sweet home, los angeles??

if i lose weight for no other reason than to fit into the godamned airline seats, that will be just fine with me. the flight to chicago was quite pleasant. fortune blessed me with an empty middle seat and plenty of slack on the seatbelt, but the flight home was not so lucky. not only was the plane completely full, but for some reason i had to seriously suck it in to get the belt buckled. humiliating. and uncomfortable... and to add insult to injury, my lovely full hips/thighs kept pushing the arm rest up... thank god the middle seat occupant was a scrawny hipster who was passed out for the whole flight:)

it was nice to see friends. the movie went well. but i'm glad to be home. i think the next time i go back, i'm going to book myself into a hotel. my folks were kind enough to put me and my guy up for a few nights, but the accommodations were woefully gross and uncomfortable. i probably sound like a spoiled wretch for critiquing the generosity of my hosts, but seriously. i'd bet my eye teeth that crack dens are arguably cleaner than my parent's homes. the problem is that my folks are getting old. in addition to failing energy levels and eyesight, they are in the midst of selling one home and moving it's contents to their vacation/pseudo permanent home. their cleaning lady quit a couple of months ago b/c no one was around and the house was so empty. and my dad is still very much recovering from his heart surgery.

i get it. they have a lot going on. still...

the first nite i got in, my mom picked me up. "where's dad?" i asked. "we're fighting" she said. great. my folks exist in some state of argument 50% of their time... so this was no curve ball. i know how it goes down in their house(s) when they are fighting. internally, i braced myself for all of the shit that i worked so hard to unlearn in therapy, then immediately changed the subject. when we got back to the lake house, i was hungry and tired. i went to the spare bedroom and found some sheets on the bed... i suspected that they weren't clean and my suspicions were confirmed when i pulled the covers back to reveal - brace yourselves - scabs and a few dried blood spots. yeah. that's right. i said scabs. so. fucking. gross. it took everything i had not to keel over in a fit of trauma-induced seizures. clearly, this is where my dad has been sleeping during his recovery. i changed the sheets but still couldn't bring myself to sleep in the bed. i wandered into the office and set up camp on the couch. "why aren't you sleeping in the bed?" my mom asked. "scabs" i said. "god. that's fucking disgusting" she said. "then you better check the couch for scabs, too - he's been sleeping in here, as well."

i did have a nice time with my mom that first night. we reconnected while chatting and laughing. despite the good time, i was acutely aware of the role that food played in our discourse. when she first picked me up she said, "you're losing weight!! you look great." bullshit. and i'm not being an argumentative ass, but seriously. i have not lost substantial weight since the last time she saw me... she just knows i've been following weight watchers and she's somewhat of a sycophant. on the ride from the airport she asked if i was still doing weight watchers and i admitted that i was. when we got to the lake house, she asked if i was hungry and i said that i would forage for something. then she made these super unhealthy little pizza pockets (sabotage!) for us. then pulled out a bag of lindt's dark chocolate truffles and laura scudder's natural peanut butter. "have you mixed these two before?" she said, slathering the gooey peanut butter onto the truffle. "no" i replied, "i have enough bad habits already."

here's the unsettling part for me: why on earth would my mom serve up a gatrillion calorie meal (and by meal i mean 14lbs of enriched flour and 27lbs of refined sugar) late at nite AFTER i'd already told her that i was trying to stick to weight watchers?? perhaps i'm being sensitive, but it all felt a little too much like her trying to sabotage me. for the record, i did not have any of those p.b. and chocolate concoctions. i did, however, indulge in the crappy microwave pizza pieces. perhaps her food choices didn't have anything to do with me. all i know is that the food element didn't feel nourishing and healthy... it felt cloistering and heavy and guilt-laden.

the next day, we did a little shopping on our way back to their other house. it was nice to see my dad up and about. he looks great for an old guy who, just four short weeks ago, had his chest cracked open. we had a good conversation despite my mom slamming shit around us, making loud, angry noises. she refused to acknowledge my father and made it clear that she wasn't happy with us chatting. fortunately, i had dinner plans with my girls and had to pick up my guy from the airport later that evening so i got out of the house pretty quickly.

when my guy and i got back from the airport, we slogged our luggage upstairs to one of the empty, spare bedrooms and set up futons and sheets on the carpet. talk about skeeze city! there were remnants of dead bugs all over the place. the futons looked like they were pulled out of a dumpster and the "clean" sheets that we laid down had a few scabs stuck to them... fucking disgusting.
on sunday evening, i dropped my guy off with his bandmate and left him to a week long recording session. i drove back to my folks place and started packing. that's when i noticed an ant on my makeshift futon bed. further inspection revealed a couple of small, black roly poly looking things wriggling around. i picked up my shit and moved down to the living room and made a little bungalow on the floor. "what are you doing?" my mom asked. "bugs" i said. she grimaced. "yuck. i'm so sorry about the sleeping arrangements. do you want me to kick dad out of your sister's bed so you can sleep there?" ??? what kind of a person would kick a recovering heart patient out of their bed and displace them to the couch?? WTF!? "uh, no. this'll be fine. i have to get up at 5am anyway to get ready for my flight." "are you going to be ok to get up that early?" my mom asked. "yeah, i'll be fine. i'm going to hit the hay soon," i replied, all the while thinking that not even death could keep me from getting on that plane in the morning.

as soon as i left to get ready for bed, i heard my folks start arguing in the living room. SERIOUSLY??? did we not just talk about how we had to get up super early to get to the airport? mom, did you not just express concern about having to get up in 6 short hours? what the fuck are you doing picking a fight at 11:30 at night OVER MY BED!? i didn't know what to do. i was so uncomfortable. there's no where in the house that i could go to escape their fighting. i headed down to the basement and sat on the stairs and called my guy for a sanity check. fortunately, the fight broke up around midnight and i meekly padded in to the living room, carefully checking for land mines or any other remnants from the war, before hunkering down in my bungalow.
anyway, i can't tell you what relief it is to be home... and by myself (my guy opted to stay in chi-town for a week to record another album). i've been kind of floating around in this weird haze. my thoughts are disjointed. i get lost in the dichotomy of the truly great time with my friends and the bizarro world of my folks.

