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The letter A
The number 3
And my new MacBook Pro

I went to the campus bookstore today to get a new flash drive because my little 2 gigger wasn't big enough to hold my project for my Illustrator class. Yeah, it's that big. Since I was there I ran upstairs just to ease my mind and have confirmation that my laptop was in fact still not there. You see, when I had called them yesterday they told me that it wasn't due to arrive until sometime on Thursday. Thursday, you see, is when I was leaving for the beach until Sunday. Thursday, in fact, would be too late unless it got there before 11 am. Understanding my plight, Mr. Computer Man told me to call him every day and he'd let me know how things were shaping up. Well, calling is so impersonal, no? He knew who I was upon initial contact today and after checking a few tracking numbers, serial numbers and whatever else it was he checked, he uttered the words, "I think that one's yours." Then voiced his amazement over how it got to Portland from Shanghai in a day. I told him that he was my new best friend. He said he was OK with that.

I've been having my dirty way with it all night. I've been installing software, setting preferences...it's transferring all of my music from my iPod as I type. This entry is, in fact, the first thing I've really done on my new laptop that has nothing to do with setting it up. He's a beauty. Anyone that knows me will have no qualms proclaiming that I am a whore for electronic gadgets...this is no exception. I'll not bore you with the details, just trust that I'm a happy kid as I crawl into bed with dreams of our future together.

On the diet front, I've been 100% on top of things the last two days, which, as of late, is a feet for me. I even meandered around campus for a little while before my first class this morning and discovered something. The school gym and all things associated with physical activity type classes is in the building right next to the one I'm locked in most of the day. Who knew? Not me, obviously. I should see what's involved in using these facilities. Maybe there's a class I can take. Maybe I should take one. I can pretty much guarantee that it won't be swimming as I'm not interested in being half naked on campus at any time. Mayhaps a weight training class? Something of a cardio nature? Options abound I'm sure.

I was skinny until that freak buffet accident.

Saturday was my mom's surprise birthday party. Complete success. I even managed to distract her as we pulled up to the house because I knew she'd catch on if she saw all the cars. I had her dig in my purse at just the right time to find my lip gloss and she found a brownie that a friend had given me at school. Like a moth to a flame, boy. She was so fixated on that thing that I was in the driveway and parked before she bothered to look up and notice the huge crowd of people. Like mother like daughter, no?

The food aspect was hardcore buffet. All of the invitees were told to bring their favorite dish. Well, they may not know how to RSVP, but they do know how to bring the grub. When I walked up to it and saw how much there was I flashed back to buffet tables of parties past. Buffet tables that have done me in so many times. Buffet tables that, as if it were a cage match, had me tapping out as my waistband cut off the circulation to my naughty bits. Not this time. Not this buffet table. I showed surprising restraint. There was so much food that I found it overwhelming. I was intimidated by it. I wasn't, however, scared and feeling like I was about to undergo an all time record breaking binge. I was just, well, kind of disgusted actually. I didn't even try most of it. I also didn't drink. As a matter of fact, I stayed well away from the food and drink by going to the backyard and throwin' down on the Vball court. Fat girls STILL can't jump, but we do have a wicked serve.

Today I tried out another new workout game for the Wii, Gold's Gym Cardio Workout. It was too hot in my room so I didn't do it for very long. Seems to be a lot of boxing, which I dig big time. I'll have to get back to you on if the game itself is any good. What I can tell you is that in the beginning, when you make your little character and give him/her all of your physical attributes, your belly stops growing once you reach a certain level of gordo. First I upped my lil characters height and she got a nice thin little waist because her weight hadn't changed. Then I started upping the weight and she just got thicker and thicker until her little animated belly had a nice rotundness to it. After a while she stopped growing because even animated Wii people aren't as fat as I am.

I gave homework the finger this weekend, too. I did a little, but I'll have to finish the remainder of the mandatory stuff tomorrow during a between class break I'll have. The weather was just too nice and, well, I was just too crampy. I decided that a day like today was better spent driving around with the top down for a little while, sitting in the backyard with Lola reading something that didn't involve learning anything, and daydreaming about my date with my new laptop. Roughly translated: I wanted to finish kicking my stress in the slats and focus on me a little more. The weather is supposed to be great for a few more days. Me, sunshine, convertible, new laptop, upcoming weekend beach trip, a ban on stress...things are lookin' up kids.

A day of class, culture, and introspection

I gave the Portland Art Museum three hours of my time today. It had been a very long time since I had been there. Many things were as I remembered them. The Monets, Renoirs and Picassos were all cohabitating together with various other artists. The Asian art exhibit is still so large that it takes up most of the lower level. I now firmly believe that, when it comes to sculpture, the Tang dynasty kicked the Han dynasty's ass. I realized that I still love art as much, if not more, as I always have. I see in every piece something different to appreciate. Mostly I am envious of their talent. Sometimes, I'm envious of the fact that someone, somewhere, got paid a lot of money to paint black stripes on a very large canvas.

I am mostly in awe of the European Collection. Some of the paintings are so life like. Considering the day and age that they were created? Their talent floors me. My question remains the same, however, what is up with all the little boy junk dangling about and all the rubenesque titty shots? Babies just laying around naked and women looking like Janet at Superbowl. Not because they were about to breast feed all the naked babies. Not because they were exquisitely depicted as the voluptuous women that they are. They would just be sitting with their friends and a boob would pop out, crying at the feet of a man in armor as if begging him not to go and a boob would pop out. Playing piano? Oh look, a boob. Plucking a chicken? Boob. Holding your dying husband? Boob. In a big battle with Centaurs? Two Boobs (some of those centaurs were hot, I must say). I get the appreciation for the female form. I love that we big women got mad props back in the day. I thought they were all very beautiful, but, seriously? This was my stroll around the European wing today, "Man in wig...boob...man in wig looking a bit pinched...baby junk...baby junk...baby junk AND boob...two boobs...boob and man in wig...baby's junk getting circumsized. (WTF?)...boob...ah, two women playing piano. Is that a nipple?...baby junk..." I think you get the point. Let's not accuse me of immaturity just yet. I was at least 15 paintings in before I was consumed by the completely random diplays of T&J.

