The Weekly Rantings of a Delightful Lunatic

I feel like writing something fun. My friend does the best rants. THE BEST! He hates everything but the great part is he can totally justify it. He's not so much complaining (I HATE COMPLAINERS) as unburdening himself. The thing about him too, he is literally, the most stress-free person I know.

So, I think he's on to something. Maybe if we all ranted and just completely got off our chests the things that are taxing our minds, then we could be stress free, too.

So, here are my rants for the week:

THE TIP JAR - Can we talk about the tip jar? It's at every Starbucks, every sandwich shop, my friend even says there is one at his dry cleaner. It never really bothered me. BUT NOW IT'S MAKING ME CRAZY. Where it really makes me insane is at Starbucks which gives it's employees stock options and benefits. And on top of that, they want a dollar tip on my $2.00 coffee.

Um... no. And to drive home my point, I am now walking around with my own tip jar. YEAH, that's right, I am. Here's my thought process. The economy is in the crapper. Right now, when I come in for a cup of coffee, I am keeping you working. So technically, you should be tipping me for your job.

Too harsh?

ICE COFFEE - And while we're on the topic of coffee shops, why is it that the price of ice coffee is 30-50% more than regular coffee? They fill the whole cup with ice so technically you are getting HALF the amount of coffee for MORE money.

You know what I do? I ask for a hot coffee and then a cup of ice on the side and then I defiantly mix my coffee and ice together. Sometimes, I bring my own big cup. Who has time to think of these things? I do.

PEOPLE WITH STROLLERS - This might be an unpopular one because you thought I was so nice and then I revealed my somewhat strong dislike of children. I just don't understand when a couple is walking towards me with their stroller and I have the right of way, why I have to get out of the way. Also, babies are messy and they cry.

PEOPLE WHO TALK ON THEIR CELL PHONES IN COFFEE SHOPS - I'm trying to drink my three dollar coffee! (Yes, I tipped a dollar even though I didn't want to.)

PEOPLE WHO RIDE VESPAS - That's cute that you're saving on gas and stuff but 1) You don't look like you remotely know how to drive that thing and 2) If I hit you, I might laugh a little.

PEOPLE THAT NOTICE ME NOT PICKING UP MY DOGS'S POOP - If I wanted to pick it up, I wouldn't be pretending to look the other way.

Wheeeeeewwwww! Do I feel better. So now I want to let your fingering rip over that key board and gimme your rants.


This blog is dedicated to meat ball pizza.

The Weekly Rantings of a Delightful Lunatic

Skinny Bitches

Can we talk about skinny bitches?

You know, I used to be one, prancing around in my size 6 jeans and feeling like there would never be a day when I would have a voluminous extra ass and jiggly hips and thighs... and arms. Then I got hella down in the dumps and foods I would never even eat before, like bagels and croissants, started to be my staples for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

I'm not sure where the turning point came (if it has come) but I thought, do I really want to gain more? I mean, this has REALLY gotten out of hand. (When you have labored breathing getting into your car, it's time to examine your life and diet).

So I decide to sign up for a boot camp in my neighborhood. Right. A normal person might start taking long walks or say, ride the bike at one of her three gyms she pays memberships a month to.

Not me. I may have my "Before" body, but I want my "After" life.

I go to the Pilates bootcamp (yeah, I'm rolling my eyes at my extreme pretentiousness, too). What I remember about pilates is that it's exercise you can do laying down. I'm in! Can we watch TV, too?

Oh, but then the Skinny Bitches who are taking the class with me walk in, each in a more fabulous and more Juicy outfit than the other. Are you kidding me? I'm wearing bright blue Target (half price sweats), a red Gap t-shirt and mismatched socks.

The Skinny Bitches scoff at me. And I scoff at myself. This is not my Burbank pilates - this is a Kick Your Ass and Hand It Back To You workout. I rustle through my purse making sure I have my insurance card with me.

The only comfort I have is that a Very Famous TV Star is in class and he cannot keep up either. I won't say who he is, because ya know, I want to be respectful of his privacy. Okay, it's totally TR Knight from "Grey's Anatomy" and I'm kicking his ass but that's not saying much. He keeps reducing the weights whenever the instructor turns around.

