Casserole and adolescence

We were not into food growing up. Me, my sister, and my brother were all skinny kids. Food just wasn't a big deal in our household. We didn't get a lot of junk food for one thing, so what's fun beyond that? Plus, my mom has never been into food, and as a result she had a set dinner rotation she stuck to pretty fiercely for as far back as I can remember. We ate delicacies like "Lemon chicken" -- which was chicken cut into pieces in a casserole dish with butter melted all over it and lemon juice squeezed on top. Or fried steak, at least twice a week. Ground beef pretty much the rest of the time. We were a meat and potatoes kind of family, and that was fine because like I said, we didn't really care. As far as side dishes, it was often a potato concoction of some kind, or "mayonnaise beans" -- which, in retrospect, was every bit as disturbing as it sounds. As a child, I LOVED the bowl of canned green beans smothered in mayonnaise, the white stuff coating every single bean delicately in greasy goodness. Bleah. (and i'm sure that's why I won't touch mayo with a 10-foot pole today.)

Anyway, as a result of this food apathy, I left for college knowing absolutely nothing about nutrition or calories or fat -- I only vaguely knew what I weighed, because what did it matter? I'd never given it a second thought. Until my freshman year away from home. The year I discovered what other kids had known for years -- the joys of pizza. Fast food. ANY fast food. Restaurants of all kinds. Mexican food that wasn't El Chico. Snack foods. The ability to eat as many cookies as I wanted, no one was going to stop me. The ability to drink cokes all day long. Nirvana. I was thrown into this food mecca called college, and for the first time in my life I gained weight. I believe I gained the obligatory freshman 15, but at the time it was devastating. My clothes were tight. I felt bloated and icky. And when I went home for the summer, I promptly went on the fad diet of the early 90s, Slimfast. I stuck to that diet like no one's business. I remember I was doing temp work that summer, so every single day I'd bring an orange and a Slimfast bar (the old, gross ones, not the candy-bar-like ones we have today) and drink a Diet Coke in the breakroom for lunch. By myself. I remember co-workers commenting that I didn't need to lose any weight, and looking back, I didn't. In fact, I worked at a fancy bank downtown for a few months, and I can only imagine how those middle-aged women must have hated me. The 125-lb college girl refusing the cookies someone brought in, or declining a lunch invitation because she HAD to lose that weight. I know I hate girls like that now, when I see them :) I can't help it, I've become that bitter, overweight, middle-aged woman who rolls her eyes at interns who trot around in Melrose-Place short skirts and heels (although most of them don't even remember Melrose Place), who wear makeup every single day, who never have a hair, or a pound, out of place. Mixing among the rest of us, who wear jeans and tee-shirts and eat at ChickFila more often than not. I actually have evil thoughts, like "just wait til you hit 25, it all goes downhill from there sweetheart." But I digress. I was one of "those" girls.

That summer I lost the weight and then some and went back to school svelte and energized, feeling in control of my body. In truth, I was a little "too" in control; it was really hard for me to eat solid food again, I was so paranoid I'd gain the weight back. But I didn't, for years -- however I sure fretted about it every day of my life starting from when I was 18. I look back at those photos now, of me in school, me just married, and I slap my hand against my forehead because I was so thin and at the time, no one could have convinced me that I wasn't a cow. I HATE that. I even tried to be philosophical about it and apply it to now; thinking, hey, I think I'm fat, but in 20 years will I look at these photos and slap my forehead? Why can't I just live in the moment and be happy with how I am right now?? However, those thoughts just make me more depressed about the whole weight thing. And if that's true? If someday I look at photos of right now and think I'm thin? You might as well kill me now, sistahs.