Anyhoo, I came to realize something else during my afternoon of class and culture. I need to get back to being me. I need to find balance. I need to do the things I enjoy and stop stressing so much about things that are out of my control. That's what most of the things going on in my life are; out of my control. Why worry about things that I cannot change? Why let it stifle me and make me miserable? Decision made...no more stress. It's that simple.

Say anything

I woke up this morning to the familiar sound of Peter Gabriel. I slapped my snooze button soundly on the ass, but the music still played. I listened intently trying to determine where it was coming from. I got out of bed and looked out the window. There, with his bose speakers held high above his head (boomboxes are so 1980's), was my Cyrano. I've spent at least 3 years in love with him, but kept telling myself that he was no good for me; that it wasn't the right time in my life. Over the last year it's become more and more obvious that this is a relationship that was destined to be. I would get emails from him and letters in the mail. I would see him at school and at the mall. I couldn't get away from him and couldn't ignore him. I had been waivering over the last few weeks. Things were falling into place and it seemed like we would eventually be together. It seemed like now was our time. And yet, I couldn't bring myself to take the plunge.

My Cyrano is not John Cusack (though, please do give me a call cuz you kinda rock). My Cyrano is not someone I met online or someone that sits across class from me unable to focus on his design because he's so overwhelmingly smitten with me (though, I'm sure my classes are riddled with such casualties of my charm). My Cyrano is a bright and shiny new Macbook Pro. And after such a grand romantic gesture this morning, I agreed to meet him at the bookstore between classes today. Yes, I could have met him at his place (the apple store), but I didn't feel like it was a safe place. I needed neutral territory. I needed to be able to make an unbiased decision and if I had walked into an apple store I would have been like a moth to a flame. I would have seen them in all their prettyness and I would have said to the vulnerable salesman that dared approach, "Look, little man. We don't need to have a talk about how this little gem will meet all of my needs and then some. We don't need to wax poetic about gigabytes, ram, video cards, resolution, warranties or my additional software needs. We don't need to talk about Wacom tablets because I already have one (what we of the computer illustration age draw on, ya know the ones, big tablet of goodness with a pen so that when you draw it shows on the screen?). You, kind sir, are a truly lucky man. This is going to be the quickest sale of your computer pushing career. Now just turn yourself around, walk to the back room, and thank the heavens above that you walked up to me today. Run along now."

Instead, I walked up the stairs of my campus bookstore and I had a lil chat with my new relationship counselor. He explained that size doesn't always matter. That the 17" version is overkill and, really, what's another two inches when you've already got 15? It's just gonna make it heavier to carry around (giggle). Too true, sir, too true. He recommended that I get the 15" and take the money I would have shelled out for the 17" and invest it in a comparably priced, much larger and sassier monitor that I could hook my laptop up to. Agreed. I asked him how long I had after date of purchase to really make a commmitment as involved as a warranty. He explained that I had up until our one year anniversary to tie the knot. This investment was getting cheaper by the minute. I thought about it for .275 milliseconds and told him to sign me up.

I am now fully committed to a solid relationship with a 15" Macbook Pro laptop. We have our first date in 3-5 business days. I just hope that it's before I go to the beach next weekend because we have a lot of catching up to do. It's going to be a beautiful relationship.

The world I live in

When I was in first grade the biggest thing I had to worry about was making sure I didn't miss the bus. In fifth grade I had to move up to a different school and we were no longer in one classroom all day, but had to go from class to class. My biggest stress then was finding all of my classes. My freshman year was more of the same, but now I had to worry about the rumored initiations one might undergo by seniors. I also had to worry about my grandma that was dying of breast cancer. As high school progressed my stress ranged from my weight, to getting my driver's license, to boys I might have secretly liked, to grades, to a bad relationship with my father. At the time everything seemed so critically important and as if my life were hanging by a single tattered thread.

Now I'm a college student. I expected the various stresses that go along with this level of education, but there is one aspect of it that I didn't anticipate. Every term we have what is called an Active Shooter Drill. Whichever class you're in when it happens has its own method of dealing with this drill, but it goes a little something like this: an alarm goes off indicating that there is a lock down; lights are turned off; doors are locked and closed; people sit on the floor, huddled up, quietly hiding; we wait for the alarm to stop thus signaling us that the coast is clear. Usually when this happens I sit and ponder how fucked up it is that the world I live in has a need for a drill like this. That because someone is having a bad day or a series of bad days, they are coming to schools to kill people (I also occasionally joke with friends that, at my size, at least two of them could easily hide behind me should the shooter get through the series of locked doors between us and them).

Today was different. Today the alarm didn't stop. Today we sat huddled in a room texting furiously to family and friends. Today our hearts beat a little faster. Today was not a drill. Today there was someone on campus that meant harm. Today we sat in the dark with no information other than the fact that someone had a gun. The stories of other school shootings cross our minds and, for a moment, we feel the fear that they must have felt. At one point someone walked up to our door and tried to open it. "Of all the classrooms on all the campus," we think, "he chooses ours." He walks away and we never find out who he was. Maybe he was just someone trying to get into a room to hide. Maybe we should have let him in.

I text classmates telling them not to come to campus yet. I text my sister and let her know what's going on. I opt not to tell her I love her refusing to believe that this is serious enough for such a dramatic addition to her day. I do tell her to tell mom what's going on. Part of me does wonder if I should be doing more, saying more. What if the last thing I said was "You gotta be fucking kidding me. I'm up to my eyebrows in gradient mesh and clipping masks and you want to have another drill?" (I also wonder if the shooter is an over-stressed graphic design student and feel a sense of connection to his plight). Eventually the alarm stops. Eventually we snap out of our stupors and stand up. Eventually we walk out and go back to our classes as if nothing has happened. We find out that someone was at the bookstore threatening to commit suicide.