having made three or four trips back to chicago in the recent past has given me new perspective on my current situation. this last visit confirmed some sneaking suspicions in my mind. i realize that i've been glorifying and idealizing "chicago" and my memory of it. it's been tough adapting to a new life, but i gotta say, right now, my chicago life - the streets, the shops, the weather that just won't quit, the city vibe - it all feels very much part of my past. for as much as i resisted settling into los angeles, calling it home, i gotta say it never felt so comfortable as when i got off that plane at LAX and drove back through hellacious traffic on the 405. when did all this change happen?

when the best thing ever gets sullied by the worst thing ever... in front of 11 strangers

tonite i had my first sewing class. i've been looking forward to this class for months... i've tried to sign up for it twice and twice it was full. i thoroughly researched this place and even though it was a bit more expensive, i just knew it was the right place for me.

i moved my whole day around so i could get to this class on time... got up extra early so i could leave work early, planned an outfit that would have enough comfort and longevity to get me through a full work day and a three-hour class, ate a large, late lunch so i wouldn't be hungry during the class...

and when i finally got there, it proved to be awesome. only 12 students so the instructor can spend lots of one-on-one attention with each student. the instructor is a fabulous old queen with more sass in his little finger than one would find in a cranky kindergarten class. and the other students were all gals... of various shapes and style sensibilities.

we started off with a bang. a few jokes about being the next project runway contestants and introductions on sewing 101 how to.

things were going great until we took a short break around 7:30. i went to the restroom only to come back to the instructor talking about how important 'fit' was. "forget size! have you seen what banana republic is calling a 12 these days? GEN-ER-OUS." shee-it. things started to go downhill from there... words from his introduction a few short hours ago were ringing in my head, "i can tell every single one of you what your measurements are - trust me. i've been doing this for that long." i wear a size 22. what the fuck do you think was going through my head after he basically just declared 12's to be ginormous?!

it was at that point that i became acutely aware of trying to not shift in my seat... the least amount of attention i could bring to myself the better... don't let the chair squeak, don't sip from your water, don't look up... just smile... smile... don't betray that anything else is going on.... i was SO uncomfortable. it seemed as soon as the size vs. fit diatribe started, an unmercifully hot, bright spotlight focused on me. i was so paralyzed that i couldn't even look around the room to confirm my suspicions that i had become the center of intense, boring gazes.

the instructor went on to evidence his 'fit matters most' bit by giving a couple of examples of famous women ... who are larger... who always look meticulous. "i've met queen latifah in person and believe me, she ain't a petite gal... but she always looks like a million bucks!!" true, but why use her as an example? why not talk about how bad kirsten dunst looks when she wears rags that hang off her tiny frame?

just when i thought i couldn't take another moment, it got worse. we were handed patterns and told that we were going to be measured for the patterns... right then and there.

WHA????

NOOOOoooooooooo!!!

the instructor started going around the room measuring each gal's hips. he was quick. he gave each woman's number to her under his breath. very polite. very sensitive. when he got to me, he had trouble reaching around me... so it was taking longer than everyone else. and then, when he finally gave me my number (51.5 in a VERY hushed tone) i didn't know what else to do but say out loud, "28?! how lovely!!!" get this... EVERYONE laughed. even the folks on the other side of the room. was everyone waiting to hear my gargantuan waist size?

i was dying from the mortification. i think at that point he was talking more about how to read the panel on the pattern packet... i have no idea what was told to us because i was busy falling down an inner spiral of shame. the fun didn't stop there, though... once he told us how much fabric we needed i realized i was a full inch and a half bigger than the biggest XXL measurement on the package. holy christ. now i have to ask what to do in my situation??

i summoned all the courage i had left and waited till the end of class and asked the instructor. again, he was completely nonplussed by the question and said something about 'wear ease' and how i would be just fine.

i have never bolted from a place so fast. thank god that's over. i'm actually kind of glad i didn't know that there was measurements-taking in store at our first class... i think i would have psyched myself out of it had i known that we would actually have to be measured... out loud... in front of strangers.

despite the utter humiliation, i'm glad i went. i'm glad i didn't lose composure when faced with a surprise measuring... there were definitely unsavory elements about this evening. but i refuse to let it tarnish my long standing excitement about learning to sew.

unsolicted weight loss advice

i recently received a couple of emails from my aunt, with whom i established a lovely relationship when my dad was in the hospital. i've never really had a realtionship with Auntie M before, but spent a lovely evening chatting about this and that and catch-up when i was back in chicago. we exchanged email addresses and promised to keep in touch at the end of the visit.

two days ago, she sent me a short email greeting. the weird part, though, is that she also included images of a couple of wedding dresses she'd found on the internet... sweet gesture (i guess) considering that i briefly mentioned that my guy and i had wedding plans on the near horizon, but a little odd, too... sure, i mentioned that after 5.5 years together, we wanted to tie the knot soon so as to A.) get my folks of our backs about living in sin; and B.) to avoid reproducing bastard children, but this information was shared in passing, just one bit of conversation lost in the mix of a variety of 'catching up' tidbits. funny thing is that both wedding dress images were of plus sized models in CHEESY dresses. she informed me that she would also forward images from her friend's wedding because her friend's dress was a thing of beauty. she closed with a directive, "get excited about your wedding."

huh?

frankly, i think i'm probably the only woman on the planet who isn't head over heels about planning my wedding (it's been nearly six years, for crissakes! the thrill is gone... although i couldn't love my guy more, but make no mistake...i am not the picture of blushing virginal bride). so the directive to "get excited" seemed strange... as strange as the wedding dress images, because i don't recall talking about dress buying with her. i didn't take her email to heart, though. i figured that she was probably trying to build on the connection we made in chicago - reaching out to me via something she thought i was interested in. i sent a short note back thanking her for thinking of me and letting her know that i was glad to hear from her. and that was that...