I leave, every inch of me drenched in sweat. I now feel immense compassion for any self-defined big girl who returns to a work out class after not going in like, forever. It's hard. I wonder if people made assumptions about me. I wish I had a t-shirt that said, "I Used To Be Thin Like You."

Hmmmm... it couldn't be much to print one of those up?

I always said, this wouldn't be a diet blog. It's my journey back to the person I used to be. And that person was fit and kick ass. She might have been a Skinny Bitch, too. Someone who wore her perfect outfits to exercise class and took her sensible weight for granted.

I will never do that again.

I will say, when I gain weight, I am in total denial. Even as I'm going from my jeans, to bigger jeans, to sweat pants - I kind of have no idea that I am changing. I think, I'm just me and somehow when I'm ready, I'll (snap my fingers) just go back to a size 6.

Yesterday's insanely, brutal wake-up call in the form of a woman screaming at me to "Get that butt, up! Up! Do you want those saddle bags??? DO YOU WANT THAT JIGGLE BEHIND YOUR ARMS????", told me, this is going to be a frickin' lot of work.

(P.S. I did wonder what would happen if I told her that Yes, indeed, I did want to to keep my saddle bags, but I was too scared. So was TR.)

I went back again, today. I could almost feel tears coming to my eyes, it was so INCREDIBLY hard. Why did I do this to myself? UGH!

But I also felt immensely proud. I didn't let the Skinny Bitches deter me. And I got my butt up, a little higher and my instructor even screamed at me a little less today.

Awesome.


This blog is dedicated to Big Girls who take big chances.

Skinny Bitches

Adventure Bowl Let Me In Your Pool!

This week I pulled from the Adventure Bowl, "Do something that makes you afraid." I really wish I had been more specific when I wrote that one. Because right now, there was a long list - talking to the cute guy on my street, standing in front of the mirrior naked, looking at my 401K, taking my car to my mechanic because every time I do, he, in his thick Russian accent, says, "Very bad news. VERY BAD NEWS for you."

But, I want to have fun! This Bowl is about having fun, challenging myself, getting back to me.

Hmmm, what can I do that makes me afraid? Well, one thing that I want to work on is my extreme case of Good Girl-i-tis. I am so freakin' good.

I obey all laws, I'm nice, I never step out of line. If a friend wants to jay walk it's like I can compute in five seconds or less all the castastrophes that could possibly happen, "We'll get tickets! We'll be mowed down by Hummers! We'll get tickets, be mowed down by Hummers and be on the news with mug shots that will not be flattering to my jaw line!"

I know. My friend once said to me, "It must be exhausting being you." And it is.

So I thought this could be a great time to do something that made me afraid and was bad...

My friend R sent me this web site that had all these listings of houses for sale in LA, each more ostentatious than the next. One even bragged that it had the best pool in LA and had even been feautured on "Entourage." (Eye roll with secret jealousy).

I started to think that it totally sucked that the only people that could luxuriate in pools were multi-millionaires. Poor people get hot, too!

There seemed only one way to remedy this. I needed to crawl over the fence of the "Entourage" house and get in that pool.

I told E my plan and she was in.

We decided we should do this at night, 'cuz of the whole fence scaling thing. The adreniline was pumping and soon I as I was up on a trash can (we didn't have a ladder) and over on the other side.

E went next, though, she started screaming when she came face to face with a racoon scurrying along the neighbor's fence. You would think I would care about someone calling the police but I was feeling so bad ass at this point, I practically DARED them to haul my soaking wet, voluminous ass out of that pool.

The pool was freezing and of course, we forgot the towels in the car. (MORONS!) But that only made us laugh harder until we were practically convulsing in fits. "We did it!" I knew it made E feel good to see me this way. As soon as just last December, I had been a shell of my former self.

Her words. But, true words.

The getting out part, OH, WE WERE DYING, we were so cold! And then there was the part where we had to crawl back over the fence with NO GARBAGE CANS on our side. We were dying of laughter over that. "Let's call the police to let us out!"

But man, was that worth it. Indescribable fun.

I highly recommend you do something that makes you afraid. That makes you feel like a bad ass. Because it pays off in the most unexpected ways after. You have no idea.


This blog is dedicated to fearless friends raccoons the size of dogs.

Adventure Bowl
Let Me In Your Pool!

When You're Hiding Margaritas in Your Purse... It's Time To Look At Your Life

Life has been hectic. My new way of coping is to stay super busy so I don't have to think about being super stressed. I knew I was neglecting my blog because I didn't want to deal.