I learned something about myself today that bothers me greatly. I learned that no matter how dire the situation, I will still worry about my weight. Today I worried that I wasn't hidden enough because I'm too big. Today I worried that should we have to run, I'd never get away and secretly hoped that adrenaline worked miracles. Today I worried that I would, indeed, die fat. This is the world I live in.

Warriors, and Monkeys, and Dogs...Oh my!

There are a lot of experiences that I have not had, places I have not gone, and things I have not done. Some of them are because I'm too poor, too scared, too shy, too inept; you get the point. Often times, though, it's simply because I'm too fat. Take wearing a size 2 dress, posing for Playboy (giggle), or using my Wii Fit. I have never done these things because I am, legitimately, too fat. There are things, however, that I haven't done because I only THINK I'm too fat. Yoga is one of those things.

Until now.

I was working out yesterday with, you guessed it, Maya. She had me focusing on flexibility and towards the end I saw that the upcoming move was called a Triangle Pose. I don't know a lot about Yoga. What I do know is that if a phrase has the word pose in it and no one around has a camera, you're likely talking about Yoga. I've always wanted to do yoga, but have never done much more than a Child's Pose because I'm confident that there isn't a lot of it I could do at my size. I grimaced as I saw what Maya had in store for me, but went along with it. OMG! L.O.V.E.D.'d it. I was all stretched out and when we were done with the move I was so relaxed. We did something with the word Pretzel in it and a Child's Pose and...I did Yoga. But wait, there's more.

I crawled into bed and decided I needed to see what else Maya offered for a Yoga rookie. I got back out of bed and turned her on (naughty; stop it). I chose a Yoga for the workout instead of Upper Body or Cardio so that I would get all Yoga, all the time. Ya'll? I did 15 minutes of straight Yoga. Warrior Poses, Downward Facing Dogs, Triangle Poses, Upward Facing Dogs, Monkey Stretches, Half Moon Poses (sorta)...me. Yoga. I know.

I can't say that I was style and grace. I can't say that I even did them correctly, but I can say that I tried and enjoyed it. The best part of working out with Maya? No one is watching. No one is judging. No one is yelling at me or making me feel inadequate because I can't do something. In my dojo? I am Yoga Master. Namaste, Bitches!

Bedtime stories didn't used to be this scary

Last night before bed I spent about 15 minutes with Maya. Her version of bedtime stories involve squats and lunges, bicep curls and tricep presses, crunches and some odd little thing where I curl into a ball and roll back and forth. I'm supposed to bring my knees to my chest for this. I haven't brought my knees successfully to my chest since I was a fetus, I assure you. I think I prefer my bedtime stories have ghosts, dragons, gory details of dismemberment, and the like. They'd provide far less nightmare potential for me I think.

This morning I decided to see what she serves for breakfast. Planks. The bitch had me doing planks. I guess she IS a real trainer because they ALL make you do planks! Where's the originality in that I ask? As you're working out with Maya she occasionally asks you how that last little bit of torture treated you. You can choose from "No sweat," "I was working hard," and "I couldn't keep up." This allows her to decide how she wants to ream you the next time you hang out. She'll only dial it up a notch if you say no sweat, people. I'm just sayin'! She is kind enough to let you have a rest period between certain things. Just long enough for her to adjust her ponytail, her shoe, her spandex, whatever might be riding up into her nether regions. And before you start another part of the workout, she'll ask you to wait while she "finds the beat." My new BFF for sure!

After dinner I went for a walk. I needed to clear my head and see if it filled back up with clarity. It didn't. I've been so disconnected the last week. So indifferent to everything. I've been seeing someone lately and I've even pulled away from that (for various reasons I'll not get into). School starts tomorrow and I don't want to go. Since when haven't I been jacked up on school? Even when I was drowning in it I was still loving it. Right now, I'm not. Maybe I'm depressed. Maybe I'm just tired. My life is still all kerfucked and I'm getting quite fed up with it all.

Before I sat down to write this I popped in my new Jillian Michaels' Fitness Ultimatum 2009 game for the Wii. I did about 15 minutes with it. I'm not all that impressed with it yet, but maybe I'm not doing it right. Maya works me out much harder than Jillian so far. My Wii Balance Board can be used on that one, maybe that'll make the difference. Right now it's just a lot of running in place. The rowing and the monkey bars seems good, but F@#$ it all if I can figure out the grenade toss. I'll have to play with it some more and see what happens. As you work out you gain access to new training tips and things.

For those of you trying to tally my activity for today. I got in about an hour. Considering how sedentary I've been for the last, eesh, six months...this is huge. Tomorrow starts another 11ish weeks of hell. Let's see if I can't bring my A game this time, shall we?

Wii are fat

and by Wii I mean me as determined by my Wii. I'm embarrassed to admit that my left shoulder is sore from an hour of bowling that I did a couple days ago. Granted, I don't just click and flick to knock those pins down, I actually DO go through the actual motion of bowling, but that is tragic. I turned on my Wii Fit a couple weeks ago just to see what would happen and, naturally, one of the first things it wants to do is weigh me. I got on it just for the hell of it and quickly regretted it. Nothing like a little animated balance board telling you that you exceed its weight limits. Today I got a game called My Fitness Coach. It doesn't require the balance board so I thought it was a good idea. Another notion I should have reconsidered.

I would like to tell you more about it at this point, but I haven't really done it yet because setting up my profile was about all I could handle today. I haven't really worked out to any significant degree since this summer. My nephew was in my room with me when we turned it on. A hot, animated chick with a perfect body proceeds to explain that I'll need to set up the aforementioned profile. This, as the paperwork explains, is Maya...my new personal trainer. Personally, I wish that she was a he that stood about 6'4", with biceps the size of small children and abs I could do laundry on, but who am I to complain? Maya will do just fine. She politely asked for my particulars. When it got to my weight I made my nephew take Lola downstairs. I didn't want to scar the child. He came back up and it was asking for various measurements. I kicked him out again as I took them. When he came back in I was doing the resting heart rate. Simple enough. What's that? You want me to do jumping jacks now? Ok...how hard can that be? For two minutes? No problem, Maya. I'm your girl. WTF? When did jumping jacks get so hard? Did I mention that I had just taken my bra off when I did the measurements? Ouch.