But this is more about food than the ever-present and dull topic of weight. Somewhere along the way, I began turning to food for comfort. Also for celebration. For any mood or occasion, really. I developed a taste for restaurant food I have never been able to kick -- I hate to admit it, but I'd almost always choose a restaurant meal over home cooked -- not always, but often. Food cheers me up momentarily, only to devastate me an hour later. It is such a temporary high, how can it even be worth it? What I wonder is, what did I rely on in high school, because I know I had bad days back then, and I didn't turn to food; so what was my crutch?? Was it my best friend Ann? Was it my music? Adam and the Ants know a lot of my adolescent secrets, that's the truth. This mystifies me, because once I "discovered" food, I have never been able to go back. And I so wish I could go back to the days when eating a chicken leg and mayonnaise beans satisfied me. Well, rhetorically, at least.

Anyway, I've had a pretty solitary weekend, and I've been thinking a lot about my attitude about food and where it comes from. Mostly because I've had to feed myself this weekend and have been foraging around my kitchen, something that I really hate to do. But my desire to stay home overcame my desire for Sonic, at least this time.

How come some people turn to food and others to alcohol or drugs? Not that I'd rather be an alcoholic or drug addict; I guess I can live with being a few pounds overweight if those are my alternatives. So Internet, what is your secret comfort, your crutch? I'm really curious, because we all have something... don't we?? Please tell me we all do...

It's a miracle

Today I received the swimsuit that I ordered online. I had low expectations, so I was very pleasantly surprised! Not only does it fit, but it looks kinda...nice. That is, I don't look as awful as I expected to. So yay, cross that chore off the list of things to do before the cruise. The experience was so pleasant I briefly considered going online and buying another one -- but let's not get carried away. Truthfully, I will wear the suit probably once or twice on vacation and then never again. But I will wow all the old men on the boat, that's for damn sure.

In other news, I went home sick from work today. i endured through my noon meeting, then I bolted for the safety of my home, where I could feel like utter crap without trying to look alert and busy. I don't know what's wrong, but it's hurting my head and my belly. Talked to Hope and she thinks they may have given it to me, because she and Ava have been sick, but I don't know that it's the same thing. In any event, I hope it is gone when I wake up -- it's no fun when you feel too crappy to even enjoy a good nap.

That's all I got.

defense

I have loved two guys in my life (well, not counting my nephews). When I was in love in my late 20s, it made me do goofy things because I had forgotten how good it could feel; that underlying sense of optimism, that grin that you wake up with lying next to your soulmate. The warm fuzzies you feel as you toe fight under the sheets. Come to think of it, I can barely conjure up that feeling now, it's been so long.... But. I digress.

I remember one time during that relationship I felt so overwhelmed by my feelings that I sat down and penned a good old-fashioned love note. I knew it was goofy even as I wrote it, but I couldn't stop myself. I just remember it was long and gooey and in retrospect, embarrassing -- but I remember thinking I wanted to preserve the memory of those feelings, and if I were on the receiving end, it would make me sooo happy to get such a note. I gave it to my beloved and he said thank you and kissed me on the cheek. I gave it no more thought after that.

Until we broke up. Over a year later, I remember the night he didn't come home when he should have. I remember how I felt as the realization dawned on me that it really and truly was over. I will not go into the details, but suffice it to say I was crushed, and disappointed, and very very angry. A woman scorned. Suddenly, I remembered that note, and I could not rest until I had it in my possession again. He no longer deserved it. He was not worthy of my declaration of love, and I no longer felt that way. In the heat of my misery, I didn't stop to think that the whole point of writing it was to preserve how I felt AT THAT TIME -- all I could think about now was how I never wanted him to read it again. So for the one and only time in our entire relationship, I snooped through his things. And I found it. I tried to read it, but the pain in my chest was too intense and I just couldn't. So I did the only thing I could think of -- I burned it in the fireplace. As I cried and cursed and watched it burn, somehow it made me feel better, if only for a moment. As my words melted away, I imagined it was my love melting away. And perhaps it was. You see, by destroying that love note, I felt like I was taking it back. I was protecting my heart, because though I could handle that he would no longer be in my life, I could not handle knowing that raw proof of my feelings was out there somewhere. It had to go.