But knowing "not wanting to deal" has lead me to be confined to my bed, isolating from friends and eating a lot of string cheese, I thought I'd just journal like crazy and get it off my chest.

I went to one of my favorite Mexican places, Sunday, journal in hand. I ordered a margarita. Margaritas always make me tell the truth. Not always a good thing, like the time by BF and I had them and I ended up telling him I fake my orgasms. That was not a fun night.

Anyway, all the stuff I had to write about this Sunday was about family and the ability of my family to drive me bat shit crazy. I'll publish that entry one day. It's gut wrenchingly honest about how upset I am with my parents.

My Mom is either off her meds or no one is regulating them. She's the one who went to several different doctors to get all sorts of anti-depressents prescribed to her after my cousin died. She then concocted her own tiny meth-like lab in her house where she combined them in all sorts of varying degrees until it backfired an landed her in the emergency room.

That was a fun two months.

After one margarita the steam was pouring out of my ears. Why won't my Dad step up and do anything about this? Why am I the bad guy in all this? Why when I talk to my Dad about her erratic behavior am I called... wait, for it - "too sensitive?"

The things my mother says... they are not the things a mentally well person says to her daughters. Nevermind, that if she is acting this way with me, she is acting this way with everyone. My sister told me four months ago she was cutting off her relationship with my mother. I begged her not to. Why? I guess... I hate conflict. I would much rather ignore conflict. Can't we just all get along? Haven't we all gone through enough?

But the price of silence, of just going along with it, is really heavy. It's not making my Mom better and it's really affecting me and my sisters. There were a lot of reasons I broke up with my therapist. One was I just wanted to deal with my cousin's death more.

But when my friend C, a patient of my therapist, told me my therapist cried in a session with C because something they were talking about made her (my therapist) think of her son's suicide, I felt kinda reluctant to bring up David's death.

So I just paid out of pocket and went there and didn't say anything at all. I have taken politeness to a whole new level.

The other reason - she told me I would be more healthy if I didn't have a relationship with my mother.

I was not ready for that. I'm not ready for that now. Which is why, when I came to that conclusion at the Mexican restaurant, I ordered another margarita. Only, it was too strong. And I had to drive. But I'm thrifty and I had already paid for it. So... I went out to my car and grabbed a cup that I was carrying around for water. And I marched back into the restaurant, dumped my margarita in the cup and then tipped my waiter well for looking the other way and left.

I didn't come to any other conclusions about my family that day. Except that margaritas on a hot, frustrating day are delicious.


This blog is dedicated to waiters that look the other way.

When You're Hiding Margaritas in Your Purse... It's Time To Look At Your Life

Adventure Bowl I'm Famous Here & At Taco Bell

I've always wanted an 8x10 glossy photo, like the kind famous people have, but of me, hanging in a restaurant. It doesn't even have to be a fancy restaurant. I could actually get quite excited to see myself featured at the Taco Bell right by Warner Bros.

There's only one problem: They hang their pictures quite high and while I'm not opposed to standing on a table top ("Excuse me, yeah, could you move your Chicken Gordita over just a smidge so I can crawl on top of your table and drill my photo up here?... No! Well, then I can't be responsible for falling ceiling."

This week, I saw my dream coming true when I picked out of the Adventure Bowl: "Hang Your Pic Up at a Restaurant." Now the hard thing is, I don't exactly have an 8x10 of me. Then I realized, that's what Kinko's is for! One hour later and about twenty bucks in printing fees (I got kind of picky, afterall, this picture of me is going to be immortalized FOREVER), I was off to this cool Mexican place in Hollywood.

I got to the restaurant and sat down in a booth. First problem - why are there so many damn people in a darken restaurant on a Sunday? Don't you people have anything better to do?!?! Second problem - a lot of the photos up there are nailed in. That doesn't make my job impossible, I'm strong and I come with tools. But I need less people here and someone to shield me.

I'm surprised I had that good of sense to know when an Adventure should be put on hold because by now I had two margaritas and after two margaritas, I start to think that I am invisible. I really don't want to be in the crime blotter because I was seen yanking down a picture of Burt Renolyds and replacing it with mine.

