Perfection in Shaming You

Body shaming is when you shame another person (or yourself for that matter) for being overweight or large or just not the kind of body that you have been conditioned to view as normal/beautiful/worthy/etc. I have been grappling with this issue for awhile. How do I feel about it? Do I think this is a real thing worthy of my attention? What message am I sending to my children by calling another person fat? By calling myself fat? Short and fat of it, no less. What do I want to contribute on this subject, if anything?

Treadmill Troubles

So, one time I deployed for six months. I know, that is kind of a big deal and I should have mentioned it sooner, but I was too busy eating Oreos. For the most part, it was a great experience. I really had a lot of fun in a war torn country that is full of people who shit in the same water they drink regularly. I worked with amazing people and learned a lot about myself. I realized I'm not nearly as tough as expected, but that that's an OK thing and I can still tolerate a lot of bull crap when it matters.

This Is Me on a Diet

Sometimes, I weigh a lot. Now is one of those times. Normally, I'm OK with this because I support and identify with women of all shapes and sizes. But lately, I'm less OK with this because I'm not active anymore, and I'm putting really bad shit into my body on a regular basis.

People, I am eating my feelings like NOBODY'S BUSINESS, and they haven't been very good feelings lately, so it has been very, very bad (but oh so delicious) food.

Balance is good. Binging is bad. Starving is worse. So where do I draw that healthy line when it comes to what I eat?

This is my inner turmoil:

Me: I really should start eating healthier food.

My Legs: Yeah, I agree. It's a getting a little Jell-O-like down here.

My Mind: MmmmMMmmm, Jell-O.

Me: You guys, I just don't know if I can commit to a diet.

My Mind: Don't call it a "diet" - call it a "lifestyle change." That is the new phrase for diet.

My Legs: It's supposed to be about, like, changing how you live for the better through what you eat.

Me: That still sounds like a diet.

My Legs: OK then, Negative Nancy, way to poop on this party. You're not the one suffering, you know! How would you like to be squeezed into the strait jackets you call PANTS every day?

My Mind: That's harsh.

Me: I GET IT. I eat a lot of cookies and don't do a lot of running, and I see what this is doing to all of us.

My Mind: Speaking of running, you're not very good at that either.

Me: I'm serious. I want to be healthier!

My Legs: Then things are going to have to change. Like, big time. You and I will need to get close and work together.

Me: Um, how close?

My Legs: Super close. I need to be your best friend every day. You need to take me out on hikes and stuff.

My Mind: HELLO? What about ME? I'm the cognitive center of MIND POWER over here. You can't leave me out!

My Legs: You'll come with us too. You need to convince her to go outside.

Me: Ick! I hate being outdoors.

My Legs: See what I mean?

My Mind: Being outside is not that horrible, except for the daily rain, sleet, snow, and/or hail. Oh, and that wind! It's awful.

My Legs: ......you're really not helping.

Me: Forget the outdoors for now. We'll worry about that when the weather finally perks up.

My Mind: Hahahahaha, that won't happen any time soon. We're in Washington.

Me: Whatever. Let's focus on what I should be eating.

My Legs: How about what you SHOULDN'T be eating? Those cookies and pints of Ben and Jerry's ice cream ring a bell.

My Mind: Don't hate on my BRAIN FOOD!

My Legs: You are NOT any smarter with all of those sugary calories!

My Mind: How would you know?! Your piece of the nervous system is NOTHING compared to my labyrinth.

Me: I guess I should stop eating those things, and maybe lay off the pasta, bread, and potatos for awhile too.

My Mind: NoooOOOoOoOOOoOOoOOooooo!

My Legs: Yeah, that's the spirit! Now let's get some fruit, vegetables, and lean meat up in the kitchen!

My Mind: NoOooOoOOOOooOOoOOoOOoo!

Me: Yeah, OK! Let's do this! I can make those changes. It shouldn't be too hard to start eating those things.