...until the next email came. this one had a link to an extravagant wedding dress manufacturer (vastly different from the initial images) and the note said "this is the dress that my friend wore... although she's not a size 0 like the models... she has a full and beautiful figure." *blink*blink* what the hell does that mean? again, i thanked her and noted how lovely the gowns were.

the third email came last night... she had forwarded some information about a technique called "tapping" which she said may help with my weight loss (again, i don't remember talking specifically about my weight loss journey to her... maybe i said something about weight watchers in passing at another point in the visit?? i certainly didn't go into detail about it.) my weight loss?? she went on to say that she thought i was beautiful as i am, however, if i wanted to lose weight, it was my prerogative. WTF??

i'm SURE i'm just being sensitive. from the weekend i spent in my aunt's company, i got to know a little bit about her life... and she's lonely. she doesn't have close girlfriends. she doesn't even have family that she can rely on. so i choose to take her recent emails as simply reaching out to another compassionate soul in the universe. after all, she also said on numerous occasions over the weekend that she was so delighted to feel part of a family.

still... i was a little... hmm, i don't know how to describe the feeling... taken aback?.. by the content of my aunt's emails. she is not overweight... she's not underweight... she's perfect the way she is (and who am i to judge this?) so i thought it was kind of weird that she would dwell on MY weight in every single email. it kind of felt presumptuous on her part that she would be able to inform my personal journey with weight loss. this is a very personal thing to me. i feel a certain level of vulnerability around my weight and my choice to lose weight. i certainly did not invite her in to comment on my journey. so why was she doing so IN EVERY SINGLE EMAIL???

perhaps i really am being a ninny... after all, via blogging, i'm opening up some of my most personal and private feelings around this whole weight loss/body acceptance journey to perfect strangers... what's so wrong about sharing with my auntie?

what's so wrong is that it's not on my terms... that's why it feels a little uncomfortable. the enlightened part of me sees this interaction with my Auntie M as a means of getting to know a brilliant member of my family (after all, she's a harvard phd and does huge humanitarian efforts in africa!!!how cool is that??). if my weight serves as a catalyst to a fruitful and deep relationship with another amazing female who is FAMILY, then who cares?

but then there's the smaller, more sensitive part of me that feels like, "HEY! i did NOT invite you into my room! GET OUT!!"

for now i guess i'll be satisfied with the middle ground and be grateful that

• my feeling really weren't hurt by her emails
  
• how cool is it to develop an adult relationship with an amazing lady who lives her life more outside of herself than most peeps i know??
  
• how cool am i for not being sucked into the she's-taking-liberties-with-my-person-that-she-has-no-business-taking

still, it feels better to get it all out...

a change of clothes

my sister just left after a week of staying with me. we had a delightful time but after so many days in hostess mode, i'm spent! my whole life was on hold the entire time she was here and now it's time to get back on track.

i was anxiously awaiting her arrival. i always have a good time with my sister. ours is a tight bond, forged in poop jokes and silly repetitive word play and lots and lots of laughter. i planned a lot of activities for us and we had fun, but i couldn't help but feel pangs of something 'missing' for the entire duration of her stay.

yesterday, we woke before the crack of dawn and got her on her merry way back to school. once she was gone i was left to bob in the wake of an emotional sea churned up by her presence.

when i finally got home last night, i was struck by the onslaught of pensive thought that wedged itself between me and an early bedtime. i mulled over the slightly 'off' feeling that punctuated the visit with my sister. it wasn't negative or resentful - i didn't have a bad time with her. it was more... sadness... or grief... or perhaps just a somber flatness. i don't really know how to label this feeling... it was different... but not new, either.

this same feeling occurred the last time i went back to chicago for a quick visit. i was so excited to see my girlfriends, to spend an evening bearing witness to each other's stories, to reconnect, to just bask in the warmhearted goodness between good friends. the night fell short of my concocted fantasy even though it was full of goodwill and merriment, but it was definitely... different. there was a palpable change that had taken place between all of us and i wasn't prepared for it. the intimacy that comes with being in physical proximity was gone. the inside jokes and banter about the minutiae of jobs and partners and daily life was foreign to me. i had missed much being away for 7 months.

so when my sister's visit brought up the same feelings inside of me, i was thrown. i mean, this is MY SISTER. there is no changing here! this is sacred space. this is familiar space. this is the root of me. how can our relationship feel different?

at first i thought it might have been all on her. i mean she is in the midst of some major life changing stuff. she's graduating from her undergraduate studies in june and immediately shuffling off to grad school. she hasn't decided which offer to accept yet for her higher learning. she's preparing to sell her condo upon graduating this summer, move to a new city, start anew. i know the turmoil that all of these things can cause so my first instinct was to project my own troubled feelings onto her. maybe she did bring her baggage on vacation with her, but i know better than to pass the buck for my feelings. i'm feeling the way i am because something is going on inside of me... not because something may or may not be going on with my sis.

then i thought it might have to do with the living arrangements while she was here... in our small place...which is good enough for two but too small for three. i am a creature of habit. and boundaries. the environment in which i grew up knew no boundaries and many of my family members (e.g. my loveable sissy sister) still operate wtihout boundaries. maybe this was the cause of my discontent... my sister camped out on the couch, being ever present in my space. my lack of privacy, quiet time, me time. hmmm. no. this isn't it, either.

perhaps my lingering flatness was due to my tendancies to resort to old/unhealty patterns when i'm around my family? not only did i excuse myself from eating healthy, but i kind of went tits up in the other direction. we subsisted on a steady stream of cheesy poofs, peanut m&ms, and dining out while my sister was here. by the end of her visit, i had perpetual sour stomach and my sugar crash felt something akin to heroin withdrawl. my poor body was wrecked and crying out for leafy greens. i couldn't wait to get back to my routine, to the mandatory, plain fare of cottage cheese and carrot sticks. maybe the lost feeling could be attributed to my lack of willpower and my giving over to the dark side, having a food free-for-all for the past few days. this might be it, but still... just doesn't feel like the right answer.