Now, even, though this Adventure has to be postponed until I can bring a few friends with me, it's not a total loss. I did some recon work that told me not to come on the weekend and help me scout the best booth to sit in that will get me the most optimal placement of my photo.

Now the big question is - do I want to be by Jake Gyllenhal or Farrah Fawcett???

This blog is dedciated to patience.

Adventure Bowl
I'm Famous Here & At Taco Bell

Everything I Know About Depression, I Learned From Carrie Bradshaw

Apparently, "Sex & The City" is not just for learning about sex and fantastic shoes! Now in one viewing or less, you too can learn to have the most fabulous depression ever. Just buy a ticket and grab your popcorn, note pad and pen!

Don't have time? Okay, even more fun, let's compare and contrast Carrie Bradshaw's depression in the "SATC" movie to my own.

CARRIE: Gets depressed in a luxurious five star beach front hotel
ME: Gets depressed in a broke down, rent controlled apartment in L.A.

CARRIE: Gets under satiny, 700 thread count sheets to shut out the world
ME: Lays on a threadbare mattress with a sweaty, ten pound Chihuahua. Gave up making the bed six months ago

CARRIE: Takes to her bed in a gorgeous couture caftan
ME: Takes to bed in a hole-y t-shirt that wouldn't be suitable for washing floors

CARRIE: Her golden locks of glossy hair cascade around her, highlighting her despair
ME: My bed-head is 24 hours away from being dread locks

CARRIE: Takes off her thousand dollar sunglasses and stares at herself longingly in the mirror
ME: Please... a really depressed person knows, rule #1 of depression - NEVER LOOK AT YOURSELF IN THE MIRROR

CARRIE: Refuses to eat for days
ME: Alernates between a bag of Doritos or Cheetos as breakfast, lunch and dinner. Only shops at the depression girls' grocery store of choice - 7-11.


People, if depression were that fabulous, there would be no reason to get out of it. So, thank God mine wasn't :)



This blog is dedicated to healing margaritas.

Everything I Know About Depression, I Learned From Carrie Bradshaw

Naughty, Naughty, Awful Blog Neglector!

I'm sorry I have been so infrequent with my updates this week. You know those movies where someone is being chased by a tornado? That's me, except instead of my tornado being formed by bad weather patterns, mine is filled with 8,000 type writers, their little keys taunting with their click-ity clacks.

Believe me, I feel terribly guilty. I'm Catholic, so my blood type is guilt. Another thing I have been completely neglecting is returning the two extra Spelndas I took from my local coffee shop. How could I do that?! Doesn't the poor owner have enough problems with corporate moliith Starbucks right around the corner - never mind, ME, who could carelessly bring down his whole coffee house dream with my Spelnda stealing ways?

This keeps me up at night.

But, when I write here, I don't just slap dash it off. That's why rather than writing something awful now, I'd rather toss and turn for three to five more guilt filled nights.

I will say this, 7 months ago when I started this blog, I wasn't even getting out of bed, so depressed was I about everything from a death in the family to the excessive jiggle of my thighs. I can't believe how much that has changed... I don't think I would be so busy with work if I hadn't written here and dusted off the Adventure Bowl.

To that end, I'd say, if you need to be inspired, maybe read some of the old posts about the Adventure Bowl or check out some of the ones with the most comments, knowing they resonated with the readers here and maybe will with you, too.


This blog is dedicated to free chocolate samples.

Naughty, Naughty, Awful Blog Neglector!

Little Miss Baldy Brows

Today I have had endured a devastating loss... of my eye brows. Yes, I had them waxed but I specifically said, "Go easy!" When a girl has a big butt she needs to balance them out with big brows.

I know what you're thinking, "You big diva, you pay someone to do your brows?! Well, then, you deserve it." Let me tell you something, I only learned that there was even an occupation where someone deforested the hair above your eyes five years ago. Before that, I was living in the thicket of brows that most resembled knitted mohair sweaters (Thanks, Dad!)

Besides, is $8 so much to pay for looking well... less hairy? Well, apparently, it's too little to pay to get the job done right. My brows look like they were tended to by a person who was blind in one eye and had glaucoma in the other. I have taken to hiding so forgive me that I owe you a Porsche riding post and another called "The Importance of Naked Jumping Jacks." I'll be back with one of those on Wednesday.

