Emotional Eating

I love wordpress!

Found a hilarious blog yesterday, stuffwhitepeoplelike.wordpress.com; it made me laugh out loud.

I’ll be ready for a blog post, having composed the first few sentences in my head before I sit down to type, and darn it if I don’t go and browse someone else’s blog first because of the login screen that shows other hot action on other blogs right now!

One of them, I really had to respond to.  It was about emotional eating.

From the sound of it, she’s a sugar addict, because she loves her some Little Debbie cakes, but she mentions being on the savory-sweet roller coaster, too.  I’ve been partial to Zebra Cakes myself, so I can’t say I don’t know where she lives.

She had an interesting take, as she described her two children, and how the first-born is a vegetabliphile and the second one just wants to eat ice cream.  The hilarious thing is the little one will wail, “Did you finish all the ice cream?” when she comes home from school, busting Mom’s early-afternoon ice cream infraction.

She mentions that for a time she lost sixty pounds, and did all those things you’re supposed to do when you want to lose weight and keep it off [daily weigh-ins, daily gym workouts, lotsa H2O] but then realized that her life was primarily centered around maintaining the weight loss.  She felt out-of-control then, too.

Ding! Ding! Boy, did that ring a bell.  Hey, I did the same thing, too, way back in 2000-2001.  I’d wake at 5am so I could hit the gym & shower before work, doing a variety of cardiovascular & weight-lifting workouts so’s I could most efficiently burn calories and tone.  I drank liters of water a day, and I worked out six days a week.  It was fantastic, I did this over a period of nine months, losing the weight slowly and by the time my 30th birthday hit, I fit nicely into a dress I had picked out especially for the occassion.

And I felt great because I had said “yes!” to life, but now that I look back on it, what I said to myself was that I was only worth loving if I was thinner.  So then I was ready to hit the dating world once again, a svelte size 8-10.  What then happened?  Well, in quick succession I did find a special someone and also got on the pill because I didn’t want to get pregnant, and just like the other times I’ve been on the pill, promptly gained 25#.

The difference was that I was in a relationship, so the weight didn’t really matter, right?  But the fact is, it did, it always does, because I haven’t worked through this riddle that is self-acceptance.  No matter what the weight.  Self-love, because I am always worth loving.

I always get angry when I see a thin person eating dessert.  Really, I’m not kidding.  There’s always a slow burn of indignation, but now I know a lot of them skinny girls hate themselves as much as I do, hate their bodies with the same white heat, and worse, don’t even get to indulge in whatever their favorite foods are.

It’s just so hard because I don’t even really eat junk food or fast food or indulgent sweets.  I just overeat my healthy, vegetarian, meat-free, organic, farmers-market meals.  I can’t help it that I’m such a fine cook!  Another thing that burns me up is when someone says, “I stopped drinking soda and I lost fifteen pounds just like that!” with a snap of the fingers.  Well, shit.

So it’s been difficult, but I finally got ok enough with my body to agree to go to Hawaii even though I don’t have a bikini body.  Let me tell you, that took some doing.  We’ve been talking about going to Hawaii for as long as we’ve known each other, as I love it so.  So back in 2006 I signed up for a Continental Airlines credit card so that I could get enough frequent flyer miles to fly to Hawaii gratis.  So, this plan has existed in my head for a while.

But all the while, I knew that my unofficial plan was to give myself enough time to lose the weight.  Well, today is my last weigh-in before the trip: I lost something like 13#.  Not bad, I lost a few pant sizes, and my clothes all feel better and looser, which was the real reason to lose weight.  I got a modest and flattering black tankini for swimming, and I’m ok with a body that doesn’t look like a swimwear model’s.

What’s interesting is that clothes really do matter: the drape and cut of the fabric, to enhancing your figure.  I’ve been the same weight for about a month, but everyone was complimenting me yesterday on the same black pants I’ve been wearing since November.  True, they are looser in the booty than before, but essentially I’m the same.  Now I’m at the place where I need to start getting rid of the big clothes!  Yeah!  I remember how I relished giving away all those size 14’s I’d bought back in 2000, which I’d promised myself I’d do when I purchased them.

So here it goes again.  Oh, it’s everything, isn’t it?  I really do want to be the best me that I can, which includes being physically healthy and well, thriving, if you will.  I am getting older by the day, but I can do the best for myself through good diet and exercise and maintaining a good weight, flexibility, good dental hygiene, and meditation.  I’m wiser, stronger, and supported by my husband.  I can do anything!

We were in Sedona last October, watching the sunset against the rock rocks and watching the lengthening shadows, when I realized that I needed to get more of this nature stuff into my life.  It really fed my soul in a way that I recognized I wasn’t getting fed in my day-to-day life.  As usual, I spoke in hyperbole gazing at the colors and declared it the most beautiful place I’d ever been.

