink!  I can't believe I'm even alive!) and then I will feel guilty for even thinking about wanting to have a conversation with her (I was) about why she hung up on me after I asked her to stop talking to me about my giant BIG BUTT (weight gain, but Big Butt is more colorful.) 

Over the years, we go round and round in these circles and what she doesn't understand is that, she is losing her daughter. I am exhausted, I am over it, I (sometimes) do not want to have a relationship with this person.

In therapy, I would say to the woman I was paying massive amounts of money to, that I wasn't sure what my mother could handle since her nervous breakdown. If I talked to her about how she made me feel, could I make her situation worse?

But now the bigger issue is, I'm sad that I may never have a relationship with her that resembles a mother/daughter relationship. It's because of the hot and then the cold. She loves me more than anything, she knows me better than anyone, I HAVE THE BEST MOM IN THE WORLD! I need it on a coffee mug and t-shirt, pronto!

Then the cold comes in, she ignores me, she says things to me to get me to be angry with my sisters so I will only love her, she has such amazing insight on EVERYONE (ugly gossip) yet cannot look at herself.

I'm (getting) over it.

My little sister told me two months ago she was over it. She couldn't stand to be screamed at and then have my mother in a pile of tears when E stopped coming around so much just so she wouldn't have to put up with such things. It scared me. I could see our family fracturing and I just wanted E to, "Please, please, don't be so hard on her. Just let it go!"

But the more we let it go, the more we are letting go of ourselves. The more we ignore, the more we are playing the game my Mom wants us to play.

My therapist used to say that when someone experiences a horrible trauma (for my mother that could be the death of her own mother at 19), they sometimes never emotional grow past that age. I see that with her. But worse, I see that behavior in me.

If I am mad, I will just freeze people out. I stop talking to people. I can disconnect and be done very, very fast. I am up and I am out. Only, I don't want to be that way anymore. I don't want people to be afraid of me and my reactions, like I am of her.

I'm over it.

I don't know the answer concerning my mother. My shrink used to say to me I need to "mourn" the idea of not having a normal relationship with her. I couldn't do that.  I could not give up.  What kind of person gives up on their mother?

I am very torn. Either I serve her or I serve me. I give her up or I give myself up. I don't know, I just don't know.

The Silent Treatment

My A-List Hair Rocks Harder Than Your A-List Hair

One of the things that assuages my almost daily nervous breakdown that this Writer's Strike is still going on, (oh, and by nervous breakdown, I mean, the desire to eat 14 RED VELVET CUPCAKES daily and not like, a real nervous breakdown, like when I'm telling stories about my Mom), anyway, one of the things that dulls the pain of THE APOCAPLYSE that is my life, is the kindness of businesses in L.A. that give striking writers discounts and free stuff so we can have a little SILVER LINING on this dark and stormy cloud.

My friend L, who DAILY combs the list of free or discounted stuff being offered to us, called me in a HOT PANIC that one of the most FAMOUS SALONS in Beverly Hills was offering free cuts and colors to striking writers and, "WE NEED TO MAKE AN APPOINTMENT NOW! NOW! WHY ARE YOU STILL TALKING TO ME?! NOW!"

I have a secret fear of hair salons. I was trying to be all cool, like CONAN & LETTERMAN who had "STRIKE BEARDS," so I called the recent three and a half months neglect of my hair, "STRIKE ROOTS." Funny how six inches of dark brown roots just looks "homeless" instead of "ironic."

About five months ago I went to my salon which had been taken over by a new owner who had only cut and colored my hair once. I was ass deep in my DEPRESSION, WEARING SWEAT PANTS & SHIRTS as all matters of clothing and may or may have not been infrequently bathing.

The guy saw me, my strung out bed head hair and bed body AND HE REFUSED TO TOUCH MY HAIR. "I just can't... it's just... look at it... it's such a mess. Why even bother?" OF WHICH ALL I HEARD WAS: "Look at you, YOU'RE SUCH A MESS, WHY EVEN BOTHER?"