In the meantime, everyone REALLY loved Melanie's contribution in "The Weight of Weight." Any other topics we can throw at her? I'm thinking overbearing mothers, missing your inoppropriate boyfriend, life ruts, boundary issues, weird sex dreams, clutter chaos or daring to date again... anybody, care to help me narrow it down?

I'd love to hear your suggestions!

P.S., I totally stole a "Vogue" magazine from the salon to make up for the hatchett job on my brows. Not really worth it as every women on every page is staring back on me with her non over waxed circus brows.


This blog is dedicated to acceptable stealing.

Little Miss Baldy Brows

Adventure Bowl I'm Gonna Need My Big Fake Purse For This One

Thank God for fake Louis Vuitton bags. My friend has examined mine and has heartily proclaimed it's passability as the real thing, ranking it a B+. Well, that purse is going to be put to the test on Friday when I do the adventure I pulled out of the bowl this week:

"Test Drive The Car of Your Dreams."

Oh, IT'S ON! It's totally going to be a red convertible Porsche. Although now that I have grown a second butt, I am a little nervous about having to squish down into the low seat. What if the salesman needs some kind of jaws-of-life to get me out? That would not so good.

I'm putting together my plan of action. I know I can't just roll into a Porsche dealership in my Target sweats. I need to wear something sophisticated and cute (and made with a little stretch fabric for the squishing down into low seats). I might have to borrow something... from Bloomingdales.

Then there is the issue of my current car. My current car is a red Jeep Wrangler. It's old. I would tell you how many miles it has but the odometer broke about a year ago. So did the speed gauge, gas gauge, oil gauge and water gauge. And it only has one working seat belt. It basically a death machine on wheels.

And it's SO not the sort of car you drive up to a Porsche dealership in that makes ANYONE ever believe you could afford a Porsche. Or a Porsche mug.

I'll have to park it around the corner.

Wish me luck!


This blog is dedicated to wind blown hair.

Adventure Bowl
I'm Gonna Need My Big Fake Purse For This One

The Weight of Weight Part 2

This is a long post. I thought about dividing it up for my short attention span lovelies. But it needs to be all together - if you've ever struggled with your weight, this post will mean a lot to you. I promise you, IT'S THAT WORTH IT. And I didn't even write it… so it's not like I'm bragging.

Two entries ago, I talked about how I am sick and tired of having a double bubble butt, cankles, muffin top and the fact that Angelia Jolie, pregnant with twins, has a lower BMI than me.

But now I want to change and take off the sad fat suit that I put on in the throws of grief. So two entries ago, I wrote Melanie, one of our awesome-est readers and a therapist, a letter hoping she shine a light on what I can do to get back to me (the skinny, fit, boys-look-at-me me.) Reading that post is a good idea before plunging into the rest of this post.

Melanie's reply starts here:
Man, do I just want to sock your dad for asking such a question! His question about you being "normal" (meaning "thinner") by summer just PISSES ME OFF. I'm sure your Dad is a fabulous person.. but seriously?! You ARE normal. The weight doesn't change WHO you are. It just shows us how you feel.

Back to your question - I think there's little doubt that this is emotional weight. These pounds (which we all struggle with - myself included) are our own defense system against whatever pain has hurt us so deep.

Loss. Grief. Shame. Loneliness. Embarrassment.

There's an enormous list of uncomfortable feelings that lead to emotional eating. Some of us learn to emotionally eat from a family member (I should thank my own Mother here..) or just find a food that finally makes us feel satisfied.

Well.. at least temporarily satisfied.

We're lucky we didn't turn to harder drugs.. and we're lucky that this way of coping is reversible.

We're damned because you can't totally avoid food. You NEED to eat. Food can be devastatingly luring. "Filling" in more ways than one. Chocolate cupcakes as band-aids. Lemon tarts instead of emotional well-being. Dive into a pit of pudding - you'll feel amazing!

Unfortunately.. you'll never find love, happiness, or self-esteem at the bottom of a plate. Nor will any food taste more amazing than self-esteem feels. We know this stuff. Plump ladies are THE MOST WELL-READ POPULATION on weight-loss.

We know it ALL.

Your brain knows one thing, and your belly knows another. You DO have a brain in your belly. Your enteric brain - found in your gut. This brain controls your eating, that nagging feeling in the pit of your stomach, and the butterflies that appear when your crush enters the room. Having a "nervous stomach" means you're familiar with this second brain. The belly-brain that argues with your above-your-neck brain. ...and your Belly Brain has never read a weight-loss or self-help book.