Now, years later, I feel sad, and even a little ashamed, that I did that. I don't know what he would have done with the note; when he found it someday, maybe he would have read it and tossed it out. But the fact of the matter is, no matter how many objects I burned or destroyed, I could never change those feelings I had at the precise time I wrote the love note. And I wouldn't want to. Those feelings were real, and while it's faint, I remember having them. And I wish he still had that, so wherever he is in his life someday, he might read it and remember.

I have not ever written another note like that, and I doubt I ever will. But the point is -- I did. I revel in the knowledge that at one point, I was able to open myself up and fully share my heart with someone else. It gives me hope. I musn't forget that that's possible, or I am lost. And I'm not ready to be lost.

One word: PMS.

Eaten alive

I went to a partially outdoor party Friday night, and in the short time I spent outdoors (hello, it's July in Texas and 100 degrees) I apparently provided a tasty treat for the hungry Westlake mosquitoes. I didn't start itching until Saturday, but now here it is Tuesday and they keep popping up (literally) here and there. I'm starting to wonder if it's possible that there are actually mosquitoes here in my workplace, and I'm continuing to be eaten alive?? In any event, I've been toting my itch cream around for 3 days now. And let me tell you about this cream.

This tube and I have history; I acquired it two years ago, right after my car accident, to deal with the hundreds of fire ant bites I had all over my feet. I was staying with Tam, and she went to Walgreens and bought it for me. It is fine, it's Cortisone 10 or whatever, and it works great. However. For some reason, it has in GIANT yellow blocky letters on the package, "External Anal Itch Relief!" Well, at least it's external, good to know. I remember as soon as she walked in the door with the cream, that's the first thing I noticed; she was all "the pharmacist recommended this, said it's the best, blahblahblah..." and all I could focus on was "ANAL ITCH RELIEF". I interrupted her and asked if she was embarrassed buying it. She looked at me blankly. I pointed to the box and she finally read it. The cackle that ensued is pure, classic Tam and one of the reasons I love her so. We had a good laugh about it and moved on.

Well people, that spruce of marketing genius has haunted me for over two years. (and btw -- what marketing guru thought "hey, people will buy more if they see it's for anal itching!") Do you know what it's like to whip out a tube of ANAL ITCH RELIEF cortisone cream in public? To carefully apply said cream NOT TO YOUR ANUS but to your bug bites, without revealing the packaging to anyone else? Well, it is tricky. I am also ever so painfully aware of how the tube is situated in my open purse, should anyone glance in and wonder about the state of my anus, that DOES NOT ITCH. Just to be clear. And earlier, a work friend was in my office scratching her own legs and complaining about mosquito bites -- and just as I was about to volunteer relief, I snapped my mouth shut again. I just didn't want to explain why I had anal itch cream. So I let my friend suffer. A bigger person probably would've handled it differently, but I am not that person.

But that's cool -- it just means more External Anal Itch Relief for me. :)

One week closer

to cruise nirvana! I am getting excited about my trip, but also nervous. For with relaxation comes stress, at least in my world. For example: I finally bit the bullet and bought a swimsuit tonight. Online. It most likely won't fit, but at least I tried. I mean, what are the odds, really, when I, like millions of other women, have spent hours upon hours under the unforgiving dressing room lights, looking at my pasty self smashed into so, so, many suits that look way better on the hanger than on a real body? Given those odds, what was I thinking? I'll tell you what: I was thinking that it might shatter me to go through that nightmare right now, so I will take my chances online.

I am trying very hard not to go shopping and spend a fortune for one week of Alaskan dreaminess; I am trying very hard to wear what I already have -- exCEPT for the swimsuit. And that will only be worn at night, in a hot tub, under a t-shirt. But still, it's important.