My Mind: You won't make it! You don't understand! WE LOVE COOKIES!

Me: We need to LOVE OTHER FOOD!

My Mind: ....stop yelling at me....this is really hard to handle....I can't process all of these changes...

My Legs: You're super pathetic right now. Don't you want to live longer?

My Mind:  Sure, but but but but but but but but can't we have one last cookie? Or bowl of spaghetti? Like as a goodbye?

Me: That's not a bad idea.

My Legs: NO! We need to start eating well NOW or else it will never happen!

Me: But if it's our last meal eating like that....we should make the most of it...

My Mind: And we can start eating better any time....like tomorrow.

My Legs: NO!!!! You guys are so - wait, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! Put the Oreo down NOW!

My Mind: She already touched it, she might as well eat it!

Me: Mmmmm, creme filling....chocolate biscuit goodness....om nom nom nom.

My Legs:...........................

My Mind: Mmmmm, sugar high....spike in energy.....om nom nom nom.

My Legs:..........................

Me: This is the best cookie I've ever had.

My Legs:.........................can you at least start wearing bigger pants for me?

I am the Cookie Monster

If you haven't already heard, Western Washington (i.e. The Better Half) endured the Snow-Pocalypse of 2012 last week. Twelve inches of snow might not seem like a lot to you if you're from, say, the Midwest or wherever, but I'm not from one of the lesser states in the union, so twelve inches of snow is a lot to me.

I was snowed in for three straight days, and it was AMAZING. I took advantage of my bonus vacation by reading paranormal romance stories (What? Twilight, hello?), writing and deleting an innumerable amount of blog entries, and watching everything that I recorded on my DVR last year.

If you want to talk Housewives, I am all caught up so let's chat.

What I didn't do while I was snowed in was cook or bake very much because I ran out of appetizing food after about 12 hours.  I only had a container of sour cream, random pastas, an egg, wine, and peanut butter in my kitchen.

Oh, and some onions.

It was at that moment when I realized two different things:

1) Domino's delivers, rain or shine.

2) I should never, ever run out of cookies.

I thought I had a well-stocked pantry, but my cookie-less 5-day weekend proved me wrong. Pizza can only sustain me for so long, you know? I was devastated to realize that I couldn't even bake anything chocolate chip or cinnamon sugar related, and I was at the edge of sanity when I discovered that I ran out of Oreos too.

Now that it's Girl Scout Cookie pre-sale season, my hunger for daily cookies might have clouded my purchase because I ordered forty dollars worth of cookies this year.

I know you're probably judging me and the size of my pants, BUT I REALLY DON'T CARE because of the following reasons:

1) I am supporting future leaders of America.

2) I am doing my best to make sure that one little girl scout gets the Top Cookie Sales badge this year.

3) Have you ever had a Samoa? Or a Thin Mint from the freezer? Stuff of DREAMS, people.

4) This will prevent me from running out of cookies during the next snow storm.

5) I stopped weighing myself many months ago anyway, so this will not have an impact on my self-esteem.

6) My husband will only eat the broken ones forcing my cookie consumption tp be subsequently smaller, if by a fraction.

7) You can only get these boxes once a year! ONCE A YEAR!

There are probably more reasons that I could add to this list, but I have been typing this entire post with my new pair of smart gloves and while they're awesome for track pad usage, they aren't ideal for typing. I wasn't really expecting that issue because they're "smart" gloves, but I'm assuming the patent is still pending on the keyboard-friendly pair.

I'll be the first in line for those babies and every blog post thereafter will be composed with them.

Saying Goodbye...to Pants

No, this is not about me giving up on a daily wardrobe staple and going pants-less for the rest of my life.

However, that is not a half-bad idea.

Mental bookmark.

But back to pants and my farewell.