“Even compared to Hawaii?” my husband asked, dumbstruck.

“Well, no, but you can’t really compare it, because Hawaii is tropical….”

“What happened to our plans to go to Hawaii?”

I panicked because we were only five months away from when I’d want to go to Hawaii, but that wasn’t nearly enough time to lose thirty pounds, at a pound a week.  He gently reminded me that I didn’t need to weigh a certain amount before I deserved to go to Hawaii.  Isn’t he a great guy?

So here I am, writing a blog, and trying a new way, a new path for me.

[Oh, and those girls who complain that they gain weight when they start taking SSRI's?  It's because the SSRI dampens the voices of self-hate that tell them not to eat the cake, not because an SSRI biochemically slows down the metabolism.  They're just eating for the first time and feeling ok about it, instead of being controlled by the hate.  It's kinda sad, really.  I'd rather weigh a little more and be happy with it than vice versa.  But then, no one said anorexia is easy to cure.  It's more like alcoholism, one day at a time.]

McCain

ain’t so bad in my book.  What’s that they say about politics making strange bedfellows?

To be sure, I wouldn’t vote for McCain, no sir, but I have to admit that with all the “true conservatives” hating on him for the very reasons that make me like him, well, it gives me pause.  Example: conservatives don’t like his stance on immigration, which wasn’t “seal the border” (whatever that means) because he comes from a state that knows what a ridiculous proposition that is.  So they have been referring to him as “Juan McCain.”  Oh yeah.

Yesterday was an amazing display of statesmanship.  Honestly, I don’t know who he was trying to impress.  McCain was at an event where he was introduced by a rabid right-wing rabble rouser [nice alliteration, no?], who included comments about “Barack Hussein Obama” and disparaging comments about Clinton.

As soon as McCain stood up to speak, he made a point of literally saying that he wanted to distance himself from the ugly rhetoric, that he respects his fellow senators, and that he will only ever refer to them as “Senator Clinton or Obama.”

Wow!  Was he trying to win the independent-but-hawk vote?  Like I said, I was bowled over by that show of manners in a presidential campaign.  No wonder his fellow Republicans can’t stand him.  He’s actually playing fair and respectful.

And then I saw Obama on youtube with an appearance on Letterman, doing the Top 10 Things I’d Do if I’m Elected President.  Funny.  But Letterman, who’s pushing 60, are frat boys still flocking to his show?!

Going to Hawai’i

The apostrophe between the two letter “i” is called a diacritical mark.

I am going to the Big Island.  I will snorkel and kayak and watch sunsets and marvel at rainbows and swim in the cool water and watch lava flow and whales swim and hear them sing and eat delicious Hawaiian diner food with the best-ever-hash-browns-anywhere washed down with Kona coffee and plate lunches full of kalua pork with two-scoops-rice.  And have lost-island-sex with my husband and hike and take pictures and relax and breathe and enjoy life and be present every moment.

I am a very lucky girl, and this will be my third time to the Big Island!

So I have many things to do, like get gas for the car (driving all the way to the big airport in town) and charge up the digital camera, and do laundry (it gets all the way down to fifty degrees up at the Volcano!) and remember to pack my journal & my fave gel pens, and light meals to eat that are fun to make and good to eat, and oh! it’s been a while since I had a vacation and I can’t wait!

Just hope everything goes ok with our kitty cat.

Up All Night (practically)

Went to a concert at ye olde Great American Music Hall Friday night.  [I had never been there, and when I walked through the main door and into the hall, I felt like I'd time traveled to the Moulin Rouge.  No kidding!  I was on the main floor, there were balcony seats, huge columns supporting the balcony, and baroque beginning-of-the-20th century flourishes all over.  Straight out of a Degas oil.]

Thought the show started at 8, but it was really 9.  Thankfully the weekend’s rains had not yet begun, so waiting outside for more than an hour wasn’t really awful.  What the problem was, was that we missed the last train out of the City when the show finally ended after midnight.

I had been getting sleepy, but the drama forced me awake.  Now it was getting interesting!  There was another hapless commuter who asked the station agent what to do now, and he mentioned the transbay bus depot as Plan B.  We quickly consulted a map in a bus shelter where one man was explaining the virtues of bus #800 to another, and then went off in search of the bus terminal.  As we were leaving, the bus maven turned to us to ask if we needed help with “the 800 schedule.”  “Nope, we’re fine,” we said as we walked away.  So off we went.

We arrived there at 12:50, which was pretty good for twenty minutes’ walking, only to discover that the last bus left at 12:38.  Doh!  But there was a bulletin board that said, “Did you miss the last bus?  Try the 800!” Double doh!

Again, luck was on our side, as the rains continued to stay away, and the transbay bus ran every half-hour through the night.  We were only fifteen minutes away from the next bus.