Back to the stress factor -- did I really save myself any stress buying the suit online? Hmm, let's see. It took me about 1 hour to find it, try it on my "virtual model" (after playing with my weight for 30 minutes, seeing how I'd look if I weighed THIS, no, THIS, no, THIS -- or, how would my hair look short? blonde?), and then attempt to order it. The ordering part was worse, because they of course didn't have my size in stock. Of course. So all the careful trying on of the swimsuits on the body of the virtual model was for naught, because in the end I had to just buy whatever they had left in my size. Anything that wasn't tulip pink, that is. So there you go.

As I sit here at my desk, over my shoulder, on the back of my chair, is a snarling, growling, hissing Piper. She is behaving this way b/c she just looked up and realized she is one foot away from the lovely Meggers, who has been lazily watching her for the last 5 minutes, waiting for her to notice and flip out. Heh. A feline after my own heart.



Now i'm going to take a relaxing bubble bath after the trauma of swimsuit shopping. That is all.

The death of a marriage

I felt it for a long time before I identified it. Even longer before I accepted it, and longer still until I decided to deal with it. I’m speaking of the end of my marriage. And honestly? I believe I felt it before we were even married. People close to me have said, you must have loved him to marry him, you couldn’t have known it was doomed and gone through with it, could you? And I say to you that yes, I could, and indeed, I did.

I was a young, naïve, hopeful girl who desperately wanted to be loved and cared for. Silly now, but at the time I felt slightly panicky at 23 that I was not married, not anywhere near having kids. I harbored the same deep anxiety back then that I do now about the passage of time, the brevity of life. But I didn’t know yet that you couldn’t rush life, that it would eventually unfold on its own, however it was meant to. I wasn’t yet all that interested in my career; while I derived some satisfaction from it, I could have given it up in a heartbeat. I had this romantic notion that being married would fill that deep hole of insecurity I felt. I thought it would finally make me feel safe and cherished. I didn’t know that it would instead make me feel trapped and suffocated.

I could go on and on about the rationalizations I made in my head in order to marry the absolutely wrong guy. But here I’m writing about the end, not the beginning.

I’d often heard it’s the communication that is the first thing to go – maybe that’s true in relationships where the people have been communicating. In our case, we existed under one roof, completely emotionally detached from one another; one of us increasingly needing and taking more, one of us progressively needing and wanting less. Then there was the growing annoyance — he couldn’t do anything right. It felt like he existed just to suck my energy, to hold me back, to depend on me as much, if not more than, I couldn’t depend on him. But when annoyance turned to disdain, that was when the last, struggling bit of blood supply was cut off. And the heart of our marriage — it simply stopped beating.

Somewhere along the way, I had shut down. While in retrospect, I don’t think he ever knew the “real” me (how could he, when I didn’t?), what little bit of myself I had shared with him I took back, when the disdain set in. I distinctly remember the first time I acknowledged that low-grade feeling of dread in my belly, that constant bolt of tension buzzing through my body, frazzling my nerves, keeping me in a constant state of irritation, ruining my concentration. And the depression, it was almost crippling. My therapist called my state “hyper-vigilant.” And oh, how right she was.

Contrary to what my ex believed (and probably still believes), my therapy was not the cause of our divorce. It was, however, an amazing, painful, gritty journey inside myself. It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, and definitely the most worth it. Without that careful, safe, unbiased guidance, I don’t know how long it would’ve taken me to snap out of my complacency. Who knows how long I could have gone on existing in that void, with my heart shut off from my mind and my mind struggling to suppress reality. Because reality? It was damn hard.

When I began the journey, I felt hopelessly stuck. I was being crushed by horrible, debilitating guilt — I had not yet thought of myself and my own survival. At that time I could only focus on the pain and disappointment I would cause other people. What they would think of me, what they would say about me. I worried about deserting a person who needed me so much — too much. I worried about his feelings, his well-being, his survival. I worried about my family being shocked, because I’d never let on to them that we were having problems. I feared their resistance to accepting what I knew to be true. I dreaded the long, draining explanations I’d have to give, defending whatever decision I made. But not once during this period did it occur to me to worry about what was happening to me and my well-being.