Of course, I prompted burst into tears and fled. (Okay, actually, I said the "F" word to him A LOT. I was really humiliated and I UNLEASHED THE FAT GIRL FURY.)

Even as I told the story to my friends and they sympathized and strategized to EGG HIS CAR, CRANK CALL HIS BUSINESS, JACK HIS REP UP ON THE INTERNET, BURN DOWN HIS SALON (my friends are NOT to be messed with), I couldn't help but think:

"HE IS RIGHT."

Yeah, maybe he should not have refused me service but, I really NEEDED A KICK IN THE ASS to see my TRUE sad-sack self and how I was presenting myself. It wasn't long after that, that I gave up sweatpants (thought THERE HAVE BEEN RELAPSES) and started taking better care of myself.

Which all comes back to how YESTERDAY, I was trying to OVERCOME MY INSANE FEAR of a FANCY-SCHMANCY hair salon that caters to the likes of Julia Roberts, Cate Blanchett and Sandra Bullock. WHAT IF THEY THROW ME OUT? What if they make me feel as horrible as that other guy did?

I'M RAW, LADIES, I CAN'T TAKE THAT AGAIN!

But I bucked up. I went there and I surrendered. Even when the colorist took my CRAZY STRAW LIKE HAIR and twirled a lock of it and looked at me like, "ARE YOU SERIOUS?" I said, "Yeah, it's bad, I'm a hot mess and I need help. Whatever you want to do, you're the artist, do it." (SUBTEXT: "Please DO NOT REJECT ME. PUH-LEEEEEEEEEEEZE!"

And he did not. HE WENT TO WORK. He gave me a base color so I no longer had the CRAZY CONTRAST of dark BROWN hair with BLONE highlights (LIKE ANYONE WAS EVER BELIEVING THAT). Then he painted in some highlights that look SEXY FINE. And because he thought it was A SIN worse THAN ADULTREY to let me have SEXY FINE color with a SUPERCUTS cut, he sent me down to someone else to take care of that.

When I saw myself after that cut and blowdry, I ALMOST CRIED. My hair has NEVER looked so good and I almost didn't want to go to sleep last night because I wanted to STAY UP ALL NIGHT looking at it. At me.

I've always had this thing, like, I don't deserve things until I am perfect. Until I have a job or a boyfriend or the right weight. I AM REALLY TRYING TO CHANGE THAT MIND SET.

I don't want to be all "LESSON-Y" but I was thinking, "It's gonna stink in 3 months when I'm back to my old pre-Cinderella self." Then I thought, I am DOING SO MUCH to get out of this depression, why can't I make the same sacrifices for my hair? I can put money aside like I do for therapy. I'd rather give UP A LOT OF THINGS that I don't truly need to feel this FABULOUS & FIERCE.

Because I want to feel this good about myself ALL THE TIME and I don'r want to WAIT FOR IT ANYMORE. Julia & Cate & Sandy don't, so why should I?

My A-List Hair Rocks Harder Than Your A-List Hair

Why My Mother Is Making Me Bat S%#t Crazy

I'm so not one of those people that blames their parents for everything. Except for today and that is: My mother is making me bat shit crazy.

My mother worships every DIET ever created. Like having a prayer day for each of my sisters, there is probably one for The South Beach Diet, The Cabbage Soup Diet and The Sugar Addicts Diet. My Mom was never under weight or over weight, in fact, she was always at the PERFECT weight. And we, my sisters and I knew why, because she had achieved the perfect cycle of pig out one day, starve the next.

Even on the day my mother was having her Nervous Breakdown, she had my aunt PINNED in the corner of our kitchen, extolling the VIRTUES of "I CAN'T BELIEVE IT'S NOT BUTTER." (IT TASTES LIKE THE REALLY THING! WITH HALF THE FAT! JUST SPRAY IT ON YOUR TONGUE, LIKE A DELICIOUS SNACK!)