There was a meandering ride through Oakland, but eventually we arrived very very close to where we’d parked the car (and we had had an alternate plan to park not very close at all) and finally arrived home shortly after 2am.  It was the latest I’d been up in years, and we slept in until noon yesterday.

I’m still suffering sleepy after-effects.

I’m very pleased that I didn’t panic or get carried away worrying about what was going to happen to us.  I chalk it up to the meditation.

{And the concert was very good, but I much preferred the opening band, Paul & Storm. }

A Good Eyebrow Wax

So after therapy today I went around the corner to get my brows waxed.  Wish I had gone there sooner!

I’ve been to several different places, but this one is convenient and close by.  It also helps that it doesn’t seem to have much business.  Now I feel as elegant as an actress from the fifties.  I’m going to make sure that I do this regularly now that I’ve found a place in town. (I think the last time I got them done was in October!)  She commented that my face is totally different now.  I have to agree.

Gotta take a nap, even though it’s gorgeous outside.

Happy Birthday, Miss Thang

It’s your 10th birthday today, and I love you very much, Miss Thang.  You brighten (literally) our world everyday just by being you.

We thought your brother would make it, too.

Love always.

Trivia Crazy

Going to play trivia tonight — it should be fun.

Read “Do I Look Fat in This?” which was a good reminder to go on vacation to a beach destination, even if you don’t like how you look in a bathing suit.  Why would you want your world to shrink?

Now am on McWhorter’s “Authentically Black.”  He’s a black conservative, which can raise hackles, but he seems to make a lot of sense.

Three-letters

I got a pair of three letters for ya:

FLU and PMS

‘Nuff said

February ‘Flu

I got the flu last February and it seems to have arrived on its first-year anniversary this year. And I had just been talking to my sis about how nice the weather is, how spring is here already, and how great that I didn’t get sick this winter!

Past two days have just been miserable and incredibly low energy. Anything other than walking from one room to another was too much work. No kidding! It wasn’t a lack of desire, it was the inability to contemplate checking the answering machine, or sitting upright at the computer.

I had bursts of energy, but mostly I was a mess.

Fever with attendant lack of mental sharpness.

Aches in all my muscles.

Soul and body crushing fatigue.

Some runny nose, but no throat pain yet I have lost some of my voice.

“Walk the Line,” feh!

Oh Jesus Christ. Dear God. Lord help me.

I *knew* I didn’t want to watch no “Walk the Line.” Why? I’ll tell you why!

1) Biopics are boring in the general case, unless I am interested in the person for some reason, usually due to my admiration of their work.

2) Biopics of rock stars are even more boring: early success, the drunken & drug-fueled despair and fall into the abyss, then the post-rehab walk into the light. Feh! The only thing good about rock star biopics is if you like the damn music. Did I like the damn Man in Black? Fuck no! So why the hell would I want to watch this stupid-ass film?! I’ll tell you: no reason. No reason in the world at all.

“But Laura, it was so good. It made me cry. They were so in love.” Because when people are famous after the fact, breaking their marriage vows is ok. We can all see that it was meant to be.

I don’t like none of that country music. Why would I care about someone I don’t care about?

See, I went to see “Control,” the biopic about Ian Curtis and proto-New Order, Joy Division. I like their music. I am familiar with the music. I cared about the story, wanted to know more. I enjoyed it, it was shot in black-and-white, which gave it a haunting and grainy quality. It had much to recommend it.

Or “Ray,” that story was so-so, but I somehow knew every song in it. Touching and moving. And the costumes were great, and we got to see him overcome his doubly-saddled adversity as a black and blind man.

Now, someone tell me, why would I want to watch a movie about people (whose story I ironically actually knew, courtesy of “This American Life”) were philanderers and drug addicts? I’ll tell you why! Because other people liked their music, that’s why! So fine, go see it because you like that honky-tonk music, but don’t tell me because it was a great work, because it wasn’t.

Maybe if I had scales over my eyes due to the “greatness” of his music, maybe then I would have been urging everyone to see this film. I can see that. This is exactly what turns me off from Hollywood. Not my scene.

I don’t care that it won a slew of Oscars for the actors….I throughly did not enjoy the movie at all, until we put the Spanish subtitles on and I worked on my vocabulario.

How shall I enumerate?

It looked cheap-ass. Like a bad tv movie, with poorly lit, small sets of cheap-ass school gym stages.
Heavy-handed screenplay, like a bad tv movie, see above. Oh, he has father issues, and there is a miserable Thanksgiving. Geez, I’ve never heard of that. How will we ever get over that?

The ironic thing is that we went to see “Walk Hard,” the spoof of this very movie. It was because I laughed so hard in WH that I was finally open to seeing WTL, to get the jokes. WH looked better and made more damn sense.