XOXO Gossip Girl

I've written a previous post about gossip, where I essentially advocate it. My justfication is that we all need to vent and what someone doesn't know you're saying about them, doesn't hurt them. The problem of course is that many times gossip gets back to someone you don't want it to. And for some, this is their reason for keeping their mouths shut, which is is fair.

It's the sprit in which we talk about each other that needs to be kept in check, imo, not the act of it in general.

The problem with most gossipers is that they begin to feel they have the right to judge others. You don't. None of us does.

I know the freedoms "given" to us by our government are also expressed as inalienable rights and this includes free speech...however when it comes to their word usage, I disagree semantically.

We each have the inalienable freedom to express our opinions, publicly and privately, but none of us has the right in a purely moral sense.

Beautiful Daughters

I was just wondering why it is that a parent telling someone how many kids she has always, and I mean always, inserts "beautiful" between the number (of kids) and the word daughter(s). People don't say, "I have three strapping, athletic boys!" or "I have three handsome sons." But, people feel the need to express to others they've got beautiful daughters.

I guess this is just some thing where a woman's value is tied up, ultimately, in how good looking she is. Parents are going to be biased about their daughters' looks. Not to mention very few young girls are unattractive. They're all pretty adorable--up to a point. At the receiveing end of this message we swoon at the emphasis of the word "beautiful". OH! They're BEAUTIFUL! You made BEAUTIFUL girls! our smiles and raised eyebrows say. Do we believe them? Are we genuinely impressed? Maybe.

What's funny about our gullibility and the continuation of this kind of mildly sexist rhetoric is that chances are "no, you don't actually have beautiful daughters." The odds are greatly against your favor that your daughters are any better than average looking and most likely a little bit below. But, beauty's on the inside anyway, right?

Transgender Models

I just read that a trans-gender model is making headlines because she's becoming quite successful. She's even scheduled to be interviewed by Oprah for one of her last shows. I'm calling it right now, trans-gender models are the wave of the future. And if they aren't, they should be.

The modeling industry plucks children (some as young as 14) from their homes and throws them into big cities with the hopes of making a mint off the child if she becomes successful. Chanel Iman is a good example of this plan working out in the agency's favor. She was 15 when she started, and became a sensation. Sadly, she's made up at endless events to look like a woman in her mid to late twenties. She struts around the red carpet soaking in the attention like only a teenage girl could and is exploited in ways I can't imagine. The fact that parents allow this and are essentially selling their daughters away is a whole other post.

Why does the industry do this? Because the industry wants girls who look like boys. The ideal aesthetic is no waist, no hips.

Enter a trans-gender model. No waist. No hips. Maybe a little extra in between the legs that could pose a problem modeling a bikini...but at least you can send people down the runway who are adults and have the cognitive ability to choose the career for themselves. Everybody wins.

R.E.S.P.E.C.T What the Hell Does That Mean to Me?

I wrote a post a little while ago that got the most comments ever, about five, three of which were from my brother and myself. But, two strangers (exciting!) read the post and were compelled to voice their disapproval while slinging personal judgments, bordering on insults, at me. Ahh...the Internet. We reap what we sow.

The fact is I grew up with four brothers and because of my comfort level hanging with the guys I've had some pretty close friendships with men, the result being the chance to peek into their conversations with other guys. While I suspect a lot of macho BS about not liking their girl nearly as much as they do is expressed, I've found that women project a lot of romantic notions on to their relationships (especially the young ones) that just aren't true. I have a different perspective on relationships than most women (And most women don't like that) If they knew how men really thought, they would too.

One person who commented wanted to focus on cheating and why it's wrong. Apparently, I've never been in an "adult" relationship (no arguments there) and have forgotten about having respect for myself. My response to these comments garnered a "you're being defensive" rebuttal. God forbid I'd like to defend myself against misconceptions.

My only question is what does this term "respect for myself" really mean? Why is the concept that I would want to have sex with someone just to have sex with him and (perish the thought!) not want to see him again after that not an option here?

It would seem that--as a female--a sexual encounter should necessarily lead to a committed relationship and that is always the end game hoped for. To not get it means that I allowed a man to violate me in vain, which also means that I don't have any respect for myself. Right? Is that it? I have to admit, I'm clueless.

I think a lot of men secretly hate women. And I think a lot of women secretly hate sex. To have sex is, in some sense, a violation because they don't allow themselves to like it; Girls who like it are bad, are slutty, are...not kosher. And because sex is a break-in, to do it at all means that part of their sense of integrity is given up when they lay down. The only thing that justifies such an act is to get something in return, i.e., a boyfriend, a husband, without this thing they can covet for their sacrifice they have no self respect and since we all assume everyone is exactly like us, and should be, we accuse them of not having it either. And I think that's dumb. Sorry.

I watched the movie "A Star is Born" recently starring Barbra Streisand. I saw it on Netflix and thought what the hell, "I love Barbra. This was a big hit when it came out; it might be good." In one scene Barbra's rock star husband is in bed with a reporter and Barbra walks in. In the film, it's the one and only time he cheated on her. So, Barb walks in, sees it and stays calm until the girl leaves. She gets pretty pissed after that. But, when her husband asks if it's about the girl she simply says, "Give me more credit than that." And goes on to say that it's about the problems in their marriage. I have to agree. The idea of them breaking up over him being in bed with another women was too stupid to even talk about, because it didn't matter, given that the problem was not habitual.