So, there I am this past SUNDAY, doing my obligatory Sunday call and my mother asks about MY DIET. Now this is after I've already told her over Christmas break, I'm on WW, I've got a handle on this, the weight (THE BACK FAT, THE EXTRA ASS, THE CHUB RUB THIGHS) came on because I was so depressed (loss of writing job, cousin's murder, being dumped, HER NERVOUS BREAKDOWN, the stress of stealing expired Vicodins from my friends), BUT I SWEAR, I'm better now but in no uncertain terms (I think) I DO NOT WANT TO TALK TO YOU ABOUT THIS. (I wrote about this in the "Why Wafting Taco Bell Out Of My Car Is Essential to My Sanity" entry).

Now I'm in "Landmine City." Being a mommy pleaser, I just want her to be SO DARN PROUD of me so I say, "I've lost 7 pounds. I'm doing good." But by opening the door a crack, IN COMES THE AVALANCHE OF QUESTIONS and COMMENTS, "Are you staying for the meetings? Are you exercising? ARE YOU USING "I CAN'T BELIEVE IT'S NOT BUTTER?????"

Then she says, "You know, if you just EAT SMALLER PORTIONS, YOU'LL LOSE WEIGHT." REALLY??? WELL, NOW I'M SET FREE! BECAUSE I NEVER KNEW THAT! I wasn't even using a plate before, I just ate out of a giant wheel barrel. Was that too much?!?!!!!!

The rage had really boiled up. Why? Because if she listened to me the first time, that this weight was a direct result of my depression over my cousin's death, ETC., SHE WOULD KNOW I DON'T NEED ADVICE ABOUT PORTION CONTROL.

I needed time to get over how sad, angry, guilty, terrified, hopeless and depressed I was.

By her thinking I just need to limit my portions dismisses everything I have gone through these past two years. And I know why. BECAUSE SHE CAN'T GO THROUGH IT. Not her mother's death, all my father's illnesses or her nephew's murder. So she stores it up, eating and starving to stay in the CHAOS and having something ("I CAN'T BELIEVE IT'S NOT BUTTER" lectures) to take her mind off the pain she is in.

But I don't want to be any part of it. It's how I learned to cope this long. But I don't want to be that way anymore.

AND I TOLD HER SO.

She got mad, pitched a fit and even hung up on me as I was saying, "I love you." Because I do love her. But I don't want to talk about diets with her anymore. Because that's so NOT what this is about.

And I stand f'ing firmly in that resolve, although, I have to admit that when I saw the "I Can't Believe It's Not Butter" spray in my fridge, I felt so damn guilty.

Why My Mother Is Making Me Bat S%#t Crazy

Why I Did (Got Drunk) What I Did (& Emailed My Ex-Boyfriend)

Okay, I've given it some thought and I have some theories. My whole life has been chaos and that is WHERE I THRIVE and do my best.

That relationship was chaos, never knowing if he really loved me, never knowing where I stood, always waiting for the ground to come out from beneath me at any moment. But why it worked for me was because... his distance, un-emotion-ality, felt very familiar to me and therefore, made me feel safe. I never had to worry about what it would be like to really REVEAL MYSELF, really LET GO or really ASK FOR WHAT I NEEDED.

Because to ASK for any of that made ME TOO AFRAID. I didn't want to be VUNERABLE. I wanted it to stay in The Fun Zone, where no questions are asked and no one gets hurt. My whole life has been keeping that ball in the air, hoping it will never land.

My FEAR is, if someone would TRULY get to know me, RATHER than this FAKE HAPPY person I always put out there, they wouldn't like me very much. Even if I, in the past, have shown the real me, the second like I feel like THAT ME is going to be booed off stage, I quickly turn into something else, SOMETHING EVERYONE ELSE WILL LIKE.

So why did I email? I think one of the things I wrote about in "You Say You Want A Revolution" is about how one of my New Year's Resolutions is "to kiss more boys." But the more I thought about that, the more it made me feel about the STEP YOU NEED TO TAKE in order to KISS MORE BOYS.

The DATING step. My fear is I am not ready, I am not a whole person and that I will just ATTRACT JERKS like Old Bad Boyfriend. He will be moody and unemotional and I will have TO LOSE & FORGET MYSELF in order to keep that ball in the air.