one afternoon we wandered over to melrose ave where we toured a flea market and walked up and down the never-ending stretch of bohemian vendors and vintage clothing stores. the first time i visited los angeles was an exciting one. without ever having been, at some point in my life i developed a fairly negative bias towards the town. imagine my surprise to find that not only was my unwarranted opinion wrong, but i delighted in los angeles once i got a taste of it. i drank in the weather, the energetic buzz of the city, the amazing, kitschy shopping. in one weekend i fell in love with the artsyness, the hunger, the boldness of this town and just KNEW that i had to live here. that was four years ago. until my sis came for a visit, i hadn't really retraced the steps i took those short years ago. so when the opportunity arose, i was giddy with the prospect of revisiting melrose, wistfully remembering the treasures i found there, eager to show my sister how cool the area was. once we started walking around though, i was numb with the realization that none of it - not the colorful store fronts, not the wacky styles, not the incense-scented air - NONE OF IT was appealing to me anymore. we wandered into a hip little used clothes joint where so many years ago i found a veronique branquinho dress for less than $20, a loop guitar-shaped shoulder bag, and sparkly slippers - treasures of immeasurable happiness! instead of feeling the thrill of the hunt rush through me in undulating waves of exquisite shopping excitement, i felt grodytothemax as i dodged rows of used shoes and shimmied past size 00 club wear. i turned to my guy moments after walking in the door. "i think i've outgrown this place," i said with a twinge of sadness. he gave a slow, knowing nod while looking around the store, "yep. we really have. the thought of wearing any of this shit kind of gives me the creeps." i was crestfallen. crushed. instead of celebrating my adulthood, i grieved for lost adolescence. i padded back to the car feeling stunned. when did i get old? shit! is this midlife crisis?

surely this epiphany must be the source of my discontent? and yet... no.

then what is the cause of this weird, unsettled feeling? and what exactly is the feeling?

after having my space and routine back, and after kicking the question around for a day, i think i know what's going on. and it is new for me. it is different and foreign and therefore unsettling. i am coming into adulthood and i am coming into self. instead of seeking self definition from external stimulus that comes from a full social calendar full of dates with friends and family, i am now looking inward. i am looking inside myself to define myself. i am in process. i am feeling this adulthood/womanhood/self love thing out. i am trying it on, seeing how it fits. this phase i'm in is a new article of clothing - something i know i want, but that i've never seen before. i have an idea of how i'm supposed to wear it, but i'm still pulling it on over my head, figuring out where my arms can stretch through it, letting it settle naturally on my curves.

as i gaze inward, i see things coming into focus. i recognize that the past few months of engaging my body in a loving way is the result of quiet reflection and internal work. because i don't have all of the social dates and family gatherings and other 'stuff' that required my attention in chicago, i've been able to spend quality time with my self. alone time. belly time. this revelation frees me from feeling resentful towards los angeles and my temporary life here. this realization allows me to feel grateful for this time in my life. it eases the pain of missing my girlfriends and my family. i kind of feel like celebrating now! this IS an exciting time in my life. but it is quiet excitement, peaceful celebration. no fanfare necessary. just simple knowing feels good.

the visit with my sister helped me pull up and out and take a look from a different angle. thank you, sissy sister. thank you for holding a mirror up to me. i think i like what i see. it's definitely different, but it feels... right.

hurts so good

i've walked through this day with pain pulsing in my bod from head to toe - and i've been loving every minute of it! not because i'm a sick bastard (well, maybe just a little) but because the pain is a direct result of necessary care of my self.

the head pain is relegated to my tooth and gums. i finally went to the dentist. last week i showed up, knees knocking and brave face firmly in place. scared not so much of the dentist or of her medieval array of sharp metal torture devices, but more so by the fact that i might be too fat for the chair. all of my previous nightmares instantly dissipated once i sat down on the big, sturdy, industrial chair. the instruments and lights didn't clatter or shake with my every movement. i had plenty of room in the chair and didn't feel at all like my hips and husks were oozing out over the sides. i was so comfortable, in fact, that i completely forgot about my neurosis once the dentist started cleaning my teeth. piece of cake!

today i went back for round two. i knew that this session was going to be a little more intense, but i wasn't carrying the burden of fear that escorted me to my first session. yes, my gums feel like they were taken into the alley and beat to a pulp, but the long term effects of the work done far outweigh the temporary pain of today.

the toe pain manifested itself in the shape of a huge blister resulting from an ass-kicking three mile walk yesterday. the walk nearly killed my poor pup-peroni and left me hobbling around the house all evening, but DAYUM did it feel good! i'm proud of my blister! it screams, "hell yeah i'm a power walker! a THREE MILE power walker!" ...of course it also screams with pain... but i choose to revel in the excitement and lasting high of accomplishing something really good for my body, rather than whimper about my blister (of which i also took loving care).

so i'm feeling really good today. i can't wait to get back outside for another walk! i can't wait for next weekend to add another mile to my half marathon training! i'm excited and full of hope... and loving every throbbing moment!

my body is a temple, or, i ain't no mobile home

it was only recently that i felt like we have FINALLY settled into our 'new' apartment. there are no more visible cardboard boxes signifying our transitory status. there is organization and order in all the rooms. images and art are hung instead of heaped against an out-of-the-way wall waiting to be displayed. it took a little more than a year, but i finally feel completely moved in.

the funny thing is that everything in los angeles still feels so new... or maybe it feels more like impermanence?? yes, that's it. there exists this pervasive temporary feeling that still nags the back of my mind, even after a year. at first i thought the feeling stemmed from knowledge of an impending home purchase in the near future. there are no firm plans right this moment, but buying a house and getting out of apartment life is one of those big goals on the horizon. but this ephemeral sense is rooted deeper: my guy and i don't plan stay in los angeles forever. but when we left the comfort of chicago, we didn't think further than 'hey! let's move to l.a.!'