Times have changed. But, change doesn't alwasy mean progress. Today, women torture themselves about whether or not they should leave their husband/boyfriend after an indescretion. Partly because they're scared to death other women will slander them as "weak", "co-dependent" or some other phrase the feminist movement has painted with a negative conotation when referring to women. It's a personal decision that we don't have the right to judge based on specific and personal circumstances.

Although making love with someone you're with and in love with is wonderful and preferable, engaging in sex, although it doesn't "matter" does not mean you're someone without self respect. It could simply mean you're someone who chooses not to deny their sexuality in the name of man-made morality. I am not advocating cheating. I am acknowledging it happens. I do, however, advocate safe, one-night matterless sex with other singles. With a big ol' brunch the next day loaded with self-respect.

My only regret with this post is that I gave the impression I'm a harlot who sleeps with tons of guys in relationships, when I just meant to say that well, when you're young and not married, relationships aren't the life and death situations we make them out to be. If someone really matters, if you really have a connection, you'll keep in touch. You'll forgive whatever you have to forgive and at the very least you'll be friends. If you can't be lovers, you'll survive, you'll get over it. That's all.

Don't Do That

I'm in a coffee shop in Brooklyn. I almost don't need to explain anything else based on all that is implied from the first sentence. I'm going to explain anyway.

Picture this: A girl. A brunette with a whack bob haircut that is disheveled and badly in need of a trim. She's wearing an oversize Breton striped top and slightly stone washed skinny jeans. I've seen cleaner shoes on homeless people. She is clearly not homeless. Her phone rings. She prattles on and on and on for at least 20 minutes until she says, "I gotta go...I'm in a coffee shop." Then she talks for another 10 minutes. She's not working, she's reading a book. So, far be it from her to consider that other people around her are working. She's definitely from some upper middle class background. That kind of "me as the center of the universe" mentality doesn't grow anywhere else.

The girl behind the counter is wearing a slightly crushed pea green bowler hat; it covers greasy mouse brown hair. She has a tattoo of a viking ship on the underside of her right bicep. She is clearly not a viking.

Back to the girl on the phone. She's talking to a family member, talking aimlessly about possible exit plans for Thanksgiving. She talks about what she did yesterday. It's infinitely boring. She talks shit about a girl she met who "intellectualized" everything! But, thankfully, she didn't seem like a bad person. Whew! I hate when I meet people who over intellectualize and then turn out to be rapists and serial killers. Or people who work in the financial district, which is just as bad.

She talks about buying a "vintage" bag and by her slight look downward to the bag at her side, I can tell that's the one. It literally looks dumb. If bags had an IQ. The word vintage specifically relates to making wine. Sometimes it can refer to something out dated. It entered the lexicon of the fashion world to refer to mint condition high fashion pieces that are decades old. The connection being that high fashion pieces don't loose their charm over time, like a good vintage wine. It is not meant to be a euphemism for used crap sold at a dusty hole in the wall that's little better than a pawn shop. So, if it isn't Chanel or Dior and you're saying it's vintage without the slightest sense of irony--don't do that.

If you're a white person living in Brooklyn and are thinking of getting a tattoo of an old fashioned boat on your arm--don't do that.

If you're in a coffee shop and your phone rings and it's mom who you know is going to want to talk for a minimum of 25 minutes about the mundane details of your life and you're thinking about answering--don't do that.

"How many hipsters does it take to screw in a light bulb?"

"Some barely known obscure number. You've probably never heard of it."

Appetizers is What You Eat to Make You More Hungrier.

I just wrote a great post and then accidentally deleted it. The title of this post is one of my favorite quotes from Eric Cartman of South Park, Colorado. He says the sentence to an Ethiopian child in an effort to explain why we have appetizers.

I was just thinking about how much money there is floating around in the hands of people vs. how many people are poverty stricken. Tons of money, tons of starving people. At a basic level that just doesn't make sense. Is there a lack of donating? Is there a lack of donating to relieve poverty? Millions upon millions of dollars each year are siphoned into charities. And yet, still, so many problems with people being poor.

Think about what Britney Spears and the Sultan of Brunei could do alone? I mean that guy could cause a major inflationary problem all by himself just by buying shit. That is rich. But, it isn't enough to give a man a fish, you have to teach him (or something?). This is why I think the world's billionaires should get together and buy off corrupt politicians in third world country governments, Africa first. They should then either insert themselves or people they hire into office. And THEN donate a drinking well. The infrastructure has to be there.

What Your Mom Should Have Read You Before You Went to Sleep.

A relationship is nothing more than two people who get together because they like to fuck and like eachother's company*. Beyond that, it's a crap shoot. Until marriage there are no guarantees**. Don't listen to some bitch who calls you a home wrecker because she is too dumb to see her relationship for what it is and imagines herself to be one of the Disney Princesses. Blindsightedness isn't your fault. See your relationships for what they are, never call a woman a home wrecker.