So maybe in some sense, I thought, "Well, instead of doing that, why don't I email OBB." Soon emails lead to CALLING, calling leads to MEETING UP, meeting up leads to FLIRTING, flirting leads to KISSING and soon I CAN BE BACK IN THE CHAOS.

Safe and sound.

Because sometimes, we go back to things we say we HATE, because they make us feel SAFE and they relieve us from DOING THE HARDER WORK, the work on ourselves, that once done, WOULD NEVER ALLOW US TO GO BACK TO OLD BAD BOYFRIENDS and certainly, never let us repeat the VICIOUS CYCLE of just finding A New Bad Boyfriend.

The support here has been amazing. I have to say, all I have wanted to do was hit DELETE on the "DEPRESSION CONFESSION #2" entry and act like it never happened. I HATE HAVING A BLEMISH ON MY RECORD! I want to be perfect. I hate that I have been "Rah, rah, let's change!" and then (she makes fart noise).

But I know you guys get it. Especially Melly, who, as I was typing that entry, I wished a little chip would go off in her head and even if she was sleeping, WOULD BOLT AWAKE, and fly through the ether of COMPUTER LAND and land in my bedroom as I TYPED and take the computer and BANG IT OVER MY HEAD.

She is very smart. Here's what she said: "Whatever feeling or message you're trying to get out of these phone calls, seek it elsewhere. Proving something to yourself rarely relies on someone else's response.

Want to prove you're fierce? Convince yourself first. The confidence will shine through to others. Want to know that you're moving on? STOP CONTACTING THE EX."

Amen. Thank you. And just so you know, Melly, the notes TO NEVER DO IT AGAIN, yeah, they've gone up everywhere. Especially, on the corner of this computer.

Why I Did (Got Drunk) What I Did (& Emailed My Ex-Boyfriend)

Depression Confession #2

This is why I'm a really Bad Person. Because I am weak. Because I email Bad Old Boyfriends.

I don't quite know what sent me in the direction, but I suspect it was alcohol and access to a computer. It happened in Kauai. It was just so beautiful and magical and every where you looked was another INSANELY IN LOVE couple holding hands, gazing lovingly at each other, kissing each other tenderly. I WANTED TO GOUGE MY EYES OUT I WAS SO DAMN JEALOUS.

And I was feeling lonely and missing, not just him, but the IDEA OF ANYBODY. And I had had 2 glasses of wine, 1 and a half Mai Tais and two beers. And had access to a computer. So I tickeled the keys and wrote that kind of email you write when you want to SEEM ALL UPBEAT, HAPPY, MYSTERIOUSLY ON VACATION AND LIFE COULD NOT BE BETTER & I AM IMPLYING, BUT NOT OUTRIGHT SAYING, "You should be soooooo missing me. Yeah! You should."

Of course, within minutes, he shot an email back to me. AND I LIKED IT. I liked it because it made me feel powerful and desirable and miss-able. All things I had NEVER felt in the relationship. (Yeah, I pick real winners, ladies.) I knew it was not because I WAS SO GREAT but because I AM A GREAT DISTRACTION.

I was his and he was mine. When we were together, we were in THE FUN ZONE. If we stepped out of The Fun Zone (deep talking, getting to know each other on "another level," tell me your deep, dark secrets, etc.), HE RESISTED, I PERSISTED, then fighting (us), crying (me), silence (him).

I have come so far in digging myself out of the DEPRESSION HOLE (there's only like 32 more feet to go and I can finally see daylight) that I don't know WHY I would do this (especially with someone that treated me so yuck-ily.)

I don't know. I don't know. I don't know.

It wasn't just the Mai Tais, I know there is some bigger meaning there and I have to figure it out so I don't do it again. Give me a day or two. I am also open to any theories you have or chastising you want to give.

Depression Confession #2

You Say You Want A REVOLUTION

I guess I should really have said, "resolution" because I want to give you an update on how I'm doing with mine (I originally posted them in "It's A Good Time To Make Lists!").

