Poopers.

My family talks about poop a lot. We think about it a lot.  We are a family of poopers. There's discussions of diet. Consistency. Turns of phrase like "I just peed out of my butt" at the dinner table.  It's totally cool and totally acceptable and totally bizarre to be a part of if you are uninitiated to the ways of the Poop in a Jars (a childhood nickname.  Good one.)

Nervous poopers...allergy poopers...coffee poopers...IBS victims.  That's us.

Road trips are planned according to clean pooping stops.

I would SOOOOO poop here.

Meals are coordinated depending on the distance one has to drive afterwards. We comment on poop. If someone disappears after dinner at the parents house, we know exactly where they are heading. Typically, mom has a book or two in the bathroom along with lit scented candles.  Decorative paper towels and vanilla scented soap are always in stock.  Every now and then, there are wipes!  It's all part of the dinner party prep.

We recently went on a family road trip, and we all ended up flying together.  Each sibling has their own form of poop Kryptonite, and the strategy for a no-poop flight was discussed, ad nauseum (literally) for the entire wait for the first flight, and during our 3 hour layover.

While traveling, I am a poop camel.  I have such air travel control issues that I just won't go on a plane. Ever. I flew from West Palm Beach to Dulles then on to France once and I only peed in Washington.  I refuse to drink anything but tiny, baby sips of water. I barely eat unless it's something that is carb-tastic with no dairy or soy. Coffee can happen first thing, but there has to be a buffer of at least an hour pre-flight so that can get taken care of before boarding.

After a week with my family followed by a series of flights, poop was still on my mind.  I ended up bringing it up with my co-workers on my first day back. They looked at me first in terror and disgust, then started cracking up. We're all so much more comfortable around each other, and it was a real bonding moment.  I actually came up for this idea after a spectacularly bad lunch decision.

Listen. Everybody poops is not just a children's book.   It's also a common denominator for human kind. No matter the color of your skin, no matter your sexual orientation, no matter your eye color, hair color, language, style, political or religious viewpoint...everybody poops. You never know who you'll need to ask to spare a square. So love everyone or get poopy on your panties. OK?

That got weird.

Drunk Running

A lot of my blogs lately have been super serious.  It's ok, right?  We all go through serious times in our lives, and that's ok.  I usually hide those trying times and dwell instead on the weird and funny. So, let's get back to that.

In an effort to train for a 5K, I decided to start a run/walk combo program called Couch25k.  It's pretty awesome. Combining it with Weight Watchers, I have made the effort to get healthier for my 32nd year.  I've signed up for two 5K's. One in October and one in November. Both will be fun times. If I don't die.  Though having survived one day of training after a bottle of Malbec and half a pizza, I think I can do anything.  They may frown on wine consumption at the Foster and Adoptive Parents Association 5K, but what they don't know won't hurt them, right? IT'S FOR A GOOD CAUSE, HIC!

I really am taking this health stuff as seriously as I can. There are definitely days when I know for a fact that I will not be very successful in my training. My leg hurts. My nose is full of snot and I can barely breathe when walking let alone running. Allergies are super bad this time of year. My asthma kicks into high gear and I'm panting like Kevin after an especially trying wang snarfling. But I do it anyway. The diet is difficult, as my brain keeps telling me that half a bag of Smartfood popcorn is equivalent to a balanced meal. But I put the points in and register the fact that I'm over...under...above..beyond. I'm taking full responsibility for what I put in my body (not THAT, pervs.) I'm not fudging what I eat anymore. Mmm. Fudge.

Every time I go out  I say to myself, "Just get to that tree." "Just run til you pass that light post." "Breathe into your diaphragm and out of your mouth....you've got this."  Then I swallow a bug, or one flies up my nose, or I run into a spider web. And I laugh.

This past Saturday, I decided to run in the afternoon. I needed to get my 3rd day of week 3 out of the way. I was wearing a 3 quarter sleeve shirt, and it was freaking hot. I got back to my apartment, with my legs on fire and my lungs puffing, sweat dripping down my face.  My roommate was sitting in the living room watching television, and I flopped onto the floor to recover.  "Are you ok?" she asked, a concerned look on her face as I lay there with my arm flung across my head, panting and trying to recover my ability to breathe normally.

If I could have uttered anything, I would have told her that I was fine, wonderful, fantastic.  Because I've finally discovered the me that wants to be an athlete.  The me that is ignoring the gawky nerd that I have seen in the mirror since I was 8 years old.  The new me, who wants to challenge her body to better her soul. The new me who got her bike fixed yesterday and felt like she was flying as she rode 3 miles around her neighborhood. The one who really needs a new seat for her bike now, as her ass hurts even when sitting on her comfy desk chair. And, who looks really, really stupid in her new helmet. What?  I have a giant head.