The idea isn't to "go the distance" it's to help each other grow for as long as you're lucky enough to be together. Create one life, from two, greater than the sum of its parts.

And when it's time to separate say thank you and appreciate the opportunity to help someone else grow and be helped yourself.

Don't get romantically invovled with someone who doesn't help. Graciously accept whatever (growth) help you're offered, from anyone, but don't project more on to it than what the other person wants it to be. Don't be afraid to ask, no sooner than one month and no later than two. Accept the answer respectfully. Make sure you love fucking yourself and enjoy your own company.

* A lot of people project romantic, egotistical notions on to the simple fact of enjoying the company of another person. "We're on the same wavelength! We like the same books, movies, brand of grape jelly! He gets me! I can be myself with him!" Get over yourself. You (plural) like to hang out. Being yourself, btw, is up to you and not another person.

**Marriage is not always a gurantee either, obviously. But, it is the public act of an explicit and mutual promise. Respect it.

Just like Home!?

After four years of living on the dark side of the moon, I've finally started to feel like it's home. And I realized something today that came about four years too late. Any way that you can bring a touch of home to a new place is helpful. Any sense of the familiar can fill you with warmth and positivity, even on a rainy day.

I used to grocery shop at Trader Joe's back home. There are two in New York, one in the city, one in Brooklyn. I used to buy this indian dish that was incredible. Some kind of red mush that left my mouth on fire and made a complete meal with a slice of naan. This was a staple for me at home. Cheap and filling. I was sad when I moved away, I would never have Trader Joes' Pav Bijal again.

Cut to about yesterday. I know this sounds ridiculous but I realized that the Trader Joe's in Brooklyn is actually not far from me. A few stops on my train line, a 10 minute walk and I was there. So, I took an adventure after work and went. I was beyond delighted to see the familiar signs and decor. I picked up items that were special to TJ's and was about to get in line when I saw it. Pav Bijal. My heart leapt, angels sung, the heavens parted. I had almost forgotten it, having signed it off as a cost of moving long ago. I even settled for my local grocer's Indian--yuck.

Coming home from the shopping trip, it was cold and rainy for the first time in months, I was lugging two bags of groceries on my shoulders for about a half an hour. But I was on cloud nine.

About a week ago I was in Duane Reade and decided that it would be a good idea to get a plug-in air freshner for my room, to help mitigate stale smoke smell. I got whatever scent had the Febreeze label on it because Febreeze "eliminates" odors. So, I plug it in. Sitting here now, with the faint smell wafting through the room, I am reminded of home for the second time today. Something about air freshners, or that fresh laundry smell is just so...Midwest. And comforting.

PS

And the most influential book of all goes to...duh duh. The story of how Louis Pasteur found the cure for rabies. I read that book like a thousand times in my early developmental years, after I was taught how to read, of course.

Self Help

I was just thinking about the books I've read that have taught me something I consider to be indispensable. As much as we like to value fables, parables and allegories for life lessons, I'm not sure how many of those "lessons" in fiction I've retained and applied to my life.

Maybe it's just me, but the stuff that I seem to remember is what I've learned through nonfiction. The three most influential books in my life thus far have been:

"Who Moved my Cheese?" sound ridiculous? I found this book sitting in my Dad's basement during a time when I'd dropped out of college, totalled my car and moved in with my Dad's second-marriage family because he just happened to live within walking distance of my job. It's a short book, and I'd heard something about it so I read it. One line that got me and I'll never forget the message of, "sometimes it feels like you're moving one step forward and two steps back" cliche, I know. But the book went on to explain why in spite of that it's better to feel like a failure, after trying something new, then just stay in the same place. Amen. That snippet planted the seed that eventually led to me finishing school and moving to New York. It was the reassurance I needed, to know that someone out there knew it wasn't a cake walk--and that it's okay to not know what you're doing and fall on your face.

"The 48 Laws of Power" I picked this book up because I loved the way the author used historical references to back up his laws. Lots of juicy bits about military strategy, dodgy politicians and con men. As I read the book, I realized how the laws had been used on me--and how well they worked. Although the book had nothing to do with handling romantic relationships, it gave me a feeling of empowerment to stop whining and reacting to what other people did. I could, instead, allow people to react to what I do. This book gave me back my confidence after a nasty and prolonged bout of post break-up blues, especially when I started using the laws myself.

"The Black Swan" This is one of those Malcom Gladwell type of books. The venerated mathematician/scientist comes down from his lofty ivory tower to impart knowledge to the masses. As a genre, I'm over it. And this book is written in such a meandering way (the author desperate to prove he has a sense of humor in spite of making a living as a quant) that it feels tedious. Not to mention the guy is such a genius that he just can't do without his SAT words. I've taken statistics and econometrics courses and still found myself going, huh? The message of the book could be put into laymen's terms in probably about 10 pages. Life is a hell of a lot more random than we like to believe. The most important events in our lives (all our big breaks) are completely unpredictable. So, there is no sense in waiting around for anything to happen. And I mean anything. You might as well just go after what you want, and have a hell of a good time doing it.* As bored as I was during much of the book, I suppose all of the science-y talk made his point seem more valid and that was worth it. *This of course is a great argument for not tying yourself down with kids too early.