What I am saying goodbye to is a particular pair of jeans that I bought back in late 2007. These are my Skinny Jeans. If you are a woman, you know exactly what I'm talking about, and if you're a woman who doesn't know what I'm talking about, then you and I can't be friends because I'll throw my tampon-laden purse in your face if you order another salad in front of me because I'll be TOO BUSY EATING BREAD STICKS to say anything else.

Ladies, really? You have to know what Skinny Jeans are, and I'm not referring to those matchstick jegging situations or those pants that the hipster boys wear in crazy ass colors.

But let's get rid of those jeans too because men should not wear pants that might potentially castrate them.

Anyway, my Skinny Jeans represented hope for me - hope that my body could get back into them. I think every woman owns a pair of pants just like this. They are the pre-pregnancy jeans or the pre-mid-life crisis pants or the pre-love-chub jeans or whathaveyou jeans. They are the pants you want to fit into forever because you think they're going to do shit for you, like get you laid or erase your stretch marks, but NEWS FLASH, no pair of pants is going to do that for anyone.

There's even an episode of Sex and the City where Miranda is able to fit into her own Skinny Jeans after she lost all of the baby weight, and I know every woman who has watched that thought about her own pair of skinny jeans hiding in her closet. I saw that episode, and I was like, "Girl, those are nice jeans, but you don't need them."

No one needs these Skinny Jeans malingering in their closets.

When I tried on my Skinny Jeans in the dressing room, I was in the best shape of my life in terms of lung capacity and shit, but I absolutely hated my body. Every inch was too big. Where I curved, I wanted to be flat. Where I was already flat, I wanted to be invisible.

These jeans had potential to be great on me, or so I thought. They covered what I wanted covered and the little size tag validated all of my hard work, or so I thought.

They were already tight, and when I say tight, I mean like, they were plastic wrapped around my legs, but I bought them anyway because I wanted to lose more weight to fit into them.

Let me repeat the ludicrousness of that one more time: I BOUGHT PANTS THAT DIDN'T FIT SO I COULD LOSE WEIGHT AND FIT INTO THEM LATER.

Who. Does. That?

Women across this country that's who.

When I did fit into these jeans, it was like victory, but not really. I gave up bread and pasta and chocolate to fit into those pants, and I ran myself into the ground to make sure that zipper could zip up. I just couldn't let them not fit because not only were they $200 (WHY, SHASTA, WHY?!) but they also represented my youth/my peak/the best years of my life/etc, or so I thought.

What I've come to realize is that every year is the best year of my life, and I am never going to tap out at the top of the mountain, and I am too damn busy to worry about what the hell kind of pants I'm wearing. Life is a crazy ass uphill battle that is both fantastic and terrifying, and regardless of where you are in that battle, the way your ass looks in an overpriced pair of jeans IS NOT IMPORTANT.

I know that magazines and celebrities and witch doctors and those bitchy girls from high school promote these conflicting ideas about loving yourself and your natural figure while simultaneously wearing only pants in the 0-2 range, and it's confusing and hurtful and entirely unnecessary.

Ladies, that is some bad juju, and our womanly butts do not need that sort of energy.

Don't be friends with people who tell you should look a certain look and weigh a certain weight. Don't look at pictures of objectified models and want to look like them. Don't treat other women like objects just because they have some junk in the trunk. Don't buy a stupid article of clothing you can't fit into with a psycho ambition to become small enough in order to fit into it later because that is kray-kray.

Eat that extra cookie. Spend your money on clothes that fit. Exercise. Don't exercise. It's all good so long as you don't have a pair of pants holding you back.

I'm all about being healthy and living a balanced life and whatever, but sometimes, I want to eat a whole package of Double Stuf Oreos while watching episode after episode of Keeping Up with the Kardashians because I have to see the hot mess that is Kim's 72-day marriage.

And then after that, I usually open a bag of chips because you know what? I got a man, he put a ring on it, and since he prefers my pants off anyway, who cares what the calorie count is on these damn chips?