...and then what?

this seems to be the question that keeps me calling my apartment new, that allows me to consider myself as having 'just' moved here, that makes me feel nonplussed about this town and its inhabitants. signing the lease for another year is probably a good indication that i should probably drop the 'new'.

i've been thinking about how i live with 'temporary', how it feels to view my life as 'temporary', how it feels to know that my current job isn't permanent, that my apartment is not truly my space, that this town does not engender a sense of belonging within me. temporary does not feel like mine.

when i think of my home in chicago, i am overwhelmed with nostalgia, with a fondness for a city rich with culture, intellect, savvy. i think of the beauty of the seasons: bitter and unforgiving in the winter, delicate and innocent in the spring. i think of the home i owned for a decade, the modifications and renovations that i did with my own hands. i think of my truly amazing girlfriends, who inspire me, who challenge me, who accept me as i am. i think of my dysfunctional, lovable family. my heart swells with pride when i think about 'home'.

pride.

i recently read that the body usually fluctuates between three and five pounds from its normal weight. what an unexpected, harsh slap in my face this bit of trivia was. three to five pounds is what i have been dancing around with for the past three months, fooling myself that "it's" working! i am down 2 lbs! up 1:( down 1.5lbs!! up 4lbs.

what the fuck am i doing?? i'm not committed to dieting. i'm not sticking to the plan. i've been foo-fahing around with weight watchers online, dancing around a nice, neat structured system and telling myself, genuinely SELLING myself on the idea that i'm doing this! i'm really in it to win it!! i'm full of shit. i'm starting to think that a smart slap is exactly what i need to help me snap out of it.

as i examine the myriad of excuses, of broken systems that i live by, as i poke around my inner workings, i am drawn to this idea of permanence and sense of pride. i realize that right now, right this very moment, my relationship with my body feels temporary. one day my body and mind are buddy-ole-pals and the next day, my mind is leaving my body in the dust. for a week or two, i feel centered, whole. i am conscious of how my body feels, if it's hungry, if it wants exercise and i lovingly attend to its needs. in one afternoon, this groovy symbiosis is dashed on the jagged rocks of too many drinks and late nite greasy food. my relationship with my body feels temporary. my body does not feel like mine and therefore, i am excused from taking care of it.

i need this to change. i need to feel like my mind and body are engaged in a permanent and exclusive relationship. i need to know with every fiber of my being that my body is my temple. i need to know that regardless of the impermanent state of external forces in my life, my relationship with my body is constant. i need to feel proud of my body. i need to feel like i belong to my body, like it's my beloved home.

so here's what i've come up with so far:
change is good
change is necessary
my constant, my permanent lies within me
my body is permanent
my relationship with my body is permanent
i can endure change because i can always rely on my body

...and then what?

i'm not really sure. i don't know what comes next.
hard work? ok. but what does that work look like?
self love? yeah. that sounds great. how do i do it?
awareness? mindfulness? self respect? yes. yes. and yes. sign me up!
what? no instruction manual?!?

Body, i guess it's you and me, kid. we're gonna have to figure this out together. are you in this with me? are we in this to win this?

yes.

you've come a long way, baby

one year ago my guy and i and our furry brood rolled in to los angeles to start anew. we sold our comfortable home in chicago, left all our friends, our families, our jobs, our familiar streets - all in favor of my guy's job and the lure of 70 degrees in the middle of february.

after three days trapped in the confines of a small car with two drugged-out, unhappy cats and a nervous dog, we were beyond relieved to pull up to our new digs around 10:30pm. happy to be finally be free, the dog sniffed around and the kitties cautiously explored each darkened, bare room while my guy and i quietly snooped the building for the circuit breakers. moments after we got the electricity on, a neighbor came down and banged on the front door. a gruff middle-aged play-boy type barked at my guy, "are you going to use your ceiling fans?" my guy, completely perplexed by not only the brusque demeanor of our new neighbor, but also by the bizarro question, answered, "hi, you must be one of our neighbors? this is belly and i'm her guy. nice to meet you." i guess the ceiling fans rattle when on full speed - and the folks who rented our place before us were engaged in a full fledged pissing contest with this mannerless l.a. type and his clan. the welcoming committee muttered a few more demands regarding our use of our ceiling fans, then turned on his heel, leaving a cloying cloud of testosterone in his wake. i can only assume his brash welcome was an attempt to piss all over us, like a tomcat marking his territory. nice. welcome to fucking l.a. please, god, don't let the stereotypes out here be true!

we were anxious after the run in with the new neighbor. we were also dirty, tired and road weary and ready for the day to be over. i lugged the air mattress out of the car while my guy got the rest of the bags. i began to inflate it but was so nervous about the buzz-saw sound coming from the air mattress inflater that i didn't quite fill it to capacity for fear that someone else would come banging on the door.

all i wanted in the world was to get clean and pass out. i padded into the bare bedroom, fresh from the shower and ready for snuggling. my guy was already passing out on his side of the half-inflated, makeshift bed. forgetting the laws of physics, i jumped onto my side of the air mattress and, much to my horror, sent my guy soaring out of bed. the uneven dispersal of weight served as a springboard, and projected my unsuspecting guy in a perfect arch right out of the safety and comfort of the bed and smack dab onto the hardwood floor. "WHAT THE FUCK?!" my guy shrieked. i started laughing. i was horrified. my big, fat butt just catapulted my man out of his bed. i was laughing too hard to be embarrassed... and thankfully, soon my guy was in hysterics, too. a perfect end to that day.

the next morning we peeled ourselves off of each other (the half-filled mattress was steadily losing air during the evening, sending us both towards the lowest point of gravity - the middle of the mattress), shook off the soreness of sleeping on a crap bed and went out to the car, ready for a day full of errands. we were greeted with a terse note on our windshield from a peeved neighbor (a different one) who let us know that it was NOT ok for us to be parked in his spot... funny thing was that when we pulled in the nite before, we parked in the only space open. each unit in our building is assigned one designated spot. since someone was parked in ours, we assumed that the management company gave us the wrong info and figured that the only open one must be ours. (i later discovered that it was the note-leaver's roommate who was parked in our spot that nite - which pissed me off even more that he left a note knowing someone from his household was in our parking place. again - welcome to fucking l.a.)