None of these books were technically in the "self-help" category per se. But, Cheese and Power are close conteders for the reviled section of the book store. For the record, I'd just like to say that I think it's bull shit that people scoff at self-help readers and are embarassed to read books that provide information that could very well improve the quality of their life. All it takes is a sentence, really. And that sentence could be anywhere. And let's face it, where else are you supposed to get your advice? Your stoner friends? Your parents who have nuggets but no concept of the social landscape their kids live in? I mean the idea that we know everything we need to know in order to be content is absurd. The idea that experience alone is enough to make us perfectly whole, happy, beings is even more absurd. All anyone knows is based on their own limited experience anyway. That includes your shrink. It makes sense to get different opinions.

My Day So Far...

So I wake up, at 6 a.m., randomly. Starving. Decide to take a shower, hey maybe for the first time in two years I'll get to the office before 10! Post shower I lay back down in bed to let my hair air dry a bit before blowing it (my typical routine). I decide that yes, definitely, today will be an anomoly in which I will have a morning like a large percentage of American adults. Plus, I am still starving inexplicably and the way to breakfast is the city. I stand up, walk over to my closet to try and figure out what to wear then--just like that--I decide that I am actually still pretty tired and maybe a little nap would be in order before I get up for realsies.

Next thing I know, it's 10. And my morning has officially become like so many before it. No time for hair, makeup or wardrobe considerations. Must be out the door in 30 minutes or less to get to the office by 11.

10:58 I walk into the lobby. I guess spending Sunday in the LES drinking from 2 - 8 p.m. is what made me very thirsty and ravenous. Though, I don't feel hungover. Walk into the 'bucks. OH NO! late morning line, WTF? this never happens. Three words, European teenage tourists, who I'm pretty sure are all getting a frappucino, when I want nothing more than an iced coffee. The humanity. 'Why, oh why,' I wonder, 'are we not allowed to openly discriminate against tourists between the months of June and August?

I finally get up to the counter. I order my usual, but sadly my barrista transferred to another store because of a management dispute. Those left in his place, may or may not have downs syndrome. Because for the second time, I order the reduced-fat coffee cake and the girl says "which one?" OMFG. The ONE that says "REDUCED FAT" on the label. I literally had to explain to her that there is a "classic" coffee cake and a "reduced fat swirl coffee cake" and the fact that she doesn't know the difference and thinks they're on par with each other is just, absurd.

So here I am, it's almost noon and I've done NOTHING today except write this blog.

All I can say is...

Amen. This is what the word "curvy" was meant to describe. Note the large, natural chest and the difference between the width of the waist and hips. Note especially that the waist is smaller than the hips.

--waging a one woman war against chubby women having the right to call themselves curvy.

PS -- Chubby women: You probably could be (truly curvy)...eat well and exercise.

The End of the Road

Dear iPhone 3G,

I'm waiting on hold to activate my iPhone 4. The Indian guy on the other line doesn't understand my questions. And he put me on hold to determine whether or not this is an upgrade, or a new activation, even though I told him it was an upgrade.


I'm writing to tell you that watching you sit next to my new phone while you're being backed up for the last time calls to mind fond memories I've had with you. I was hesitant about you at first; I wasn't a mac, I was a PC. But you wowed me with your multi-functionality.


You are a phone, a minature game console, a portable music player and so much more. I read my first Sherlock Holmes books, Bram Stoker's Dracula and half of Moby Dick on you. When I needed time to clear my head I knew I could count on you to keep my hands busy with Diner Dash, or Pocket God, while I thought out life's most complicated problems.

You've taken in and let out so many phone numbers, I've lost count. Slut. But it didn't change the level of respect I have for you. You've seen text messages that would make Madonna blush, but you kept on keeping on.


iPhone four is a little bigger than you, a little taller, a little heavier. And I'm sure I'll grow to love it as I have you. But 4 doesn't have your charm. The scratches I've inflicted on you are my fault, my pride refused to buy a case, and the cracked screen you suffered one night at the rooftop bar in Korea Town was no way to treat you. I'm sorry. Best wishes, 3G. All good things must come to an end.

The Last Five Minutes of My Life...

Instead of making those Hamiltons, that stack up so quickly, I've spent the afternoon catching up on music videos that were made to be enjoyed by people who are at least a decade younger than me, and browsing iTunes. I was in the midst of deciding between Ciara or B.o.B when hark, the gchat bing caught my ear.

Dear Fran had written a short letter to Pink Berry detailing her disappointment with our Wednesday evening experience. She needed my help. What could I do? Although it pained me to tear myself away from such a productive and busy afternoon, I spent the last five minutes rewriting her letter.

To Whom it May Concern,

When I first saw an advertisement for your new watermelon flavor I was enthusiastic to try it. Pink Berry is one of my favorite frozen yogurt retailers, and I’ve been a loyal customer for over a year. As you can imagine, I was greatly disappointed to visit two separate locations only to be told the watermelon wasn’t available. I was further discouraged when I found out that your 5- to 7-p.m. happy hour included only one flavor of yogurt. Advertising the availability of a flavor at all locations and not being well stocked in it is an error to the detriment of your business. Leaving out key information in advertisements, such as the limited happy hour flavors, is blatant false advertising. --

Disappointed Customer, Fran Sizemore.