My therapist summed it up right from the start when she told me I seemed like someone whose soul was dying. With a lot of hard work, I began to understand. My light had been dimmed for so long that I hadn’t even missed its warmth or glow. My feelings were so deeply and carefully buried, so long ignored, that I was having trouble finding them. I was numb, had been numb, for years. With help and support from my therapist and my dear, dear friends still with me today, I began the slow process of excavation. And I don’t think the process will ever stop, it can’t stop. I think that when one ceases to question things, ceases to feel or hope or dream, ceases to smile, ceases to love — well, that’s death, to me. And at 27, I was not ready to die.

It took a while, but when I was able to glimpse myself again, when I felt that old spark of hope, when I started to remember the girl I used to be and what I had wanted — that is when I ended my marriage. It was not healthy for me, or for him, to remain in that relationship. I have never regretted my decision, and I have never looked back.

It has taken me a long time to be able to say this, to myself much less out loud, but it was not the fault of one of us over the other; it was simply what had to happen to move us on to the next stages of our lives. I believe we were not meant to be together forever. We were in each other’s lives for a distinct purpose: to teach and to learn, in the little time we had. While there are definitely times when I still mourn those “lost” years, I know in my heart — my living, beating, feeling heart — that that experience was absolutely necessary to get me to where I am today. I would not be the same person without it, and while I’m still getting to know myself, I like who I’ve become. I sincerely hope that one day, he will feel the same way, that he can let go of the anger and the hurt.

Leaving was not something I did to him; it was something I did for myself.

The power of iTunes

And just like that, I am back in 12th grade, standing in a field nearby my high school, next to his truck. The doors are wide open and this song is playing on the radio. It is warm and the wind is blowing my hair. At that moment, I am keenly aware of his feelings for me, the strength and the quandary. He is standing near the open driver’s door and I am leaning into him. We have been quarreling, I don’t remember what about, but I know that we didn’t break up that day. I clearly remember his smell, the strength of his chest, how his arms felt around me, and the faraway look in his eyes as he squinted at the wind, over my head, thinking. His scowl. I remember how strongly my heart ached for him, but also the twinge of sadness at knowing, deep down, this would end when I went away. And I would go away.

-“Love Bites" - Def Leppard, 1988

I am here.

I am awake. I am partially functional. I am DONE with my freelance job. Yes, I finished it just as the sun came up. No kidding. 6am. I don't know WHAT I was thinking. I will NEVER do that again. (see, i wrote it in my blog so i'll be more likely to stick to it). I would like very much to block out that whole experience and move on with my life. Until the next contract, of course.

So now it is noon (who knew i'd last this long?) and i'm eating brain food (spaghettios) and trying to be ultra-creative (and failing). Let's just see how long this lasts.

Hell I am in.

the very facts that I haven't posted in a week, and that it's 3:30 in the morning on sunday night, should give you a good idea as to how my week was and continues to be. ahhh, the life of a procrastinator. on the eve (within hours, actually) of my freelance deadline, I still toil and stress and berate myself for ONCE AGAIN waiting until the ultimate last minute to do this. Dammit.

I have no business taking a time out to even write this. I am goofy and exhausted and have no business writing questions to test 5th graders' aptitude and thus shape their educational futures, either, for that matter. But I am doing both. Ha!

this so sucks, but i did it to myself. I am not in college anymore. i cannot sleep in tomorrow to make up for this. in fact, I must be somewhat alert tomorrow to catch up on work I should have done this weekend, but postponed due to the contract. UGH. ok, i really really need to finish this last thingamadoodle, so i'm going to sign off now. just wanted to take a break and say hello, i'm (somewhat) alive, and maybe someday I will write again from my heart. until then, ENJOY YOUR DAMN SLEEP and i hatechoo.