After I nursed my black eye I had to do squats, modified pushups, crunches, and test my flexibility. Fair enough. Then Maya told me that I'm outside the healthy weight range. Money well spent, my friends. I'd been living the lie up until this point. She wanted to know my goal weight and if my objective was Weight Loss, Upper Body Strength, Lower Body Strength, Core Body Strength, Cardio Fitness, or Flexibility. After the revelation that I was outside the healthy weight range I signed up for weight loss, natch. Now Maya wanted me to set up a commitment schedule. Ya know, when will I work out and how long? Silly girl. She asked what equipment I have at home so she knows how to properly torture me.

As far as I can tell I get to choose music, workout location, and she'll ask me my mood before we work out. I get to choose from "Nothing can stop me," "Not too bad," and "You're lucky I'm here!" I think I'd rather have one that says "You're lucky I don't cut you, you skinny little animated bitch." Should be fun, no?

The Death of a Perfectionist

As explained by the Graphic Design grading standards of my school, when you get a B you are producing exceptional work. You are showing tremendous creativity and your application of design principles are above and beyond the call of duty. You are...phenomenal.

When you get an A? The clouds part and angels sing. A great light shines down upon your project and the world seems to be a better place. Instructors weep and your classmates feel inadequate. When you get an A you are destined for greatness. You are...a design God.

I was one such design God...until yesterday. I got online for about the 50th time to see if my last grade had been posted. So far I had three more A's to put in my pocket and was waiting for just one more. The one, mind you, that I was most worried about. The one from an instructor that is scattered, disorganized, and harsh. We got along fine on a personal level, but I knew during the first class that this could be my downfall. She was never involved in the critiques so the only feedback you got was from your classmates. She rarely answered questions regarding what she thought of something when you had the chance to pull her aside. When you turned in your project you were going in blind. There was no real prior feedback to hold your hand while you waited for your grade. I made my way through the many levels required to get to the page that would show my grades. There, tainting all my pretty little, streamlined A's was a letter foreign to me. My grade? Was a B.

B? I'm not a B kind of girl if you're new to this blog. I'm a 4.0 with no room for exceptions kind of girl. I'm a perfectionist. A perfectionist verging on O.C.D. when it comes to school. I pay attention to details that others don't think about. I tweek and perfect and then tweek again until perfect is no longer an adequate descriptor. I don't miss class. I'm not late. I am the girl that others come to for an opinion on their work. I was proud of my A's and held my head high in those classes. Now, when I see this particular instructor I will be looking at the floor and avoiding eye contact. Not because I'm ashamed, but because I might attack. I might take a T-square to her knees Tanya Harding style and do things with an Xacto knife that would make prisonyard stabbings look like foreplay. I got a B!

What's worse? I wouldn't even give myself anything better when it comes to weightloss 101. I weigh less than when the term started and only gained once throughout it all, but I should have done better. I could have done better. I have excuses galore, but it doesn't matter. I should have done better. I have only lost 15.2 pounds in the last two and a half months. I'm capable of more. Maybe I am not the perfectionist that I thought I was. Maybe I am a B student.

Did you know?

Did you know that you can put stints in the arteries of your heart that are 99% clogged, but you can't do anything when all of your major blood pumping heart vessels have minor blockage? That when that is the case you can't reverse it, you can only prevent it from getting worse? That bypass surgery would be of little use because it's not like you can just up and rebuild all of your arteries? Did you know that you can have 4 stints in your heart, diabetes, a skin disease that's basically eating away at your legs, and a host of other problems and still not care about losing weight and getting healthy? Did you know that stints aren't as easy an option for women as they are for men because women's arteries are smaller? Did you know that Prednisone can raise your blood pressure causing you to have a heart attack and raise your blood sugar to the upper 300's? Did you know that when you have a heart attack it goes not only up your arm, but also through to your jaw? Or that, though common sense would tell us otherwise, it's not something worth going to the hospital for? Or that you can have a wife, three children and two grandchildren and still not be able to find a reason to change your life and be healthy?

These are just a few of the lessons my dad has taught me. I can't say I know how to change a tire or drive a stick shift, but I do know where my dad's nitro pills are and when I need to run and get them. I've never been taught how it is that I should be treated by a man, I've grown up believing that my dad never thought I could even get a man. I have been taught, however, that hearing the words "You're a worthless piece of shit. You'll never amount to anything." will stick with you for your entire life. My dad has never lead by example on how to be healthy, he has only preached to me about things he won't do himself. He's quick to point out my do's and don'ts on dieting all from the comfort of his recliner. I've been taught that your eyes can be wide open to the failing health of your best friend and the reasons behind it, but still be blind to the fact that you are walking down the same path.

My father taught me that, though disowning each other was the right choice for he and his dad, forgiveness is the right choice for me. My father taught me that the ways in which you fail your child when they are young can be made up for when they are older. My father taught me that, in some ways, people CAN change...if they want to. My father taught me that a daughter can turn her childhood into 360+ pounds and a son will take the same childhood and turn it into anger and bitterness. My father taught me how to fish, but won't be around to teach my children how because, though he also taught me how important family is, he also taught me that they aren't important enough to live for. Maybe my brother will have to teach them. My brother will probably also have to walk me down the aisle some day because my dad will likely not be around for that either. At the rate he's going, he won't even see me FINALLY get a college degree.

I don't know if my dad is proud of me because he never tells me. I'm told he brags about me to other people, but he never tells me. I don't know if my dad thinks I'm pretty, but I do know he thinks I'm fat. I don't know if he still thinks I'm worthless or if I've actually amounted to something in his eyes. I do know that when I was young I was scared to death of my dad and now I'm scared to death that he's going to die. I know that I'm angry. I'm angry that the things he's always bitching about are things he has the power to change. I'm angry that his heart condition and his diabetes are likely going to kill him before cancer will get the chance and those are two things that he could remedy significantly if he would just lose weight. I'm angry that he can judge me for my weight and make me feel so terrible about mine when he is dying from his. I'm angry because, at the age of 32, I have to resign myself to the fact that my dad is going to die simply because he is content to do so. I'm angry because I try EVERY DAY to change my life and every day I watch him give up on his. I'm angry because the last lesson my dad will teach me is how to quit.