But the word "resolution" creeps me out because it's such a cliche J1 (January 1) thing to do and then bail on by F1. Besides, I want a REVOLUTION, not just a RESOLUTION. I want to be GROWING and CHANGING and CHALLENGING myself all year long.

My two year hibernation insists that I do.

So once a month, I'm going to throw out an Big Ol' Progress Report on my revolution:

1) I want PINK hair.
PROGRESS: Currently on a scale of mildly insane and bat shit crazy, I look majorly insane. See, when you get depressed, you forget about things like eating right, exercising or running a comb through your hair. It was sort of cool when my blonde highlights grew out because "peek-a-boo" roots were all the rage in the magazines. AND I LOVE TO BE ALL THE RAGE, even when I'm barely leaving my apartment for weeks at a time.

So I'm off to my colorist for some blonde highlights (I DESERVE IT! MAKE ME BUTTERY!) He will probably pass out from my Homeless Chic hair. And if he doesn't, he certainly will when I consult him on how to go PINK.

2) I want to go to Italy.
PROGRESS: Conversations are happening. Talks are moving forward. APRIL is the goal date.

3) I'm going to write a book.
PROGRESS: I am begging, I am pleading, my TV agent to get me a meeting with a Lit. agent in New York.

4) I'm going to lose forty pounds.
PROGRESS: I have been eating so clean and healthy, it's crazy. The fact that I got on the WW scale after Kauai and had only gained .4 pounds MADE ME INSANELY ELATED. To me, that was like LOSING FIVE POUNDS! Right now, I'm up .4 but never really considered THE BIG START until after Kauai, so I am quite excited. (CONFESSION: Need to move more. Typing doesn't count)

5) I've always wanted to run a road race. Even a five K, I don't care.
PROGRESS: The problem with having a blog is your friends read them and then they make you do stuff you said you'd do. S has us doing two road races in April. Very exciting & terrifying). I hope there is an ambulance standing by.

6) I want to redecorate my apartment.
PROGRESS: I am going to do a whole POST on this because this is MAJOR. Not major what I'm doing, please, my budget is like, a nickel. Just MAJOR, the anxiety about change and LETTING GO that it brings on.

7) I want to make something. I've narrowed it down to: POTTERY, SOME KIND OF JEWELRY MAKING OR I've always wanted to learn how to upholster furniture.
PROGRESS: I did see a class at the CC for silver smithing. THAT SOUNDS AWESOME. I gotta find that catalogue.

8) I want to volunteer.
PROGRESS: I go for my orientation on Feb. 6. I AM SO EXCITED!!!. I'm going to teach kids with cancer how to write. NOTE TO SELF: Learn how to write.

9) HAVE MORE FUN! Every day carve out time for FUN.
PROGRESS: This is tougher than you would think. How about FUN every other day? NO! Must stick with REVOLUTION/RESOLUTION!!! Must make a fun chart with pies and graphs to keep track of all the FUN I am going to have.

10) Investigate my life, figure out who I am and stop repeating patterns that are learned and that have hurt me.
PROGRESS: It's all in the journaling, Baby. This is a tough one. But no one said a Revolution was going to be easy.

11) KISS MORE BOYS.
PROGRESS: ZERO. Enough said. But I will physically attack someone and throw them down in the street and mount them if that means I can report more progress next month.

You Say You Want A REVOLUTION

How I Lost 50 Pounds (& Became the Bomb)

I really got my "Hello Kitty" panties in a bunch when I wrote "A Clarification and A Shout Out of Love" about this not being a dieting blog. BECAUSE IT ISN'T. Because there are a million of those. Because I want THIS to be more SPECIAL than THAT.

But there is another reason, too. It's because, in the past when I have become OBSESSED with DIETS and dieting and measuring and points and fat grams and carbs and carrots and corn have SO MUCH SUGAR!, I AM NOT REALLY LIVING. I always thought that being CO-DEPENDENT meant you had to be co-dependent on a person.

Then I heard this.