Stumbling down the path

Well, a good friend of mine's blog today was very deep and introspective, and brought up an issue that I, too struggle with more than I care to admit: Have I made the right choices in my life, and what would have been different had I made different ones? This has been weighing heavily on my mind as of late, for some reason, so I feel like my friend and I are in perfect psychic sync :)

Now I am not a huge fan of Dr. Phil, but I remembered an article I read in an old Oprah magazine, and I searched around on the web until
I found it. I didn't realize he was the author until now. Hm. Anyway, Dr. Phil believes we all have made seven critical choices that are life changing, and our self-concept has been shaped by the result of these choices. There is a fascinating and scary questionnaire you can take to figure out some of these things. I only did one of my seven critical choices, and I'm feeling a little raw and fragile as a result. I hope I can get up the gumption to do them all. I'd love to share what I've done so far, but I think this particular choice is too personal to share on the web. Maybe I'll get the guts at some point, but not tonight. However, I will share my initial list, sans details, of the 7 critical/pivotal choices I have made in my life. Those forks in the road to which Steph referred:

1. Choosing to lose my virginity - when and to whom. (not internet-friendly, people).
2. Choosing to take off the spring semester of my junior year of college and work full-time at Foleys in College Station, TX.
3. Choosing to stay in Texas and wait for my ex to propose rather than pursuing my dream of living in CO at Spring Canyon, where I had been extended an offer.
4. Choosing to move to Austin and financially support my ex while he finished college.
5. Choosing to finally go get the help I needed, finally facing my issues, and reaching a lot of truths I feared. My journey to me.
6. Leaving my ex-husband as a result of this self-discovery.
7. Deciding to throw caution (and finances) to the wind and go to Europe with Tamara on Freedom Trip 1997. Although it was a decision, it was a decision to be impulsive, for one of the first times in my life. If that makes sense.

But, there are more! I'm supposed to narrow it down to 7, but since this is my blog and I can do what I want to, I'm going to continue the list until I feel I'm finished.

8. Choosing to fall crazy in love with a guy I knew wasn't ready for it so soon after my separation - and subsequently moving in together less than a year later.
9. Realizing it was time to end this relationship that had such a profound and important effect on my self-esteem and my life - this was one of the saddest moments of my lifetime.
10. After realizing I hated being a tech writer, I chose to put myself out there by applying for a copywriter job - my "dream" job
11. Accepting the job.
12. Deciding to return to tech writing after I'd been laid off from the "dream" job for almost a year.
13. Being a copywriter again, and promising myself I'll never go back to tech writing because this is where I should be, career-wise.

My car wreck two years ago was a profoundly pivotal moment in my life, but it doesn't make the list because it wasn't something I chose.

Whew, that was a little bit gut wrenching. I challenge you to make your own list, and maybe even share it with us - we can call it "Blog Therapy" and work through our issues together! But seriously, the next thing on Dr. Phil's path to finding your Authentic Self is making a list of the 5 most influential/pivotal people in your life so far. That's a doozy, and I don't feel up to it right now. I'll save it for the next time I'm in the mood for self-reflection, and who knows when that will be. Tomorrow? Next week? Next year? Until then - goodnight.

Candy, fat kitty, and birthday parties

This is going to be a hodge-podge post. Just be warned.

First, I wanted to confess that I lied the other day about the Skittles. Behold the truth:


I am so ashamed.

I also captured Jess's look of resignation as his crazy catlady snaps yet ANOTHER photo in a vain attempt to capture his girth on the Internet:


Jess: "What are you looking at, weirdo? Yeah, I'm big. So what?"


So anyway. Last weekend I spent primarily with my sister and her family, since they're flying to Denver tomorrow to begin their fabulous new life. It was bittersweet, but overall, very good -- I am really going to miss them, I'm already plotting my trip in September! We celebrated Claytie's 3rd birthday on Saturday, since his "real" birthday is in a couple of weeks and they won't be here [SOB]. Here is the beaming birthday boy:


And here is Coops, the bebe, showing off his favorite party favor:


Don't you just want to SQUEEZE him? I do. And I did. Taaa-daaa!


And do you know what he told me after I squeezed him?
"Talk to the cast."