(Note to those that know my dad: printing this and using it as some sort of intervention method would not be wise and only make me stop writing as honestly as I do)

Don't worry Blogville!

I'm light as a feather. A 357 pound feather anyhow. Fear not, I've been plugging along. Trying desperately to mingle school and weight loss. I pack oodles of food every Tuesday and Thursday to make it through a 13 hour day. The problem is, I have to pack things that will withstand that length of time out of the fridge and that doesn't need microwaving. I'm eating entirely too much dairy. I'm just saying.

It is no easy task. I feel like Horton lately (you know, hears a who?). Like I'm carrying around this very fragile microscopic community disguised as a dust spec on a clover and its success as a whole rests soundly in my trunk, er, hands. Every once in a while a PMSing Kangaroo rears its ugly head and tries to sabotage everything. I lose the clover in a patch of millions of other identical clovers and frantically claw my way through them trying to bring back order and safety to what I've fought so hard to protect. I ward off giant carniverous birds (and possibly happy bunnies carrying cookies).

Last week I only lost .8 and this week I felt like I was in for a far worse fate. I thought for sure I was in for a gain. I climbed on the scale and thought "I have to think light. I'm light as a feather. I am light as a feather." .4 down. Heavy feather.

I got a Wii today. Probably a purchase I shouldn't have made, but I did. Financial aid money well spent. My gym membership is up in a few weeks (not like I've used it since this summer, but anyway...) and I'm not going to renew it. I don't want to have to come up with the money every month while unemployed and I hated driving that far to workout. I'd been wanting a Wii for just shy of ever and decided that my exercise for right now would involve the Wii and walking. I got a Wii fit, too. I don't get to use it until I weigh 329. Why? Because the weight limit is 330 and so it's a reward for getting to 329. It sits perched next to my tv, mocking me. Yet another device meant to help me lose weight that I can't actually use until I lose weight. It's a cruel cruel world.

Circa 2014

She slices her apple much the way she has since she was allowed to hold a knife; cutting it first in half and then coring it. The difference now being the craving of something as simple as an apple instead of a bag of chips or a pint of ice cream. As she reaches to get a plate she notices the colors of her stained glass window dancing on the front of the cupboard door as the sun peeks through the trees. Sitting at the small table in her kitchen she drinks a glass of water and enjoys every bite of her post-workout apple. Her body is conflicted; weak from lifting weights, but energized from the cardio. With too much to do before she leaves town for yet another trip abroad, she bounds up the stairs to get to work.

Her studio is bright and full of color. Formerly her attic, it now houses large layout tables, computers, printers, a copier, and art supplies the likes of which she'd only dreamed of as a kid. She has a personal assistant 3 days a week to help her keep everything in order, but today she was on her own. With two deadlines looming, she needed to make this a very productive day. Being a freelance Graphic Designer and a writer takes up a lot of her time, but she finds that she works well under pressure and loves the variety of creative outlets that both undertakings afford her. She turns on some music and sits down at the computer that faces a window. She's got a great view of the lake from here and she's hoping it brings inspiration.

Her mind is clear. Her workouts often do that for her. She's happier than she's ever been and living a life she'd never had the courage to even dream of before. She's doing the work she loves, traveling, living comfortably, and she's no longer defined by the word "obese." She's strong. She's confident. She's fierce.

She's me...circa 2014.

I promised an update on my 5 year plan. This was my way of updating you. In five years I will have been to at least 3 different countries, I will have learned at least one language, I will have lost at least 200 pounds. In five years I will have written a book, even if it hasn't been published. In five years I will live in a place of my own again. Whether it's rented or purchased, I don't know, but I will live in a home not an apartment. In five years I will be making a living as a Graphic Designer and, if the God's are with me, a writer. I will be strong. I will be confident. I will be fierce...in five years.

7 Pounds

Will Smith has more talent than any one man with a wee little wife should. I was a fan even before he packed up and moved to the hood of Bel-Air. Considering he is the only actor in history to have eight consecutive films gross over $100 million in the domestic box office, I'm confident that his parents have finally found a way to understand. You can add 7 Pounds to his list of accomplishments, if you ask me. This movie is...powerful. Maybe it's not for everyone (and I will not call you out on being a heartless bastard if that's the case, to each their own), and I'm not saying it's the best movie of all time, but it is thought provoking and, oh yeah, powerful. Like the trailers, I can't tell you what it's about. Mom asked me and the only way she got intel was with a disclaimer entailing, "If I tell you, it will ruin the movie." Part of the draw is the fact that you're left sitting there to figure out what he's up to. To take the pieces of information you're givin and come to your own conclusion (which I did, early on, cuz I'm, well, brill). Just go see it.

Speaking of seven, I've been "tagged" to expound on 10 interesting things about myself and then pass the priv to seven others. Let the expounding commence...

1. I've established through other posts (and a tattoo, much to my parent's dismay) that I am Dutch. The pride in this comes from the struggles of my grandparents and the close relationship I had with them growing up. My grandparent's knew each other all their lives. They lived across the street from each other. When the Nazi's roamed the streets of Holland looking for men to work in their labor camps, my grandfather hid behind the ovens of a bakery. That bakery belonged to my grandmother's family. They saved him from having to go to a labor camp; they likely saved his life. Fast forward to 1948. At 24 years old, my grandparents arrived at Ellis Island. Young, pregnant with my mom, scared, and hopeful, they crossed the country and found themselves in Oregon. They taught themselves English, became citizens, owned a dairy farm, raised an excellent family, and lived great lives.