Are You There Go Daddy? It's Me, Marisa

I just bought a website. Well, actually I bought a website building package with some kind of SEO (search engine optimization). I bought the name for the site several months ago, and have been paying $8 per month for it ever since. Now, I will be paying another $8 to maintain it. It's uh, pretty expensive.

Concept: The original post has been deleted. Because I just remembered that in business school I was told not to share my ideas. So, when this site is up and running I will post a link.

Wah wah wah

The title of an article on MSN from Redbook: Is Being Childfree By Choice Selfish?
The subtitle of said article: When a married couple is childfree by choice, it seems there's a lot of explaining to do about why they're not having children. Even in big Hollywood movies like Sex and the City 2.

Reading this title reminded me of a professor I had in college for a short story class. She was an author and had published several books herself, I liked her. One day in class she made a comment that the media is obsessed with celebrity women and their babies. And I was like, "hmm...I think it's more like the media is obsessed with celebrity and they latch on to anything about their lives that they can. These women are having children as a natural course in their lives." It was pretty obvious that being of a certain age she had sorted of perverted the situation to fit her insecurities about not having children.

And it's like, to all you ladies out there who are worried about havin' babies or not havin' babies because of what other people will think. Get over it. If you want them, have them. If you don't, enjoy a blissfully and significantly less stressful life than those who do.

And as a word of caution:
If You Cant Feed Your Baby (Yeah, Yeah)
Then Don't Have A Baby (Yeah, Yeah)
And Don't Think Maybe (Yeah, Yeah)
If You Can't Feed Your Baby (Yeah, Yeah)
You'll Be Always Tryin'To Stop That Child From Cryin'
Hustlin', Stealin', Lyin'
Now Baby's Slowly Dyin'

And finally:
You're A Vegetable,
You're A Vegetable
Still They Hate You,
You're A Vegetable
You're Just A Buffet,
You're A Vegetable
They Eat Off Of You,
You're A Vegetable

I can't post a photo. I google imaged "baby" and was just totally grossed out/disappointed in what I saw, I had to stop looking and try to forget the images.

Shortcaked

This has to do with the culture of NYC and why people who don't live here, or just moved recently, are so very, very out of the loop of understanding. That isn't a judgement, it's just a fact.

When I first moved here people told me that "It takes living in New York for a year, to be prepared to live in New York." Cute, right? I'm not saying my case is typical, but it took me at least two, if not three years to acculturate. I may not be done yet.

Okay, the plain fact is New Yorker's aren't "rude". They aren't without morals, or ethics or values. They just don't have time to give a fuck about other people, except for the few that really make an impression. Many fresh off the boat here (in their first year), find it extremely difficult to wrap their head around this.

But, here's why what I just said makes perfect sense. You have a city of 8 million people. Among those 8 million you have the best and the brightest. The people on top of the food chain, the most beautiful, ivy league educated, ambitious people are here. You have an extremely high level of competition because all of us hanging out in the middle of the food chain see the top and desperately want to be there. And our perverse American ideals tell us it's possible, so you have an ego surge big time. By ego surge I mean you exhibit a certain amount of self-centered behavior.

Next, "the city that never sleeps", actually does. In fact, we probably sleep more than most people in most places. We just happen to stay up later. Because of this businesses don't open until later in the morning, office hours don't really get started until 10, even 11, and if we can manage it, we still leave at 5. Ever heard of "summer Fridays?" That's a business that allows their employees to have a half day, or whole day, off every Friday from Memorial Day to Labor Day. Why? So that people can get an early start on their weekends up state and in the Hamptons. These facts are a big reason why New Yorkers are so "busy" and have to have everything done yesterday. We sleep more, we work less than you and are pretty much always behind schedule. Ever get into work at 10 instead of 8 and for some reason the entire rest of the day is less productive? That's us, every day. Don't get me wrong, there are plenty of people in New York who work 12 hour days, just not as many as you'd think.

Also a note on transportation. Taxis and trains force commutes to be at least three times as long as driving in one's own car in a sparsley populated area with little traffic. When you're on the train, you're not working.


Finally, "the women come and go, talking of Michelangelo". Because we're social, a community of heavy drinkers and smokers (to mitigate the stress of being so busy), we meet and greet about a billion people everywhere we go. We are constantly forced to interact. And yes, you become jaded. Anyone would when there's a new face around the corner every second. There are endless ways to make friends, meet people and chat about the meaning of it all. If you were fishing in a stream with endless supplies of fish, you'd throw back any that were damaged, and you'd be a hell of a lot pickier with the ones who weren't. This is the reson for ego surge number two. I don't care how awesome people thought you were in your hometown, at some point here you are going to get thrown back. After it happens several times, you don't have the capacity to sympathize with others who are still feeling sorry for themselves, or someone else, about it.