On that note, I leave you. I will be adding more pics in the near future... but for now i'm going to bed. Feel free to hang around and gaze at the perfection of my nephews as long as you'd like -- I do it all the time.

Oh, the irony.

It slays me, it really does. I finally bought two sprinklers for my lawn -- at HEB. HEB??? Yes, that's right -- none at Target, a bunch at HEB. So there you go. But that's not the greatest part.

The best part is that when I got home today, I actually put the sprinklers in the yard and turned the water on. I set the timer for one hour. I felt a great sense of relief, finally giving my lawn the lifeblood it so badly needed. I could almost see the parched earth slurping at the water. In my head, I could picture the lizard and frog ho-down that would occur later, when they discovered the bounty I had bestowed upon them. I was feeling smug. I admit it. But nature had the last laugh. Because for the first time in a couple of months, as soon as the one-hour timer went off and I went out to turn off the water, I realized I was getting wet -- because it was RAINING.

HA HA. Very funny. THIS is why I hate yard work. That and the f-ing fire ants.

The de-segregation of Skittles

I just dropped my last Skittle, a PURPLE one, and watched it roll about four feet, out of my cube and onto the main pathway. I dove for it and picked it up in the “10 second rule” spirit, dusted it off, and ate it. And this made me think. If that had been a yellow Skittle, would I have cared? Um, no. I probably would have let it roll wherever and forgotten about it. Same with green. Which leads me to this thought: as much as I consider myself to be open-minded and non-discriminatory, what does it mean, then, that I so easily and automatically discriminate against candy based on color? I mean, I even segregate my Skittles. They can only be eaten in certain groups; for example, green/yellow, red/purple, orange stands alone. I’ll also occasionally do a red/red or purple/purple, but never a green/green or yellow/yellow. Because, well, ICK. And all of this segregation is done almost subconsciously; it’s not like I’m sitting here separating my Skittles into little color piles, I don’t think about it THAT much (believe it or not). It just sort of happens.

The more I think about it, the more I realize I do this in other areas of my life, as well. I make a lot of assumptions/judgments based on stereotypes/preconceptions. A lame example, but an example nonetheless, is if a guy were to tell me he had two dogs, I’d be a lot less interested than if he said he had two cats. I also might judge a blog to be bookmark-worthy based only on the first entry I scan. This is clearly not fair – and if everyone did this, no one would even be reading my blog. (Hmm, maybe no one is!) I will eat red licorice, but not black. I will eat grapes, but not raisins. I tasted a turnip once and spit it out and have never tried one again – and most likely never will. (granted, in that case I was tricked by my mom, trying to get us to “branch out” from our love of potatoes – bad move, it totally backfired. also the time she substituted venison in chili and thought we wouldn’t notice – I noticed. lesson learned: don’t try to trick your kids with food. it might cause them to have weird food issues when they hit their 30s…:)

Then again, maybe it’s just me, and maybe I’m just…shall we say, quirky. Maybe it has nothing at all to do with discrimination or prejudgments. Maybe I’ve put entirely too much thought into that purple Skittle. It’s possible.

(sheesh people, give me a break – does every blog have to have a POINT?? )

Everything you ever wanted to know...

...but were afraid to ask!

My good friend Steph requested that I partake in the following Monday Meme (although it's actually Tuesday, Thank God) to get us started off this week. I think this is an excellent idea, as I'm fried and headachy and not really in the right frame of mind to write about anything deep and meaningful right now... So, here goes:

Three names you go by:
1. Lis
2. Lisabell
3. Sa-sa (young nephews)

Three physical things you like about yourself:
1. My skin
2. My fingernails
3. My lips

Three physical things you don’t like about yourself:
1. My belly
2. My stubby legs
3. My hair

Three parts of your heritage:
1. French
2. German
3. Texan!