later that afternoon we went on a wild goose chase to get duplicate keys made. we thought our run of shit luck had taken a turn for the better when we found a prime parking spot outside of the third place we were referred to. i waited in the car, chatting on the phone, when lo and behold, L.A.P.D. comes right up behind me and starts writing a ticket... WHILE I WAS SITTING IN THE CAR. "what's up, officer?" i asked. "you're in a no parking zone from 4pm to 7pm." i looked at the clock on the dash: 4:01pm. "but i'm from out of town! i didn't know! it's only 4 right now. can't i move it?" i pleaded. he just kept writing the ticket. the fucker didn't even have the decency to reply - he just finished writing the ticket, put it on the windshield and walked away. that stupid little hard-to-find mailbox key ended up costing us $75. welcome to fucking l.a.

at the end of another sucky day, we took solace in the fact that we were able to at least properly fill the air mattress, preventing any more unexpected human launches and providing a sound sleep. except one of the kitties punctured the friggin' mattress that evening. in the middle of the night, i woke up nearly suffocating in thick plastic polymer - the mattress lost so much air that my ass was on the floor while my limbs and neck were awkwardly propped up by the last bit of air. i maneuvered myself out of my plastic quicksand tomb and started making a bungalow at the foot of the bed. i managed a sad little nest, built from almost-dry towels, my winter coat and some clean socks and underwear. the movers were still two days away and i was doomed to this abysmal sleeping accommodation for another evening. all i could do was cry myself to sleep.

i felt so defeated, so lonely and upset. i had no one but my guy to fall back on - no group of girlfriends to commiserate with over drinks, no family to cry to over a home-cooked meal. no familiarity. los angeles was shaping up to be a great big fuck you and i was not prepared for it. when we left our home, i was full of hope, excitement, and the spirit of adventure. it took exactly two days in l.a. to crush all of the good feelings i brought with me. for two whole days, i wallowed in self pity and lonliness in an empty apartment without a car. even the idea of a simple walk around the neighborhood terrified me. i don't even really remember what i did most of those two days before the movers arrived - i just remember fear. too scared to check out the many nearby shops, boutiques, or grocery store. too scared to do walk up to rodeo drive and window shop. too scared to even take my dog for a potty walk!! i was consumed with the terror of people judging me, terror of getting lost. in my paralyzed state, my fear created this imposing image of what was acceptable, what i had to look like, the show of wealth i would have to display, the style i would have to sport just to be able to go outside in my own neighborhood. it wasn't enough that we got a raw deal upon our arrival to california, but now i was living in a self-imposed prison of fear.

i think it took me a good four months to come out of my shell. slowly i became more familiar with the lay of the land. i introduced myself to my neighbors. i made peace with the false image that my fear created and i was able to just feel good about being me again. i've come a long way in one year. if i take inventory of the events of this past year, the list is significant: i went on a month-long road trip across the western half of the united states, i landed a great gig, i started truly investing in my health, i've committed to being in relationship with my body, i organized a trip to meet friends in vegas, i flew back to chicago a few times, i deepened my relationship with close girlfriends despite the distance, i hiked all over the malibu mountains, i went on my first wine-tasting trip, i started blogging. and the coolest part is that i did this on my own. no friends nearby. no family. no therapist. no familiar city. just me. of course my guy was there every step of the way, lending his strength and love and encouragement, but i'm taking all the credit on this one. i came full circle this past year...all because of me.

it took me a year to do it, but i've finally made peace with this old whore of a town. i've learned to work with the city rather than against it. i've learned to appreciate her jagged visage and hard ways. i don't know if i'll ever feel like i truly belong to this city or it to me, but for now i've found peace with los angeles. i've found peace within me. and that's hot.

20 lbs in a week just ain't right

i just found out that my guy and i are headed back to our home town at the end of april for a grand celebration. my guy has numerous tracks included his buddy's indie movie. when we went to the premier out here in l.a., we were overcome with excitement. we watched the final edit in a real movie theater with 250 of the producer's friends and colleagues. we delighted with recognition every time one of my guy's songs faded in. we squirmed with glee when we watched the credits roll and my guy's name scrolled across the big screen. it was a surreal experience. it was a wonderful event. i was so proud and honored to be sitting next to this creative genius who received verbal accolades from the producer in front of the 248 strangers in the theater with us.

so after my guy told me the good news and we decided to go back home for the event, it started. this happens to me every.single.time i am confronted with an impending date of reuniting with old friends, going on a trip, any momentous occasion that will require me to be presentable. 'it' is the soundtrack from my youth, the voice that repeats over and over and over, the sickness that asks "how much weight can i lose before this event? if i starve and exercise every day could i lose 20 lbs in a week?" this tape used to drown out all rational thought - it was the soundtrack that beat with my pulse, that consumed my thoughts... this is the same voice that nearly caused me to miss the memorable experience of attending the premier of my guy's movie.

it was a wonderful woman, full of wisdom-by-the-hour, who helped me see how damaging and distorted this idea really was. the shrink is gone. the voice is back. granted, it's not as ridiculous and demanding as it once was. no, i am now able to understand just how fucked that way of thinking is. but the voice is back... only... different. as soon as i heard about a second movie screening in our home town, somewhere deep inside of me i sensed an old, familiar part press 'play'... this time, though, the voice is disguised as a seemingly rational thought:

"belly, you have two and a half months until the event. wouldn't it be wonderful to look great for it? two and a half months - if you really got with the program, you could lose at least 15 lbs in that time."

blech. when i logged my weight yesterday on the weight watchers site, i noticed that it has taken me two and a half months to lose 5.5 lbs. why do i think - wait - why would i want to sabotage myself by trying to adopt anything faster than my current pace? and FOR SOMEONE ELSE?? what about me? how did i happen to lose myself inside of a sentence??

what about me?

here i am. here i am reclaiming my new found relationship with my body. here i am denouncing the idea that i want to lose weight for anyone but myself. here i am picking myself back up off the chuckwagon from the past weekend, dusting off my knees and the cheez-it crumbs, and getting back on the path. here i am reminding myself that my body is sacred and beautiful exactly the way it is RIGHT NOW.

