Running towards something…

You know what?

I would really like to meet a man who is worth my time. This being lonely business?  For the birds. b.i.r.d.s.

(this post brought to you by Pino Gris)

A friend of mine told me today that I am too hard on myself.

I think you need to forgive yourself… you’re too hard on yourself. At this point it should be about you,  you accepting your actions and forgiving yourself for misstepping.  I forgive you - does that help?

Forgiving myself for actions in the past.  huh.. interesting concept.  I wonder how exactly one goes about doing that. 

I believe I’m already taking some much-needed steps towards doing so in eliminating contact with what I call “toxic” people (but who another friend of mine calls, “a fucking jerk”)… but isn’t part of forgiving, forgetting?  The two go hand in hand right? Forgive. Forget. And are eventually joined by their friend: Move on.

I’m not a saint.  I’ve done some things I’m not particularly proud of.  But they say it takes two to tango and I seem to be left standing on the side of the dance floor watching everyone else move carelessly around the floor.  If I don’t stop beating myself up about stupid past shit, I might miss out on something wonderful in front of me.

I forgive me. I forgive me. I forgive me.

…now let’s work on that forgetting bit.

My best friend made this post a couple days ago and I am just now seeing it and therefore linking it everywhere:

http://splatterblog.com/2008/05/21/maynard-fish-frydonation-extravaganza/

The long and short of it is, his mother has Breast Cancer, ended up in the hospital for emergency brain surgery, continued to stay in said hospital for months and she has no insurance.

Money donated will keep the family afloat.

And thank you in advance to those of you who can either donate, or pass this link on to others who could help.  ANY donation, even if it’s only 5 bucks, will be appreciated.

In an effort to not have to keep a food diary, I’ve decided to incorporate media I am much more comfortable with - the Internet and my camera phone.

So, for a pictorial view of what I’m eating and drinking each day, check out “in my mouth” (http://inmymouth.wordpress.com/) - Monday was a good example of a full day, and then I woke up yesterday morning with something resembling food poisoning (I don’t want to go into the details, but let’s just say one room in my place got more visitation than I would have liked) - therefore my food intake for yesterday consisted of a Ginger Ale, and some frozen Pizza. 

The only thing I haven’t figured out how to quite get around is what to do if I don’t eat everything I’ve photographed.  The pizza yesterday was a good example.  In the photo, you can see 2 miss-shapen pieces.  I ate the smaller of the two, plus a small bite of crust off the larger piece.  I ended up throwing out the larger piece.  I made a note on the post, but… yeah.  I need to come up with a better way I think.

Anyhow, that’s my new adventure.  I hope to keep it up for a while.  It does help a little bit because I think before I go to put anything in my mouth, “I’m going to have to photograph this and put it on the Internet… am I ok with that?”

So, I’ve had 3 brushes with “fame” over the past few week or so.  There was Jen Lancaster’s book signing last Tuesday, and last night I got autographs and photos with both members of Flight of the Conchords.

I also saw Eddie Izzard walking out of the Chicago Theater, but I have no photographic evidence of this - but take my word for it… he looked FABULOUS.

Anyhow, I’d LOVE to show you the photo I got of me and Jen, and of me and Bret, and of me and Jemaine, but the thing is someone has taken over the upper half of my body and has thrown all my extra weight in my arms, face, and boobs.  In EVERY photo I’m sporting a double chin, and in a couple of them I’m sporting the largest arms on the planet.

Self Esteem = 0.

I had to go back and check a photo of me with a celebrity from a while back (Summer of 2003, 5 years ago) to see if I had always looked as bad as I think I do in these recent ones, and you know, I didn’t:

I’m not crazy skinny here, I’m wearing a size 14 pant, which had some give to it, and I was wearing one of my favorite shirts which I know I would never be able to wear anymore (and I don’t think I even own it anymore).  The most important thing to note, aside from yes, that’s Frank Bielec from Trading Spaces, is that I only have ONE chin.

What’s even more sick about this photo?  That scribbled out guy is my ex.  Now? He’s lost quite a decent amount of weight - his fat cells have somehow transferred themself onto my body!

If I could truly believe that - that the extra weight I’m carrying around is burden left over from the relationship-of-which-I-don’t-want-to-speak-of… maybe, just maybe, I might have enough motivation to have my next photo with a celeb be one in which there are 2 chins: The celebrity’s and mine.