So many people come here with a sunny disposition, so convinced that they're going to change New York to suit their idea of how things should be. They'll be the ones who take it by storm. And it's a culture shock in and of itself when they finally realize, they're not. You adapt, or you leave.


It is beyond frustrating to try and explain to a newbie how it is, only to have them resent you for it. But it's entertaining to see them step in the shit for not taking your advice because that was you once upon a time.

Those of us who stuck it out, those of us who've been thrown back, those of us who love it because of the constant stimulation in spite of its attitude, we just don't have to time to give a fuck about people, but the few who really make an impression. Fact.

As I put it to a good friend today regarding another friend, "I don't have time to deal with your strawberrry shortcake view of the way things should be. I just don't care."

Around Quittin' Time

me: Today I decided that God probably looks like a Panda Bear.

me: And then I thought, "what if I told Ben, who just kind of shrugged it off. And then when he died he found out that God really DOES look like a panda bear. And I was the only one who figured it out. That would be hilarious."

Benjamin: ARE U FUCKING STONED!? LOL

me: No

Benjamin: Hilarious.

That would be the worlds final insult: to find out marisa was right all along.

Where'd u go?

me: I'm here

Second Things Second

So, here is what I was thinking about, and have been thinking about incessantly for the last couple of months. Food. Every kid has their awkward stage. My awkward stage was being chubby. Not fat, per se but chubby. I knew I was chubby as a kid and all through high school. My weight fluctuated throughout my early twenties too. Sometimes I would get on an exercise kick and slim down, but eventually the extra 10, 15, 20 lbs would come back on. I tried to make all kinds of excuses to myself and other people. "I've never had a problem getting men to be attracted to me, so my weight is clearly not a problem." But, what I didn't realize, and really couldn't have known when I was younger, was that I was carrying around insecurities that affected my behavior. It really wasn't about how I looked, but how I felt. What I didn't know was that an extra 10, 15 and 20 lbs was affecting how I really thought about myself, but was in denial of.

I'm not sure exactly how it started. I think it was a combination of influences. Living in New York, yet another failed relationship, being around people who ate healthy...but I very slowly started to make changes to my diet. I started buying fruit and vegetables at the grocery store, and hummus. I started eating soup and yogurt for lunch. It never occurred to me to be on a diet, I just realized that I felt better about myself inwardly after eating a healthy meal. And that it physically felt better to be satisfied rather than stuffed. So, I kept it up.

Over time another unexpected thing occurred. I started to not just like, but LOVE fruits and vegetables. Particularly melons. So sweet and watery and refreshing. Not to sound like a hippie but I couldn't believe how the earth gives us everything we need. I made a promise to myself to eat fruit and vegetables every day. Then it occurred to me that getting filled up on fruits and veggies simply left less room for the unhealthy stuff. And, unlike I had been led to believe by our culture of failed dieters, healthy food was perfectly filling.

I started to choose the "light" options at starbucks and the grocery store. If something came in a light or low-fat variety I bought it instead. I also stopped drinking high calorie alcoholic beverages, rationalizing that it wasn't worth ruining a healthy diet for. Vodka soda...as a friend likes to say a total "rexi drink." I don't care. Because as I became that girl that I used to hate, the one who asked for her dressing on the side...I realized that everyone I'd ever known who made a consistent effort to choose the low cal option was thin. I assumed being that way was snobbery, about being better than other people who chose flavor, and I wasn't a snob, or so shallow. But I'll be damned if eating healthy wasn't actually beneficial. And, PS, cooking something in grease and lard doesn't add flavor, it takes it away, Applebee's. This revelation I can thank New York for. I didn't know what food actually tasted like until I came here.

I grew up with the idea that a "diet" was hard work because it was deprivation, it was living without the things you loved for vanity's sake. And the few times I'd tried to diet, and even lied to myself that I was making changes to my eating for the long haul, it never lasted because of this mentality. Diets are incomprehensibly stupid, but not for the reasons I thought. Eating well is not deprivation, it's freedom.

Little by little I cut out more unhealthy things, like french fries and mayo. But, when I crave a cheeseburger, I have it. When I want chocolate, I grab a handful of M&Ms, because I'm not on a diet and know that I can have M&Ms whenever I want, I don't need to eat the whole bag in one sitting. I can go out with friends to a nice dinner and not worry about dessert, b/c I'm okay with only having a few bites. I have a lifetime to eat dessert.

I started changing my habits because of how it made me feel on the inside, and months later noticed that I was punching new holes in my belts, my staple summer dresses of the last couple of seasons looked like sacks. Have I actually lost weight? I thought. I don't weigh myself--ever. But there was the evidence. My shorts from last summer don't fit, the shorts I loved and felt sexy in. Skirts that used to be tight were loose. Downsizing my calories had downsized my body. And while you're thinking "obviously", I never actually thought that my diet mattered that much. I'd always tried to exercise more to loose weight, and always fell of that wagon too.

Managing your food intake is not unlike managing your finances. If you constantly indulge in expensive items, you'll find that you don't have money left over for the little things or the necessities. A lot of people do this, and don't understand why they're always broke. Just like a lot of people don't understand why they're overweight. But, if you do the opposite, you'll find that when you want to indulge, you can without any negative consequences. Calories add up just like pennies. It's easy to think that a few here or there doesn't really matter, but in the long run, they really do. Slow and steady wins the race.