it's times like these, when i can hear the old, sick tapes playing, that i have to give pause to my life and reclaim it. i have to restate my purpose here. i need to remind myself that those old voices don't guide me. i will make peace with them. i forget to look for the beauty in these falling down places... for it is in these moments of weakness where my truth lies. it is in these moments of weakness that i am truly aware of my strength. i don't wallow in my broken places because i am strong enough to pull out. pull up. get back to center.

so here i am. here i am struggling to be tender with the old voices. struggling to let them know that it's ok now. i've got this one. i'll take it from here and i'm strong enough to do it. in the past two and a half months that i have been with weight watchers, i have been more successful in getting to know my body and adopting healthy habits for weight loss than ever before in my life. i like this pace i'm keeping. i like discovering my self. i am falling in love with my body.

in the coming months i will build success for myself through weekly goals. i will continue to post with regular frequency. i will be aware of my body and my food decisions. i will go back to my home town in a couple of months and i will revel in the celebration of my guy's creativity. i will cherish the time laughing and talking with friends and family. i will meet new people with open arms and a warm heart. and it won't matter a lick what i weigh.

kickin' ass and taking inventory

great week. successful week. but before i get into the thick of it, a quick goal recap:

week 1 goal: document all of my food intake. goal met.

week 2 goal: stay within my weight watchers point range for the week

yikes! did i really just give myself that much hangin' rope for week 2's goal? i have to admit that as a weight watchers online subscriber for two and a half months, i have not had one week where i've come in under my weekly points. until now, i have lived in terror of this goal. mostly because a very large part of me isn't sure that i can do it, but there is also an equally fearful part that i will do it. for days i mulled over a good second week goal for myself - it has to be something tangible, within my grasp, but not too scary and hard that i'll land face first into a giant vat of chocolate chip cookie dough. staying within my point range seems like a natural progression from accurately journaling my food intake - but still, this idea strikes a really fearful chord in me.

in the past, i could sense the fear creeping in, gnawing at the periphery of my consciousness until i was so consumed with holding it at bay, whatever it really is, that i would lose control of my true voice... seemed like no one was running the show because my true self was lost in a cacophony of confusion and denial. i don't want to head in to my next goal with this much fearful chatter whispering in my ear.

"that's too hard. you'll never be able to stick with that plan."
"this plan doesn't afford you enough food or wine."
"you haven't managed this accomplishment in two and a half months, what makes you think you can do it now?"
"what if you get hungry? you can't tolerate hunger."

but my fear is sneaky - it's done a good job of creating chaos and confusion, all of which exists to mask a deeper knowing: i am not loveable and i don't deserve success.

every time i eat something that doesn't directly provide nourishment, every time i drink one more glass of wine, every time i decide to watch some stupid reality show in favor of going for a walk, every time i make a conscious decision to deny myself those things that are good for me, i prove that deep, pained part of myself right: i don't deserve success. i don't deserve a healthy body. i don't deserve to love myself.

recently, i've written a lot about accepting the small frustrations and discouragements of the day into my life. i've talked about making room for them, letting them have space, be heard. i've made room in my heart and acknowledged these daily worries and in doing so, i have given them the freedom to dissipate. "your job is done now, little worry, thanks for bringing it to my attention but i've got it covered - run along." this new revelation, though - this is a biggun'. and yet, as i write about this big, hairy, ugly underlying fear, i can feel it losing power, withdrawing, releasing it's grip on me. i am well enough to face it head on. i am strong enough to look it in the eyes and know it. if i can accept this part of me, this dark, painful part, then i can accept all of myself. i'm willing to do that. i want to be successful. i want to know the triumph that comes with hard work and dedication. if success feels anything at all like the relief and release that i'm tasting now in finding self acceptance, then i want more of it - a lot more of it!

slow and steady changes habits. i have to remember my intention for starting off with slow and easy goals: too much too soon is a known recipe for failure. but this new goal doesn't seem all that bad. when i stop and let the fear in, when i let it have a voice and acknowledge it, i realize that it is not the voice of my true self. the fearful voice is not the truest voice. it doesn't control me. i actually feel whole letting that fearful part up to the surface. i feel like i'm not denying, avoiding or ignoring me. i feel like i'm taking inventory of my inner workings and am getting to know exactly what's going on inside me. this is different. this feels like healing. this also feels a little like... success.

feelin' groovy

there are days when i feel so low and days when i feel so high... every now and again, there are those truly delightful days that just feel right, when the sun shines on my every step, a wry little smile plays at the corners of my lips and i'm filled with a sense that everything is right. today was one of those just right days.

i awoke to playful banter and soft morning laughs with my guy. later, my guy and i enjoyed a leisurely stroll, following adventure to new parts of our neighborhood, basking in the beautiful weather. we delighted in the happy waggle of our dog's tail, the back-and-forth swish swish swish indicating she, too, was feeling the good vibrations. the day agreed with all of us.

we invited new energy into our home by moving old boxes out of the entryway. we bopped around town, taking care of small errands, giggling with nostalgia at an unexpected good shuffle from the ipod. i woke from a nap to melodic stums drifting in from the living room where my guy worked out a new song on the guitar.

it was while we were driving that i glanced over at the man i love and who loves me, windows wide and lee majors crooning about being the unknown stuntman, that it occured to me: i am ok. things are good. life is full of beauty and bounty. i am ok. i could feel that feeling that comes with crying, that tightness in my chest, the lump forming in my throat, i could feel it surging into me, heading up through my lungs, shoulders, neck, working it's way to my tear ducts. and yet, no tears came. i am ok. i was so overwhelmed by the goodness of this day that i wanted to cry. instead, i just held fast to the feeling of serenity, of deeply calming peacefulness that this day had graced me with.

today i am full of light. i am full of joy. i am full of hope and awareness.

i am full.