Guess which brain Loss and Grief mess around with?

I hope you said "both".

So there's David's death... family issues... boyfriend issues.. job issues.. etc. There are probably even things we don't know about yet. We DO know that your family isn't the best at teaching healthy emotional expression. It sounds like you're very afraid to speak up over there. Speaking out is scary - so we start speaking IN. Things go IN. Emotions turn inward, and we stuff them down out of habit - and with a NY-style cheesecake. All the pain, we keep it in. Ever wonder why you curl up on the fetal position? You're brining it in. Trading the gym for your bed? Bringing that pain and frustration inward.

Eventually this bad habit backfires. Inward turns outward. Jeans that will no longer button. Shirts that you tug down over a belly, and avoiding mirrors. Now we're feeling bad about inward AND outward things. There's no safe hiding place anymore.. and we start falling apart. We hold onto old habits, and read self-help books. We hide under the covers... with the box of Oreos. Screw the gym. We're headed inward and outward.

Eventually we're PUNISHING ourselves.

We say mean things when looking in the mirror.. when trying on clothes in a dressing room.. when doing laundry - because now the jeans fit tighter. We hide from the gym, because we don't want to subject the skinny people to our wobbling blubber on an elliptical machine. We just bash the HELL outta ourselves in a way we'd never allow anyone else to do. We are by far the meanest people in our lives. Our brain suffers... and our belly-brain goes haywire.

I know this answer has been hella-long.. and I'm afraid to say that there's MORE.. but I think the first step - the VERY first step - is to forgive. YOURSELF.

There's no need to further punish yourself for the things David can no longer enjoy. There's no need to punish yourself for your family's chaos, for the ex-boyfriend, for the loss of the job. That stuff cannot be changed by any amount of self-punishing. It just IS. Accept, and forgive.

Now look at yourself naked.

Oh I mean it.

Go do it... or I'll kick your ass. Find a mirror where you can see ALL of you.

WHEN you do this (because you WILL do this) - you need recognize all of those mean thoughts that you rattle off almost unconsciously when you see your image. Hear them ALL. Hear what you do to yourself. That'll be the easy part.

The tough part is next: Now you have to see that the weight is pain. It's not "bad person pounds". It's not deserved punishment. It's your pain -on the outside.

Now.. what do you do with pain? Physical pain is easy.. but this emotional shithole pain is much more difficult. The first thing that you should do is stop treating yourself like crap. That's not helping ANYONE. In fact, it's encouraging other people to treat you like crap too. Look, you won't even take your aching muscles to the gym anymore.

So today.. after you confront yourself in the mirror.. you're going to start treating yourself like you'd treat yourself if you were thin. You are no longer permitted to beat yourself up based on weight. Give yourself every benefit, compliment, and happy thought that you think the thin version of you deserves. Be kind, be considerate, be forgiving, and be accepting.

There's NO DIFFERENCE between you as a thin person or a plump person. You're the same person!!!! There's no sense in saying "Well, I'll do that when I'm thin." "I'll treat myself to blah blah blah when I'm thin." Treat yourself well NOW. Treat your butt to new workout pants, and hit that gym with the vigor you had before, when you wanted an awesome body to match an awesome life.

Start there. See what happens. and I swear.. GET IN FRONT OF THAT MIRROR. You cannot confront what you cannot acknowledge.

Let me know how it goes.

-Melanie

That blew me away to the point that there are no words... But I will find them. My next post will be about taking Melanie's advice. I hope you do, too. DON'T MAKE ME BE THE ONLY ONE GETTING NAKED IN FRONT OF THAT MIRROR, 'kay? We're all in this together.

P.S. Melanie's awesome blog is http://melaniementioned.blogspot.com

A disclaimer about this post from Melanie:
“My reply to Adventure Girl's letter is NOT a therapy session. You'll be able to tell by the tone of my reply. While being a therapist is my day-job, it's left at my office door. I am not her therapist. I am someone who has been drawn in as I read her posts. My advice is given as a friend, who doesn't have the same story, but enough of the same plot lines and characters to understand. No one told us life would be easy. :)”

This blog is dedicated to being fearless.

The Weight of Weight
Part 2