A friend said that being co-dependent means using someone (or something) else's chaos or dysfunction or depression, as a WAY TO NUMB YOURSELF. You totally concentrate on this other person or thing AS A WAY TO NOT DEAL with your OWN LIFE and FEELINGS.

Ding, ding, ding, ding, ding.

That's been me & dieting. I'm one of those people who gives up EVERYTHING so I can GIVE it to SOMETHING else... I'm co-dependent... on dieting. The more I IMMERSE myself in it, the more I get to put off living my life because I'M TOTALLY & ONLY DEVOTED TO IT. I am worshipping at the alter of Lean Cuisine!

So that's why this isn't a dieting blog. Because that is not A COOL WAY TO LIVE. I don't want to ignore my life.

HOWEVER...

When I wrote "You Are Not Alone," I got an avalanche of comments from people saying that are sick and tired of extra weight they are carrying and they have shame or pain over it. AND IF IT'S ANYTHING I HATE IT'S WHEN PEOPLE FEEL SHAME & PAIN.

So I want to tell you how five years ago, I lost fifty pounds. I was overweight. I was OVER myself. I had just emerged from a job I hated and saw becoming a sitcom writer as a DREAM and a WAY TO LIVE MY DREAM LIFE. All the things I ignored while I had worked my previously HORRIFIC JOB, I wanted back - self-love, time to take care of myself, meeting boys, looking cute in jeans, no neck fat.

Yes, I did some dieting. I switched cereal for egg whites and turkey bacon and added fruit. I threw the bread off my sandwich at lunch and added a double salad, double broccoli (my office Nickname) or double anything green. I stopped eating after 7pm and cut way back on booze and sugar. And yes, I moved, I ran, I ellipical-ed, I biked, I jumped and jacked.

But that was 30% of the work. THE OTHER STEP I TOOK WAS LIFE CHANGING.

I kept a journal.

99 cents saved my life. Every doubt I had about my new job, I wrote about. Every fight with a sister, parent, boyfriend, co-worker, Starbucks barista, idiot who changed lanes without using his turn signal, I wrote about. Every fear about where my life was going and with who, I wrote about.

I NEVER PUSHED DOWN ONE MORE FEELING. I never had an emotion "eating" at me. I got to stay present, focused and could look back on good days when I was having bad days and smile, "Look how far I've come!" Instead of numbing out with food, I pushed through the hard stuff and put it on paper.

EVERY DAY, I felt more fearless, strong, in control, FIERCE, motivated and truly, amazing.

The weight fell off. IF YOU DON'T BELIEVE THAT IT WAS ALL BECAUSE OF THE JOURNAL, IF YOU ARE NOT CONVINCED, how about this?

The second I stopped... the weight came back on. It was after my cousin died and the pages were too painful to face. I didn't want to cry or be sad or to be angry. I DID NOT WANT TO FEEL ANYTHING. If I didn't write it down, it could not be happening.

Only it was happening. So I numbed it with sleeping, inactivity, Cheetos, Doritos and the occasional (everyday) donut. Soon it was five pounds that came on, then ten, then twenty, then more and more and more.

I was stubborn though, I WOULD NOT WRITE AND I WOULD NOT FEEL.

So I am saying to you "You Are Not Aloners" who REALLY WANT TO MAKE A DIFFERENCE IN YOUR LIFE - get a journal. It's not about making your diet better, IT'S ABOUT MAKING YOUR LIFE BETTER. It's about seeing your fears on paper and then realizing, they don't have so much power anymore. It's about making a list of goals and then keep going back to them until you accomplish them.

IT'S ABOUT not getting so lost in this HURRY UP world, because if you write it down, YOU ALWAYS KNOW WHO YOU ARE, WHAT YOU WANT & HOW TO GET THERE.

You will be amazed by how something that takes 10 or fifteen minutes EVERY FEW DAYS will GIVE BACK TO YOU 100 fold. I'm going back, more committed than ever, to the pen and the page. Not just to get back to size 8 jeans (though I CANNOT WAIT!!!) but so I never lose myself again.

How I Lost 50 Pounds (& Became the Bomb)