Memories

I updated my iTunes. It was very exciting.

Surprisingly, the update pulled some videos from the recesses of my 2008 Compaq from a trip to Arizona.  I was there for my 10 year Up With People reunion and Grand Canyon tour with my very good friend from my Shadowbox days, LoJ Hunt.  I pushed play on a video of the Canyon, reminiscing about our road trip and my first view of the giant hole in the ground. Sunset softened the pastel colors of the canyon, and I narrated in a slap happy voice the feelings that I was experiencing.  Then I turned the camera on myself for a goofy moment to mark this epic occasion.

The me of today was shocked. Startled. Stunned. The girl in the video was thin. Super thin.  Scary thin.

The me of today envied the me of 2009 in that she was in a size 4 pant. The me of today also ate pizza for dinner. The me of 2009 barely ate anything. She couldn't control anything in her life other than food. The me of 2009 ended up passing out in her apartment, being rescued by her parents, then went to fry pickles with her sister.  And that was the turning point.

Skinny Spaz

I never sought help for my anorexia. I just stopped starving myself. And over the past few years, I've gone the opposite way.  Not denying myself anything food wise because I was scared of a relapse. Now I'm faced with another dilemma.  I want to be healthier.  I want to feel comfortable in my skin.  I couldn't love myself then and I can't love myself now.  I know I can be a better version of myself without the harmful brain patterns that lead me to drink coffee for breakfast. Eat a small salad for lunch. And completely ignore dinner.  I AM healthy. My cholesterol is great.  My blood pressure is fantastic.  I may be clumsy, but that's a different story.

Plus size Pottinger

I didn't let my scale calibrate the other day and thought I had lost 13 pounds in 2 weeks.  WHA?  But no worries, friends. I didn't lose 13.  I lost 4. And a good portion was period bloat. So I'm still on track and I'm still being healthy. I'm gonna keep those videos to show me what NOT to do to be fit.

Not every day is a bad day in the Guarded Area.

Yesterday, I bought books.  Tons and tons of books.  Ok. Not tons. But I had a gift card and I spent it ALL! 8 wonderful books are heading my way via standard FREE SHIPPING.  I feel like such a swanky swank. I will love them all the same.  It's strange that it was the best feeling in the world to hit that confirm order button. It took me two whole weeks of looking through the Barnes and Noble website for titles, trying to get the most out of my money as well as the unofficial series I love in the correct reading order.

I'd contemplated buying a NOOK, as I'm old and most of my authors are not carried in stores.  Then a friend posted about reading paper books until her dying day. And I read an excerpt from a book where the author railed against e-readers, stating that nothing beats the feel of paper under his fingers.  Both these instances reinforced the fact that my love for the written word needs to remain secure in the paper book realm.

There's a joy in browsing shelves.  After my web order, I realized that I had neglected to purchase a new release that I really, really, really wanted to read as soon as possible. I headed to my local Barnes and Noble, and let out a contented sigh as I entered, inhaling the aroma of books, nerds and coffee.  I grab the last two copies of the book I came in for, then notice a 50% bin with a book by a long lost favorite author. $6.00. Then happened on a Jim Butcher book for 45% off. $8.00.  HOW COULD I PASS THEM UP?!?! As the cashier totaled my purchase and placed in a bulging plastic bag, I was giddy. I couldn't wait to get these books home and READ THE CRAP OUT OF THEM. 

Sometimes I feel that the simple joys in life are the only things that keep me from being a shut in.  Which is odd, considering these books are going to make me a recluse for a bit.  So.  That's confusing.  I have dinner plans tonight and tomorrow, and plans with myself for Friday, but Saturday and Sunday you'll probably find me in my room, curled up with a quilt, a dog named Kevin and a shit ton of books.

OH MY GOD! I GOT CONFIRMATION THAT IT SHIPPED!  IT SHIPPED! YAY!

 

 

I just peed a little bit.

 

 



Ding dong, DOMA is dead!

Yesterday, I woke up to rain. Sunny rain.  I groaned. Walking Kevin in the rain is always a bit complicated as anyone living in an apartment with a pup knows. One arm for leash.  One arm for umbrella. Do you compromise leash holding or umbrella holding for poo pick up? So many complications. So little time (I like to sleep in til the last minute.)

So, girded with a huge golf umbrella, my poo bag purse with Kevin's polka dot leash in hand, we headed out into the sun shower. As we turned the corner of our apartment building, I looked up and saw the most beautiful rainbow I had ever seen, full bow in view. Kevin and I stopped to stare at it in wonder (well, I stopped in wonder.  He was peeing on a lamppost.)

Kevin did his business, I cleaned up without having to compromise either umbrella or leash as the rain had ceased by the time he boom boomed, and we headed to the house to complete our usual morning ritual.  I watched him eat his breakfast, cause he won't eat if I don't watch.  I stepped into the bathroom to shower while Kevin hopped in and laid down in the shower in protest. You know.  Normal dog/human stuff.