In the meantime, I have my first appointment with a nutritionist this evening.  I know he/she is going to make me keep a food diary and… yeah.  Not looking forward to it, but perhaps this is exactly what I need right now.  For what it’s worth, I’ve printed out the pictures of me with Jen, Bret, and Jemaine, as well as the photo with Frank above.  I want he/she to understand why I’m suddenly miserable in my body.  I hope I find the motivation to love the body I’m in again.

It’s been a while since I’ve had to take the train to work, but since rideshare guy took a day off, I was up and out of the house by 5:30 this morning.

I saw one of my normal bus drivers, and some of my “regular” commuters from way back when [read: December] when I used to take the bus and train every day.  I opted not to read on the bus ride, because it had been a while since I’ve gone through the park and I wanted to see all that spring had sprung.  (I also learned the farmer’s market starts up again tomorrow!  YAY!)

Anyhow, I’ve made mention before that on the commuter rail there’s a very cute train conductor usually on my line.  B, a girl I’ve made friends with who is also on the train at that ungodly hour, has said it had been a long time since she’s seen What’s-his-bucketson the train, so I shouldn’t get my hopes up.  I didn’t doubt her either, because when rideshare dude went to Hawaii a couple months back I didn’t see Mr. Conductor Crush all week long.

Today, though, he was there. 

And his hair is a little longer.

And he looks like he’s lost a little weight.

And he was wearing a short-sleeved shirt.

And he’s still cute as ever.

And, this is the worst one, I was still too shy to pipe up and say anything.

*headdesk*headdesk*headdesk*

Seeing him in all his cute glory did give me the impression that today is going to be a good day (ooh-wah-ooh*)

*bonus points to those of you who caught the Ice Cube reference.

There are occasions where riding the bus in the city is a less than desirable experience.  As often as I’m on the bus, usually there might be something just slightly off with the ride in general, but for the most part I can usually ride without being offended or disgusted.

Saturday was not one of these days.

I’m on the Broadway bus, heading towards my friend’s work so I can pick up some double-pointed knitting needles from her.  I’m in the seat just in front of the back doors, and when the bus gets crowded, people tend to stand right behind where I’m at because there’s a little more elbow room per person. 

So there I am, reading Such a Pretty Fat, when I realize the 2-3 guys behind me are being kinda obnoxious.  They were making comments as people got on the bus - mostly of the rude kind.  Calling old people slow, calling people smelly, making comments about women…

A side note: These were younger guys (they were debating on who was the ‘old man’ of their trio and one guy in particular was adamant that turning 19 did not make him old), these were guys who seemed a little more on the blue-collar side (one mentioned when he had enough money to buy his own car he’d be giving people rides everywhere and then they wouldn’t have to, “take this fucking bus anymore”), and as much as I tried not to stereotype, I could tell what races each of these guys were based on what they were saying, and how they were saying it.

Anyhow, the bus passes Montrose (which was only a couple stops before where I was about to hop off the bus) and one of the guys started talking about a couple of women on the side of the street.  “Double Stuffed” I believe is the term he used when describing their physiques.  Another guy then says, “yeah, up here there’s a whole lot of thick-bottomed women”. 

After hearing this, I seriously said a prayer that these guys would get off the bus at the stop in between mine, but of course I was not that lucky.  This meant I would have to walk through them in order to get off the bus because you know these aren’t the type of guys to get out of the way.

So, I hopped out of my seat and said, “excuse me” and none of them really made any move to get out of my way.  Maybe a slight shift to the right, but not nearly enough room for me to get out without seriously feeling up someone and the idea of that?  ew.  So I did what any normal, mildly offended Chicagoan would do in this situation.  When the bus came to a complete stop I said, quite loudly I might add, “Excuse me! Thick-bottomed woman coming through!”

Suddenly there was room for me to exit, and I’m sure at least 3 sets of eyes watching my ass as I walked off the bus and continued down the street.

Ok.. all this talk about shit that happened in the past is bothering ME and it’s MY blog, so let’s change that, shall we?  Current Events:

Well, really I only have 2: I went to the doctor for my knees last night, and I met Jen Lancaster.  One is far more exciting than the other, but I’ll tell you both stories anyhow.

Let’s start with the doc.

So, my new “main” doctor basically told me the reasons my knees go “crunch” is because I’m fat.   The way he said it, he implied that all size 14/16 women have knee problems similar to mine.  If I’d simply lose a few pounds, I’d be juuuuust fine.  Hmm, is that bullshit I smell?