And even if you don't got a man or a woman or whomever you like to sleep over, and your ring is rusty or broken or nonexistent, you should eat some chips too because no pair of jeans is worth your favorite snack.

I know there is a lot of capitalization and girl power going on here, but what I'm trying to communicate is sort of a big deal. It's one small step for womankind, but it's a giant leap of epic proportions for me and my butt.

I'm Not Very Good at Exercise

I admire people who can wake up every morning and throw themselves into their workout routines with energy and discipline.

I do not do that.

At all.

I love snoozing all morning long until I'm almost too late to get out the door in time, and I resent morning workouts because they interrupt my blissful sleep. Rude.

Me: I'm going to run 5 miles straight, non-stop on this treadmill!

My Legs: Hell yeah! Let's do this!

My Mind: Excuse me, but WHY?

Me: I need to be workin' on my fitness...you're my witness. Now get your act together and get in THE ZONE already. Let's Steve Prefontaine this shiznit!

My Mind: You know he's dead, right?

Me: Yeah, I know, but he was an amazing athlete, and I read his book and here I am trying to take a page out of it. Let's enjoy this and be inspired!

My Legs: Um, OK sure, but are we going to run at this pace the whole time?

Me: Yes. I'm going to bump it up later on, so this is just a warm-up!

My Legs: OMG, why are you so mean?! Are you crazy?! Slow is steady and fast is...sucky, or whatever.

Me: C'mon, you can't be tired already! We've barely gone a mile!

My Mind: We actually haven't gone anywhere since we're on a treadmill. We're still here. In front of a mirror. In the same spot. Every step you take brings you nowhere.

Me: You are NOT helping.

My Legs: I feel....floppy...I might buckle at any moment. This is becoming a hazard.

Me: Well, if you'd just PICK IT UP a bit, then maybe we wouldn't sound like a damn stampede of dying buffalo.

My Mind: We are rather loud...do you think everyone can hear us? God, I bet they can at least hear you breathing over here.

Me: ....No.....they cannot.

My Mind: Are you feeling thirsty? You're actually not looking so good. Let's stop and get a drink of water.

My Legs: Yeah! Water! Water!

Me: I am running 5 miles SOHELPMEGOD.

My Mind: OK, fine...just know those girls are staring at you.

Me: Only because they are jealous of my discipline and cheetah-like speed.

My Legs: Or because you're bright red and sweaty...at least I am.

My Mind: And they can hear you grunting and it's slightly disturbing.

Me: I am NOT grunting...heeehhhh...heeehhhh

My Mind: That's the sound of you grunting.

My Legs: You know, a walk sounds nice right about now. I think we'd all feel better if we just went on a walk together, you know? It'd really mellow things out.

Me: I am NOT walking...this really isn't so bad. I feel...good...ish. I mean, I know I'll feel good later!

My Mind: There's a 30-minute limit on all cardio machines, and do you really think you'll be done with 5 miles in that time frame? I think not.

Me: That's only when there is a WAIT. No one is waiting on a treadmill!

My Mind: That's because no one wants to be running near you with your airborne sweat and animal noises.

My Legs: Are we there yet?!

My Mind: There! Over there! He's waiting on a treadmill! I just know it!

Me: You think?

My Mind: Yeah! And...um, he looks like he's waiting on this one.

My Legs: Let's not be rude to the poor guy....he just wants to run too...

Me: But we still have over 3 miles to go...? I'm going to feel so unaccomplished.

My Mind: There's an elliptical open....

Me: .......

My Legs: C'moonnnnn, you know you want to....

Me: I feel like an awkward adolescent gazelle on the elliptical...

My Mind: But you look like an ungraceful bag of potatoes on the treadmill....

Me: That was unnecessary.

....

....

Me: OK, let's go on the elliptical...

My Legs: Allriiiiight, a break!

My Mind: Why can't we just go on a walk....

Me: Oh, fuck it, let's go eat some cookies.