2. I'm an undercover artist. I dabble in all kinds of media. The problem is, I lack confidence. No matter how good others tell me I am, I can take any piece of my art and show you everything that's wrong with it. I am my own worst critic and because of that, I hardly draw anymore. When I was a senior in high school I was a finalist for a full ride scholarship to an art school in Seattle. They paid for me to come up, spend the weekend, interview, and show my portfolio. I didn't get it. I whole heartedly believe that my extreme shyness and lack of confidence was my undoing. Story of my life. Fifteen years later, I'm finally working on getting my Graphic Design degree, even if it is at a Community College and not an art school.

3. I'm writing a novel. A bit of a romantic comedy it seems. The protagonist (main character for those not hip to the terms) is a woman that has lost a lot of weight and finds that she still battles a lot of the same insecurities as she finally starts living her life for the first time. Ideally, I'd like to be able to legitimately call myself a writer some day. To do that, I feel like I have to actually be published. To actually have someone say "Dude, you rock. I want to represent you and get your book published." I want to walk into a bookstore and find my book on the shelf (or not on the shelf because it's sold out...way better). Whether it be publishing the very writings on this blog or a novel I some day finish, the goal is to get published. Any suggestions on a pen name?

4. I'm left-handed. Not jaw dropping in the grand scheme of things, but you'd be surprised to learn (if you're a righty anyway) how it affects a person's life. It is most certainly a right-hander's world. From scissors, to notebooks, to the hobbit size desks found on most college campuses. Even my guitar is for a righty (yeah, I never did get very far on learning guitar). Almost every day a lefty comes across yet another reminder that they are a societal outcast. Woes us.

5. It is essential that I get to Holland and see where my grandparent's grew up, but oddly, Holland is only number two on my list of Top 5 countries to visit before I die. Ireland is number one. I am also Irish (less so than Dutch, but Irish nonetheless). When I was in high school I got myself an Irish Claddagh ring. I loved it. The significance of it and everything one could decipher about your relationship status based solely on how I wore it. I've wanted to go to Ireland ever since, but fat girls don't fly (this fat girl anyway) and haven't been on a plane since I was 14. Truth be told, my first trip out of the country really needs to be to a place where everyone speaks english. I'll already be a fish out of water and would like to at least be able to read signs pointing me in the direction of a bathroom. And considering my complete crush on boys with Irish accents, I may or may not find I've been struck illiterate and have to ask...often.

6. I've never been in love.

7. I have an allergic reaction to chronic negativity. It sucks the life right out of me. I have gotten rid of friends for this very reason. I'm related to the most negative person I know and that's more than I can handle on most days so I'm not about to invite it in by choice. I'm not talking about someone going through a bad patch. I'm talking about the kind of people that complain 90% of the time and are only happy if everyone around them is as miserable as they are. I have my own demons and I fight to maintain positivity every day. I don't need the people in my life bringing me down.

8. I hate folding clothes. Most of my laundry will live in a clothes basket for days upon days before I find that I've worn most of it and only have to put away a few socks and a couple shirts.

9. A few years ago I started a home business. It has evolved through the years and is basically graphic design based. I do greeting cards, wedding (and other) invitations, some web design, corporate identity (logos, stationery, business cards and such), design t-shirts, etc. Up until last term, I was self-taught in all areas. Talk about taking on too much at once! I finally decided to put it on hold and buckle down and get my degree so that I'll have more confidence to pimp my goods. I'll determine my specialties and stick to those. I'm hoping my speciality is web design and t-shirts (and writing).

10. I have a slight case of OCD when it comes to buying new things. If I'm buying a book, magazine, notebook, sketchpad, whatever, I take from the middle of the stack to get one that no one else has likely rifled through. If it has a bent corner, no matter how minor, I grab another one. It's not that I expect them to stay that way. I would just rather buy something pristine and trash it myself.

Holy hell that was hard! I am way to boring to come up with 10 interesting things. Hopefully reading it isn't as painful as writing it has been. And, tag, you're it! Sucker!

So long rat, hello ox!

Welcome, 2009, with your hair full of confetti and your pockets full of hope. Come in and have a seat. I have big plans for you, my friend, big plans. Your predecessor, 2008, has not been kind and to be quite honest, I couldn't be happier to see that bitch go down. I knew going in that the year of the rat was not going to be a banner year. I mean, really, a rat? Let's recap, shall we?

We lost some great one's in 2008. Paul Newman, Heath Ledger, Bernie Mac, Eartha Kitt, Bo Diddley, Charlton Heston, George Carlin, Tim Russert, Isaac Hayes, Harvey Korman, and don't even get me started on the death of those pink and white animal cookies with the fall of the Mother's Cookies empire. The list of 2008 casualties, celebrity or otherwise, is long. My personal list of losses is just as extensive, and since weight isn't among them, I will mention only one...my grandmother. Though we lost her mind to Alzheimer's years ago, we had to officially say goodbye in 2008.

Speaking of death, how about that economy, huh? Completely in the shitter. Oregon's unemployment rate alone is higher than it's been in about 34 years. Businesses are shutting down left and right and those that do manage to stay afloat are laying off their staff at an alarming rate. I have been out of a job since February and can count on one hand the number of interviews I've been called in for. Gas prices this summer were insane and the stock market? Seriously? Someone might wanna check on that big ol' bull statue they've got near Wall Street cuz someone's got him by the balls.

I, too, have hope for 2009. Our new president promises change. Regardless of your political beliefs (and no, I have no interest in hearing them), the mere fact that we have an African American man taking office speaks volumes for the potential of this country. Regardless of who you or I voted for, you cannot miss seeing the significance of that. I hope that he will do us all proud. I hope that the change he brings is to the benefit of each of us. I may or may not hope that he brings back Mother's Cookies.

I have hope for 2009 because I plan to lose 100 pounds before the Ox passes the torch to the Tiger. I have the support of new friends that I barely know, even if I don't have the support of those I've known for years. I have them tracking me down on my blackberry and softly whispering "Step away from the ice cream, bitch." wherever I go. Bets have been made, lines have been drawn, and the gloves are off. Hear me roar!

I have hope for 2009 because today I got a sign that everything will be alright; that good things will come for me this year. Today I saw a preview for another movie starring Gerard Butler. Things are lookin' up, kids, lookin' up indeed.

Batten down the hatches!