Three things that scare you:
1. public speaking
2. George W. Bush
3. spiders

Three everyday essentials:
1. lipstick
2. deodorant
3. hair clip

Three of your favorite musical artists:
1. Patty Griffin
2. Duncan Sheik
3. Alanis Morrissette

Three of your favorite songs (today - I'm fickle):
1. Moses, Patty Griffin
2. One Moment More, Mindy Smith
3. Back to Me, Kathleen Edwards

Three things you want in a relationship:
1. Romance
2. Humor
3. Honesty

Three lies and truths in no particular order:
LIES:
1. I'm happy with myself just as I am.
2. I don't want/need a guy in my life.
3. I am confident I will someday publish a book, it's just a matter of time.

TRUTHS:
1. I will not be happy with myself until I get back to a "normal" weight.
2. I will probably not be able to date until I am happy with myself.
3. I feel overwhelmed and discouraged, and do not fully believe that I will ever lose weight or fall in love again.

Three physical things about the opposite sex that appeals to you:
1. kind eyes
2. engaging smile
3. hotness (I can't help it, I like 'em pretty)

Three of your favorite hobbies:
1. Shopping
2. Writing
3. Swapping bath/beauty products (this requires a blog entry all to itself...someday...)

Three things you want to do really badly now:
1. Lose a significant amount of weight/get healthy
2. Take a 3-week vacation in Europe
3. Write a successful novel

Three careers you’re considering/you’ve considered:
1. Copywriter (yay! that's what I am!)
2. Book Editor
3. Psychologist/Therapist

Three places you want to go on vacation:
1. France
2. Italy
3. Germany

Three kid’s names you like:
1. Grace
2. Colby
3. Michelle

Three things you want to do before you die:
1. Travel the world
2. Learn to love myself completely
3. Find my "soul mate"

Three ways that you are stereotypically a boy:
1. I hate to clean.
2. I hate to cook.
3. I hog the remote control.

Three ways that you are stereotypically a girl:
1. I love bath and body products.
2. I love makeup (although I'm too lazy to wear it most of the time).
3. I love shopping.

Three celeb crushes:
1. Brad Pitt
2. Matthew McConnehy
3. I used to say Tom Cruise, but dammit if he hasn't ruined that... so I guess I'll say Matt Damon

Three people that I would like to see take this quiz…
1. Babs
2. Sarah
3. Dipu!

Funkified

I am sad right now because one of my favorite bloggers, ChickenFlicken, has resigned her blog, shut it down, gone away. I feel silly on one hand, because I didn't really ""know"" her; but I read about her life every day and I really enjoyed it. I feel like someone told me I can't watch the end of a gripping movie, that I'll never ever find out the resolution to the cliffhanger. That may sound weird, but I'm dying to know what she's up to and if she's okay. There's nothing I can do, I just thought I'd say that. I miss you, ChickenFlicken -- wherever you are...

PLUS, on top of THAT, I made ANOTHER pilgimmage to Target -- and they STILL don't have sprinklers. WTF??? I even asked someone this time, but he was completely useless -- "hmm, that's weird; you'd think they'd be right here, by the garden hoses..." THANKS, Target man. You've been a big help.

I'm going to go take a bath and go to sleep now, because I have a big couple of days ahead of me. Tomorrow morning I'm driving to Comfort for the annual 4th of July parade, where my family will meet, and we will celebrate Claytie's third birthday a couple weeks early, since they'll be in CO for the real day. (Oh, if it seems like I've been making lots of references to my nephews and their birthdays? That's because I HAVE -- they are all clustered together -- May, June, July, two years apart each.) Then after the parade, my sister and the boys (minus my BIL) will drive back to SA where we will celebrate my brother's birthday that evening. Then I'm going to stay with Nicolee for one last girl's night in TX, because my BIL will be in Austin visiting his brother for the weekend. I'm not counting on getting a lot of sleep tomorrow night, needless to say. So that's basically my weekend, and I have Monday off, to recuperate and rest, if I so choose.

I am going to go soak in a LUSH bath until I can keep my eyelids open not one second longer. So good night to all, and to all a good night.