First Things First

I logged on today--with an idea for a post--for the first time in months and saw that a whole new blog design thing was added with all of these options. Whoa. I was so confused looking at the different potential backgrounds. Should I go with the classy marble sculpture head? Should it be something in the nature category? I always have liked Zebras. Home and garden? No. Stained glass window motif? Too many religious implications. For the time being, I chose books becuase books is good for ya.

When Demi Moore and Ashton Kutcher first met, he didn't give her the time of day and had his attention on someone else. The second time they met was at an impromptu party at his hotel room (following God knows what). After being at the party for some time, Demi took a break from the Hollywood debauchery, and getting shit-faced with people half her age, to step into the hall and make a phone call. Ashton happened to hear her on the phone, saying good night to her children. He was so moved that he told her it was "the most beautiful thing" he'd ever heard. And so, they started to text. The rest is recorded in the anals of true love history.

This story brought to you by Demi on her recent visit to Regis and Kelly.

I don't think I even need to say anything about this. I think it speaks for itself. All right, I'm going to say it. It is my opinion that Ashton did not have a good realtionship with his Mom. Okay. There you go.

The Best of Waking up...

I just saw an online ad for foldgers. I haven't had a television in close to a year (netflix, baby) so I don't get to see commercials much anymore. And I have to say if they are all as devoid of reality as this one was, it's no wonder why the millions of Americans in the flyover states look like bitter prunes before they hit thirty--all that bullshit has to do something to your exterior.

So, some boring looking blond woman who could be 23 or 33 runs into her Dad in the kitchen. And he's all, "you got in late last night." and she's all, "yeah...it won't be mattering anymore." Then she pulls out an engagement ring and Dad is all of a sudden taken with emotion and not at all concerned that she was late, but tells her that her fiance is a lucky man, which is what he told him when the beau asked for her hand in marriage the week before. So many things wrong with that scene.

If that girl is old enough to get engaged, then she is WAY too old to be living at home. If that girl is old enough to get engaged, then she is WAY too old to have her father questioning what time she comes home at night. And if she is in a serious enough relationship to get engaged, then it's none of her Dad's business that she was late b/c she may or may not have been fucking her boyfriend, which is what the commercial implies. And it is beyond archaic that fucking her boyfriend all of a sudden becomes okay once he puts a ring on her finger. And that he goes from the "bad" boyfriend who kept her up late into the "good" boyfriend by asking her Dad if he could be her official fucker for an indefinite period of time. I mean we reject Freud's theories of a sexual/romantic connection with our parents and yet it's okay in our society that a father has some kind of control over his daughter's vagina and what she does with it, and who she allows to touch it, and when. There is something wrong with that.

The best part of waking up...is Foldger's in your cup. All those puritanical values in a cyclical web of caffeine goodness. Advertising pandering to the middle class while at the same time reinforcing an outdated and unnecessary belief system. DE-LISHIS.

Treatment to "be a better person"

I was on people.com just now and saw the above quote from Tiger Woods. He isn't sure how much golf he'll be playing in the future because he has to "be a better person", which inlcudes more "treatment". I'm not even sure why I thought this worth mentioning. It just seems like one of those historical markers that denotes the changing of the guard in society. Decades ago I don't think there existed the concept of treatment to "be a better person". Treatment for physical injuries, treatment for psychological diseases, yeah that existed. But treatment not to abuse the obscene amount of money and power that has been given to you, seems uh, a little far fetched. Call me old fashioned, if you will. I just feel like it's something someone is either going to do, or not. I don't know that it calls for sympathetic treatment. I would say it's action deserving of punishment.

I mean, some clever computer geeks created complex finanical instruments that fleeced a hell of a lot of people and launched a world wide recession. Should they be in "treatment" to be better people? Does that even sound like it makes sense?
"Gee, Doc, I don't know what came over me when I thought of screwing people so that I could aquire more money than I could ever spend..."
"Don't worry, Son. It's called 'not being a good person.' We'll have you ship-shape in no time."
"Wow! That's great! I didn't even know there was a cure for that."
"Of course there is! Every nefarious action is linked to a disorder that can be treated with drugs or therapy nowadays."
"Bad. Ass."

Where once we looked to God to forgive us our sins, we now look to health care professionals.

It was retarded

Possibly one of my favorite quotes from the last couple of weeks is from dear Bethany, Bethuselah, Elizabeth or simply, Bethy. We were in her bedroom talking about clothes, when I asked her what she'd paired with the skirt she had worn the previous day. She told me, and then didn't hesitate to say in a slightly disappointed way, "It was retarded."

Love. Love. Love. If you're someone who loves clothes, I mean loves clothes, you understand the mild disappointment you feel when you desparately put something together in the morning, only to later realize that it was ridiculous. But you also know the relief you feel when you admit it to someone else, or hear it from another person about their choice(s).

Yucko

I basically have eleventy things to do today, so I should not be writing this right now. But, after the disappearance of common attributes shared by chewing gum and enconomic downturns, I can't risk another lost rant.