According to Wikipedia (love), the DEFense readiness CONdition (DEFCON) is a measure of the activation and readiness level of the United States Armed Forces. During peacetime, we here in the ol' U.S. of A. are at DEFCON 5 and the number decreases with the severity of the situation. To put a little perspective on it, during the September 11 attacks we only made it to DEFCON 2. There is no record of the U.S. ever reaching DEFCON 1.

Ladies and gentlemen, Operation Shrink A Bootie is at DEFCON 1. We are at war. Rally the troops and batten down the hatches cuz we're comin' in hot! The target? Fat. Rally point? My ass. Mission? Destroy the enemy and leave no evidence of its existence. Modern day civilian translation? Make fat my bitch!

It has become apparent that all previous methods of defense were inadequate. All ground we may have gained with those tactics has officially been lost. Luckily, the enemy has not defeated us. We will prevail!

In other words, my meeting last night proved as tragic as expected. I'm weighing in at 366. I know, I know. Dressed, after eating all day, water retention, holiday, yada yada yada. Regardless, I've pretty much gained everything back...again. What is my plan of attack? I'm going to treat my weight loss with the same tenacity as I do my education. I am a 4.0 student and refuse to accept less than that. I put my all into my grades and making sure that I excel in this program. I'm going above and beyond the call of duty on most assignments and paying ridiculous attention to detail. I'm focused. I'm determined. I'm driven.

Monday nights I have my new Weight Watchers meeting. Tuesday and Thursday (for this upcoming term anyway) I'll have class from 8am to 9pm (roughly) and who knows when I'll be pimping videos. I'm going to schedule my exercise just like I would my classes and consider attendance points vital to my grade. Journaling and meal planning are my homework. If I want to keep my 4.0 then I not only have to do the homework, but get the answers right. I may not pass every test, but it's the overall effort and understanding of the material that determines my grade. It's the extra credit, the participation, and the willingness to learn from my mistakes.

This is the most important class of my life. I cannot fail this one. This class affects the rest of my life and the success I have in it. I WILL be on the Dean's List! Hoorah!

Ice ice baby...too cold, too cold.

What would this blog be without a nod to the lyrical poet Rob Van Winkle. You, Mr. Ice, with your rag-top down so your hair can blow and your girlies on standby waving just to say hi? The way you rocked a mic like a vandal and lit up a stage and waxed a chump like a candle? Legendary. It's in your honor that I flow like harpoon daily and nightly (or at least in this blog). Check out the hook while my DJ revolves it.

That being said, it's cold...too cold in fact. Oregon got dumped on. We broke 40 year snow records. Not just that, but we had ice ice baby. Six inches of snow, with a 1/2 inch of ice 'wiched between that and another six inches of snow. Nightmare. My car didn't leave the driveway for over a week. My mom and I chained up her Bronco and drove up to Portland to get my sister so she could make it home for Christmas. The trip should have taken 2 hours max; it took 6.5. Six and a half hours of sliding, gut wrenching, white knuckling, exhaustive driving...and I was just a passenger. When it was all over I asked my sister if that meant that she was now our bitch for the weekend. Mom said, "I don't know about you, but she's mine!" Nothing like a white Christmas to bring the family together.

I tried to get to a new weight watchers meeting last week, but couldn't. Now that we're all dug out and sufficiently melted, I'm venturing that way tonight. It won't be pretty. My scale is off its meds and the multiple personalities are flowing freely. One day I'm 330 and the next day I'm 360+. I don't have a clue where I'm at; I'm not sure I ever did for that matter. I do know that I'm going to take whatever number they give me at the meeting and run with it. That's what I need...a stable number. Not a number that fluctuates with the tides. Not a number that gives me false hope of being rescued by a crazy hot lifeguard one day and leaves me crashing against the reef the next. Stability people, stability. Although, if that number is higher than three sixty something I might throw myself in front of a Ben & Jerry's truck. There are worse ways to go.

I have plans, big plans, but I'll save that for after the meeting. I'm off...like a heard of turtles.

Walking in a Winter...

clusterfuck! Oregon is famous for one thing. Rain. We have no football team, no baseball team, we had a basketball team once (I kid, I kid...go Blazers and all that). When you tell someone that you're from Oregon you can expect a comment about the rain (and occasionally a reference to crowbars and kneecaps, but we aren't proud I assure you). Try as you might to convince them that it truly does NOT rain all the time, it is futile. As familiar as we Pacific Northwesterners are with rain, we are just as unfamiliar with snow. Yes, we have Mt. Hood, Mt. Bachelor, and are a hop skip and an eruption away from Mt. St. Helens, but down here on the valley floor? Snow is a rarity. Thus, when it does happen, we freak out.

We don't know how to drive in it, walk in it, live in it. Some people have snow chains, somewhere, but if they can find them, they probably don't know how to put them on. The evening news becomes the all day news as we watch the WINTER STORM OF DOOM 2008 broadcasting live from Sylvan Hill where we have one inch of snow and a 10 car pile up. Schools are closed, roads are closed, businesses are closed. Add ice to the mix and we might as well be undergoing chemical warfare of some sort cuz ain't nobody going nowhere (it's not often that I get to spout double, dare I say triple, negatives in a sentence...freeing, but I feel stupider for having done so).

On Saturday night, one such cold spell struck. Typical winter temperatures in the Portland Metropolitan area are in the 30's, we are currently experiencing the low 20's and the teens. By Sunday morning the ground had about an inch of snow on it. The problem was, all the aforementioned rain that we had before that was frozen solid underneath. I got sucked into the broadcast of ARCTIC BLAST 2008 (I shit you not, it's covered in similar intensity as natural disasters like Katrina around here) and watched as car after car couldn't make it up portions of the freeway. I listened to ODOT, Trimet, PDOT, and any fool stupid enough to walk past news cameras give their take on the impending doom.