I got to work and hopped online. I changed my profile picture to show my support of LGBT rights.

15 minutes later, a news story popped onto my feed saying that DOMA had been declared unconstitutional. I cried. At my desk. And rejoiced in the fact that the people I love can love whoever they want in whatever capacity they want without federal intervention. A decision had been made.  A decision that made me believe in my country again. A decision that made me think to myself, "Someday, someone is going to ask you where you were when you heard the news. And you'll have to say you were at work and facebooking when you should have been working."

I am not a lesbian, as much as my mom tells me it's ok if I am. I don't even know if I ever want to get married.  But the fact of the matter is that no one should be able to tell me who I can and can't love.  Who I can and can't tie myself to.  Who I can and can't have at my death bed. Who can and can't benefit from my life insurance/health insurance/tax bracket.  I'm not angry at the people who wanted to restrict the rights of my friends and family.  I'm just sad that it was ever a question.

I didn't realize how symbolic that rainbow would be when I saw it through bleary eyes on a Wednesday morning. The full arc reaching across the sky will come to mind any time I think about the day that DOMA was overturned. And if any of my gay or straight friends need a wedding planner/singer/officiant, you know how to get a hold of me.

Failure

I'm laying on the pull out couch in my grandmother's home. Crying. Not sure why. Maybe it's the 4 days of driving. Maybe it's the stress of a wedding. The stress of family. Hormones. Going into my grandfather's shed and being reminded that he's not here.  Wondering what he would think about me. I don't know. But it's been a weird day, and I'm not sure what to do.

I keep hearing negativity. About how fat people are. About how eating is bad. About what's wrong with this person, with that person. With me. And today, I had to walk away. The noise was too much. And I kept seeing this person, who is alone and reminded of it in subtle ways. A person who is overweight, and is reminded in subtle ways. A person who isn't enough, and is reminded in subtle ways. And this boiling anger just sat there, in my stomach, until it lashed out. I always feel like I'm the one to blame. That if I was less this and more that, then all would be well.

"I just want to go home." I texted that to my business partner and friend.  But where is that?   What's there for me? My dog. My apartment. My stuff. My friends. A job I like sometimes. But what am I doing other than being fat and emotional and annoying? Who am I effecting? I'm constantly reminded of this person that I used to be. Am I ever gonna be that person again? Am I ever going to evolve? Am I ever going to be enough, for anyone? Am I ever going to stop crying?

Part of me wants to go out to my grandpa's shed and just sit.  That may be the second shot of tequila talking.

I suck a lot.

Today was a rather slow day at work.  I've been on this kick of reading inspirational articles and trying to learn to love myself a little more, and today was full of this kind of study, as no one was in and no one was calling. After lunch, I decided to water the plants in our front lobby.  While I was filling up the jug in the bathroom, I really looked at myself in the ugly gold plated mirror above the sink. Really looked, not just the usual perfunctory glance. I didn't avoid the hair I neglected to blow dry as it was pouring down rain and what's the point.  I didn't avoid the rushed make-up job based on being flooded in my apartment all morning, only to be called in to my job at a GOLF COURSE IN A TROPICAL STORM. I turned to the side, looking at the way my dress hugs my stomach which has always and will always be the bane of my existence.

I stared at myself and let out a huge sigh. That sigh released the tension that is perpetually in my midriff area, as I am constantly sucking in.  It doesn't matter what I'm wearing or where I am. In my pjs. In a dress for work. I'm perpetually trying to make myself look like something I'm not. When I let out that sigh, I let out the somewhat plus sized but not girl that just wants to be on the other side of skinny. I let out the need to be perfect, to be slim, to be something that I'm not. I let out the girl who would gag on a bite of food because she needed control of anything in her life at that moment, and food consumption was all she had.  I let out the girl who would pretend on the outside that she had it all together, but that on the inside was being crippled with fear.

I know these blogs lately have been kind of depressing. Life up til now has been kind of depressing.  But I'm finding more and more ways to be happy, and I can't help but share that with the world. I read an article yesterday that stated that women need to stop fat shaming themselves, and I finally get it. I look at pictures of myself from a recent dinner with distant relatives, and I realize that even though the woman in the pictures is bigger than her body is supposed to be according to science, she still has perfect blood pressure. She's O negative.  She's a universal donor who can save the life of anyone who needs blood or platelets through her donations.  She's got pretty eyes. She smiles a lot. She ignores injuries so she can get a bear hug from a 4 year old and wears Batman shirts whenever she sees him cause it makes him smile. She loves books. She loves dogs.  She loves her family.  And none of that is dependent on what the scale says.