you're my punk rock girl

this weekend i found my old tongue post and was tickled by the idea that my tongue piercing might still be open. i remember the piercing technician telling me that if i didn't wear the post at all times, it would close up very quickly. when i finally got a 'real' job a few years later, i was reluctant to remove the piercing so i bought increasingly smaller gauges and shorter posts so as to conceal my rebellion from my corporate gig. this was also about the same time that the spice girls exploded onto the scene and scary spice was titillating pubescent girls and 'cool' parents with her flashy new tongue jewelry. lame. i remember feeling so unique because i was still rocking a tongue ring, which was actually an eyebrow post - so it was waaay more discreet, and therefore, still cool. i was foolin' no one but myself...

so when i found the tongue post, nostalgia and curiosity got the better of me and i had to see if my piercing was still open. i was delighted to find that it hadn't closed up - well, maybe it closed up a little, but with a little force, i was able to jam the damn thing through my tongue. i wore it all night, enjoying the click-click-click against my teeth, checking my mouth out in every mirror i passed. but when i woke up the next morning, i became acutely aware of a dull throb in my tongue. the novelty had completely worn off and i was left with an irritating piece of metal in my mouth which i just wanted out. after pulling, prodding and tugging, i finally freed myself from the whimsical memento of my youth.

and yet, as sucky as it was to wake with that obtrusive tongue post stuck in my mouth, i feel conflicted about permanently letting go of this token of my young adulthood. i felt pangs of child-like defiance surface when i dared to think, "shit. this is not for me anymore." the twenty-something girl in me absolutely did not want to cede her grip on the reigns.

i realize that that part of me from the past no longer fits the current me. but it's tough for me to let go of the girl i used to be. i still find myself clinging to mementos of my college years, cherishing 'friends' from that era who add nothing to my life today, desperately holding onto my pierced tongue. becoming aware of these feeling, recognizing this pattern now feels as constricting as wearing a pair of shoes that are two sizes too small. why would i want to do that?

why try to fit my current life into the shape of my past? i'm so much wiser now. i'm happy with who i am today. i've worked hard to create a deeply satisfying life for myself and to appreciate the process and the journey of how i got to be where i am now. i've made peace and am still making peace with my self, my body. i have come so far from the days of that rebellious, tongue-pierced girl. yet, until now, i couldn't seem to let her go.

as i reflect on the past weekend, i realize that i don't want to be that girl anymore. i want to be who i am today. i want to fully embrace the woman i am right now. i will not forget your rebellious spirit, punk rock girl. i won't forget how cool, unique, and brave you were. i'll hold onto the courage you exhibited while trying to figure out those tumultuous college years. i honor our past because that's where you, my inner punk rock girl, created the building blocks of who i am today.

it feels a little uncomfortable settling into that thought, to let myself be an adult, to fully embody the idea. it's scary. to accept adulthood is to accept responsibility, accountability. and yet, if i hold up a mirror, the person looking back is certainly no girl. no, the reflection i see belongs to a beautiful thirty-something woman, a woman who's eyes shine not with the brightness and naivety of youth, but with the knowing sparkle of wisdom, of experience, of adulthood.

i'm going to keep that old tongue ring. i'll save it in the bottom of my jewelry box. i might come across it in another couple of years, but perhaps then, i won't feel the need to make it fit where it no longer belongs. i like the idea of accepting who i am today. it feels like relief. it feels empowering. i am an adult. i am responsible for my health. i am capable of taking care of and nurturing my body. i am accountable for my weight and i accept the responsibility to change it.

how about a fat-girl chair, 1-800-DENTIST?

i am dying to get a ass in to see the dentist. it's been about two years and i could really use a good teeth cleaning. having moved to a new city a year ago, i have postponed this task for one reason and one reason alone:

i'm scared i'll be too fat for the dentist's chair.

i'm thinking about calling 1-800-DENTIST and asking if they can cross-reference a nearby dentist with my one need: an XXL chair to accommodate my XXL butt. surely 'fat-girl chair' is one of the metrics listed in their database ('5,10,15 mile radius from home' ; 'male or female dentist'; 'type of insurance accepted'; 'chair size'...)

of course, this is an irrational fear. i'm not too much larger than i was when i last saw a dentist. i fit comfortably in the chair then. i'm certain (this is rational me talking here) that i will fit comfortably in my new dentist's chair.

but still (irrational me, here), i have this catastrophic fantasy of waddling into the exam room, boom-boom, boom-boom. the ground quivers beneath my short, heavy strides. i squeeeeeeeeeeeze into the chair (because in my catastrophic fantasy the shelf holding the tools doesn't move and is permanently perched over the chair, like a vice). the metal chair groans under my girth, threatening to lurch over, sending me smearing across the feet of the delicate, little hygienist and spilling sterile dental tools across the floor. i barely breathe for fear of shifting the seat, causing the aforementioned upset. fearing my hefty jaw might snap closed on her small hands, the hygienist dons metal diving gloves, the kind that protect divers from the razor sharp teeth of man-eating sharks, before climbing the 'extension-ladder' that allows her to perch over my mass and attend to my recommended routine teeth cleaning.

i jest. i know it won't be that bad. deep down, here's what i'm really scared of: i will be rejected by the dentist because i don't fit into the dental chair and she/he will have to decline to help me. ouch. that would suck so bad. utter humiliation.

well, i'll tell you what, Utter Humiliation, i'm making room for you. come on in. there's room for you to exist in my heart and in my head because i know that the fear driving you is only a means of self protection. i know that your best intention is to protect me from the world. and i love you for that. i appreciate what you are doing. but i'm taking the reigns now. i've got this one handled. i'm going to make a dentist appointment this month because i am taking care of my body and my teeth need to be cleaned. it is not likely that i won't fit in the chair. it is not likely that the dentist or the hygienist will even remember me after my appointment. they see tens of folks a day for recommended routine teeth cleaning. but even if i don't fit in the chair, even if the dentist or his/her hygienist declines to attend to me, i'll take my business elsewhere. and it will be ok.

it will be ok. and if the chair does collapse under me... i'll sue their asses.