Okay, so there is this book, and now it's a series of articles on the interweb, called "eat this, not that". It's useful info. I read it. I like it. And I think anyone in this country especially could benefit from knowing how unhealthy chain restuarant-prepared food is--particularly when a place exudes a healthy(ish) persona. Panera Bread, I'm talking about you.

But today the "eat this, not that" people did an article on what is in fast food meat. They exposed certain items that you would think have just a few ingredients (like chicken nuggets, or a frosty) that in fact have about 30. BIG FUCKING DEAL, I say facetiously.

I am so tired of the the "ick" factor played up by nutritionists and dieticians. Look, if you've got half a brain you know that fast food is basically all chemical, and not healthy. Does it really matter if you're eating Grade A prime rib or cornmeal filler that tastes just like it? Are the chemicals edible? Yep. Do they taste good? Yes. Will they kill you outright? No. Will they kill you slowly, over decades, if consumed at extremely high rates? Proably. But so will cigarettes, which also have way too many ingredients. (Ironically, marijuana, which does not kill people, is illegal) What is my point here? Uh...

I don't care. I don't fucking care if my burger is half rat or contains .000000000000002% fecal matter or will evaporate in a puff of smoke if the light hits it a certain way. Its contents are a moot point considering that I already know I'm doing myself a disservice by consuming it.

It Just Comes Naturally

I was going to write this in a private journal entry but I thought, meh, might as well make it public. I haven't posted on this thing in a while, which is kind of too bad; it means that my intellectual musings have been fewer, and that worries me. I did find a scribble on a note pad the other day that said, "The Recession = Chewing gum". I have no recollection of how I was going to equate the two. We all lose out when an idea like that has been forgotten.

I've been hung over all day promising myself that I would write some articles tonight, considering all the things I want to buy and that I didn't write any on Friday. But after doing my prelim research on traditional Spanish Christmas food, I just didn't have the heart. It got me thinking about all of the things I WANT to do, and how I'm letting my day-to-day activities get in the way of that. I've been trying to work harder, and procrastinate less. Work hard, play hard. But what seems to come naturally to me is not diligence; it's pure slothfulness. I've always been lazy, my whole entire life. The idea of being occupied every minute until I fall into bed is repulsive to me. However, I'm at that age where I need to be rapaciously sewing the seeds that bear the fruit of a good income. And don't get me wrong, I don't mind being busy...I just also need time to be lazy. Would that we could all do what comes naturally.

New Phrase

I was on gchat today with bunnifer and he kind of...was in an impatient mood and flipped his shit a little. If you're reading this Bun, you did. : )

Anyway, the new phrase for the week is "Silverback bananas" and/or "Chimping out". It's when you act like a primate. Like a majestic Silverback defending his territory growling and flailing, or like a chimp who gets uncomfortable because someone gets too close to the plexiglass.

Thursday, 1 p.m. January 21st, 2010

I have a pink highlighter up my nose right now (capped, of course). I do that sometimes.

Zaftig

Read article. http://today.msnbc.msn.com/id/3041413/ns/today-today_fashion_and_beauty?GT1=43001

Then read post:
It is a fact that vanity sizing exists today. Meaning that what was once labeled 12 is now labeled 8. Stores are putting smaller numbers on bigger clothes as a subversive marketing ploy. Because of this I think we really need to asess what it means to be a 14 or 16 + today. In most cases, but not all, it means being dangerously unhealthy. It's also not fair that a girl who might normally be a small can't even find clothes to fit her in stores b/c the new small is more like a medium.

We should also be asking ourselves about the information presented in these stories that cover weight and model weight. Magazines are always about selling issues, which is why they compare a size 0 to a model who is probably a 14, but says she's a 10. The extremes are always what sells. What is truly misrepresented are woman who are not fat and not anorexic looking. Jessica Simpson for example, who gets a lot of undue flak.

When I was growing up, the average size for a woman was 12. Now it's 14, which in yesteryear's sizing is probably 16. When are we going to stop saying that the "average" weight is okay just because it's the average? What happens when the female average is 18? Will we still laud overweight women presented in magazines as "normal" and "average"?

Just be healthy. There is no magic bullet, no pill, diet, or drink. Just live a healthy, active lifestyle. If that means you're a 14, okay. You did your best, life isn't fair we can't all be Ciny Crawford.

Lastly, the "media" or society ideal of a woman's looks has always been and always will be whatever is the most difficult to acheive. That's kind of what an ideal is all about. In the past when being poor meant being thin (and wanting) fleshy women were idealized. Now, being thin means you have the money and the time to look after yourself, so being thin is idealized. This cycle isn't going to go away. Ever.

P.S.-ly -- This might sound kind of cliche, but confidence is THE most attractive quality any person can have, at any size. So if anything, work on that.

What do people do

In Canada? What a mysterious, pointless kind of place. It's so perfect that it was settled by the Frenchies.

Happy New Year

I am in a state of severe dehydration. You know it's going to be a rough day when the night before you vaguely remember saying, "I don't know! It's so weird, I just keep on drinking and don't feel drunk at all!"

As a result, my head feels like this.