I called the dr’s office and decided to see a DIFFERENT doctor and get a second opinion.   The nurse on the phone suggested I come in on a Tuesday and see Doc T, who specializes in sports-type medicine.   Lovely.

Of course, I wasn’t thinking when I left the house without shaving my legs yesterday morning that a visit to a doctor to look at my knee would involve her pulling up my pant leg.  (She’s telling me to relax and all I can think is, “I could have at least put lotion on so I wouldn’t be hairy AND shedding a layer of skin.”  Oh well.)   Anyhow, her assistant (I think Resident - she’s probably an Attending - Thanks for my medical knowledge - Grey’s Anatomy!) did the poking and prodding first and there were a couple sensitive spots, but nothing hardcore. 

The resident left the room to talk to Dr. T, the attending, and then both of them came back in.  Dr. T tells me she’s going to feel around for a bit while Resi McResident tells me what they think is wrong with my knee.  Just as RR is starting to talk, Dr. T does something that has me gripping the sides of the table in pain and saying, “UHM. OW!” Then, I got the typical doctor response to my reaction, “Oh, does it hurt when I do that?”  Nah.. I just like to writhe around while a doctor is touching my hairy, scaly, limbs.   This is the best time ever! Yay!

Anyhow, her suggestions/assumptions were these: She wants me to get an x-ray to check for arthritis, though she thinks if it is arthritis it shouldn’t be too bad as I am, “still quite young.”  She wants to put me on a non-steroidal anti-inflammatory drug (which she warned me has some nasty side effects - one she didn’t tell me in person was that this med is not recommended for people with a prior history of blood clots.  I’m currently waiting for a call back to make sure she read my novel of a chart to see that I’ve had one before).  And she wants me to go to Physical Therapy.  This last thing has me curious what they would make me do… and would this be the closest thing I’ll ever have to a personal trainer?  We’ll see.

I did ask her what I COULD do at the gym, as the elliptical hurts, as does the treadmill after a bit, and lets not even discuss the stairmaster.  Her suggestion was swimming.  Since I now have a decent swimsuit thanks to my Florida trip, I think I’ll be making some trips to my gym’s pool in the near future.  The only reason I haven’t yet is because I’m wearing my last pair of daily contacts (for 2 days now) and I have to have something in my eyes to go swimming.  If I were to go in glasses I’d probably run into someone in the pool while I was doggie paddling my laps.  (Though on the other hand, if I didn’t have glasses in, I wouldn’t see other people looking at me wondering how they let Shamu out of Sea World.  (hehe! Get it?? Shamu?? My suit is black and I’m so pale I’m practically white??  And I’m fat?? No.. not funny?  Whatever.  I’m laughing.)

And because I’ve babbled about my knees, I’m going to hold off on my Jen Lancaster story for now.  Besides, I want to be able to post the photos I took from her book reading/signing.  I will say this: she’s STUNNING in person, and so crazy funny!  I’m reading her new book, Such a Pretty Fat, and I’ve already had to call 2 of my friends to read small passages to them because they’re things that have or could have come out in our own conversations.   I highly recommend her new book already, and I haven’t even finished it!

2 years ago today I walked down the aisle. 

The aisle in question was one where I was wearing a cap and gown, someone called my name, I walked across a stage, and picked up an empty folder that would later house my diploma.

My graduation weekend was wonderful, and looking back on it - such an act.  My ex’s family kept making nudges that the next time they saw us together we’d be engaged.  I came across a ring box that, when I opened it, there was a band with 4-5 diamonds on it.  I talked to my best friend about it on the way to the airport.  Said friend asked me point blank, “If he asks you, what would you say?”  I honestly couldn’t answer him.  I’ve always wanted the engagement, wedding, and marriage - but something in my gut knew that ex was not the guy I should have all those things with. 

2 days later, a different ring box, this one from Tiffany, was hidden in the coffee table for me.  My heart beat fast as I opened it (because I had made a previous request that out of all the Tiffany things he could buy me (and he had already purchased 3 other things), if he were to buy a ring I wanted it to be The ring).  Inside was a really beautiful Tiffany Lace Ring.  So here’s a guy I’ve been dating for about 5 years, giving me a ring box from Tiffany, with diamonds on it…  I had to ask, “Uhm… is this for…” he replied, “Your right-hand.”

I wore the ring for a month before we decided to break up.   It was one of the first things I sold too.  I couldn’t stand to look at it, and yet I cried when it was gone.  I’ve vowed to buy myself a true right-hand ring (of course from Tiffany) when the time is right.  And there will never be a tear shed for it.