Sunday night it only got colder and slicker. My parent's house is on a sharp curve that slants and has large ditches on either side. We're just outside City limits and sanding our road wasn't a priority...until we had 11 cars in our ditch at one time. ELEVEN. Tow trucks slid into cop cars, gravel trucks slid ever so Stars on Ice like between two of the stranded cars without even touching them, and bystanders are falling on their asses like drunks in a 3-legged race. Soundtrack provided by Peter Ilyich Tchaikovsky.

I haven't left the house since my last class of the term on Saturday morning. The sun is out, but it's still only in the upper 20's out there. The rest of the week promises more rain and snow...and I love it. It's so peaceful and calm when the ground is covered in snow. I wake up in the morning and I know, without even having gotten out of bed, whether or not it has snowed. There is no sound of speeding cars on the road outside, my room is brighter, and everything is so...silent. It all affords me the luxury of being able to do nothing. To think. To sort through clutter and find some sense of clarity under it all. I don't need to be out in it like I did when I was a child; I enjoy just watching it. I don't like footprints in my snow; I prefer it untouched. I don't need hot chocolate with marshmallows; I do need coffee with eggnog in it. I'm no longer a child; just a child at heart.

Five years. 260 weeks. 1,825 days. 2,333,000 minutes.

A few years ago someone I worked with was talking about working on the five year plan for the company. I never understood the "five year plan" concept. The "Where do you see yourself in five years" question has always seemed stupid to me. My life has always been the same and for so long I felt like it always would be. I was never the little girl that fantasized about her future wedding because I never thought anyone would want me. I've never been the person that fixated on what her life could be like because it was too painful to realize it might never be. You see, MY life, was not my own. MY life was in someone else's hands. I would simply go through the motions as if a roll of someone else's dice determined my next move. It wasn't until recently that I realized that I have a say in it. My destiny is what I make it.

I was at Starbucks last weekend before class and as I waited for my Venti Pumpkin Spice Latte chalk full of fat and whip cream (don't judge me) I saw a book. On the cover of it was a de-bossed number 5. I looked closer and it said "Where will you be five years from today?" Interesting enough. There was a paper wrapping on the front that said, "The greatest day of your life is the one on which you decide your life is your own. The gift of life is yours--it is an amazing journey--and you get to determine the quality of it. Live the next five years on purpose. Now is the time. Imagine the possibilities. Go places, have adventures, make a real difference, do what you love. Follow your dreams, they know the way." I got chills. Here I was coming out of a very dark place and these words couldn't have meant more. I opened it up and saw "DECIDE what's next in your life and STRATEGIZE how to get it." Well, fuck me. SOLD! I got back in line and bought the book. It's been sitting on my desk ever since because I wanted to wait until classes were over before getting into it. Classes were over Saturday and now it's time to strategize. To make my five year plan. To live my life on purpose.

The book itself isn't very intense. It's full of inspirational quotes and aids in doing things like determining your values and writing a mission statement. It asks you which 5 people support you the most and would help you reach your goals. It asks you when the last time was that you did something for the first time. An easy enough read if not for all the thought provoking that it does. I'll keep you posted, natch.

"Don't say you don't have enough time. you have exactly the same number of hours per day that were given to Helen Keller, Louis Pasteur, Michelangelo, Mother Teresa, Leonardo da Vinci, Thomas Jefferson and Albert Einstein." -H. Jackson Brown, Jr.

Changing life's aperture setting

Last spring I took a digital photography class at school. I've always had a secret crush on photography, but never had a sassy enough camera to take a serious class. I never had a grasp on terms like shutter speed and aperture, but I thought we'd be best of friends if only we could become properly acquainted with one another. This class was amazing and so is my Nikon D60. I quickly discovered that when I found myself with camera in hand, nothing else mattered but capturing the perfect shot. Unemployment wasn't a concern. Weight wasn't a concern. Life wasn't a concern. My concern, in that brief shining moment, was quite simply...photography.

Among the many things I learned in that class, aperture was one of the most important. Aperture is the setting that controls the amount of light allowed in by adjusting the size of the hole it passes through. By adjusting this setting you can help control the depth of field. More plainly put, you can control which part of your photo is clear and which part is unclear. You can bring out of focus the less important aspects of your composition. If the elements right in front of you are what you feel the focus should be and the things in the distance are of lesser consequence, then you can adjust accordingly. There are other factors involved in achieving depth of field such as lighting and distance (and possibly alcohol), but aperture is as amazing as I'd always dreamed it would be (my professor would be so proud).

I've had far to wide a depth of field as of late. I was trying to focus on everything and lost site of what was important. I've been depressed and barely able to get out of bed in the morning. If not for the intense pressure of school, I'm not sure I ever would have. I created the illusion of happiness most of the time, at least for the people close to me, and it eventually got to be too much. Just when I was on the verge of breaking, there was a family dispute that pushed me soundly off the edge. I couldn't stop it. I couldn't control it. I couldn't snap out of it. I had a complete breakdown. I, quite frankly, was scared I wouldn't make it out safely. One day my mom even walked in during a right proper meltdown. I was sobbing uncontrollably and she just hugged me (we're not much of a hugging family what with being Dutch and all...er, the Dutch are habitually unaffectionate). I said things I shouldn't have. Not hateful, just things I know scared her. I said things I've never verbalized. I said things that I needed someone to know for fear I'd explode.

I'm better now. Though I was without it for a few weeks, I've managed to get more unemployment money thanks to the extensions signed by George W. (bout time you did something smart). I should have money coming in for quite a little while if all goes as they tell me it should. I'm still a video pimp on the weekends and I still hate it, but it's slightly less agonizing for the time being. This term is almost up at school and I'll have 3 weeks to recoup before the next battle begins. I'm still on the prowl for a job, but still hoping to find something that will work with my school schedule.

So now is the time to adjust my aperture setting. To find out what's most important to me and make that my focus. I think I need to focus on what's right in front of me and take things one day at a time. As of right now, my weight and my education are most important. I may not be able to be a fanatic about losing weight with the time constraints of school, but I certainly need to make the two mesh come January. Everything else will fall into place. So, what's your aperture setting? What are you focused on?

Depression, it's what's for dinner.

I'm sinking deep. Just trying to claw my way out of it.