Guess Who’s Back in the House!

1 10 2014

Well, I have been AWOL for a while, haven’t I? Lots happening.

(Technically AWOL means Absent Without Leave, but this is my blog, so who am supposed to ask for leave? Myself? Should I submit a request in writing?)

Anyway, today I came to talk about weight loss, via my own viewpoint.

I admit it. I got stuck. I lost forty pounds of the sixty four I wanted to and then-Cue tire screech. I don’t know if I was tired or frustrated or bored, but nothing was working.

So then I gave up. NOM NOM NOM FOOD.

I hate French fries because I love them. I avoided not excellent fries but damn, fresh cut fries with a hint of salt and ketchup. Awwwwwww yeah.

Fro-yo needs to stop pretending that it’s healthy. When half of the toppings in the topping bar are candy, STOP PRETENDING that you are anything but somewhat lower calorie ice cream. And you can get as much as you want. Ice cream is actually safer sometimes, at least with ice cream you get a set amount and you pay for it and you leave. Fro-yo is all OH HERE IS A CUP THAT WE PRETEND IS SMALL BUT FILL IT UP WITH TONS OF FROZEN YOGURT AND FRUIT AND RASPBERRY CHOCOLATE AND STRAWBERRY TAPIOCA PEARL THINGS AND THEN YOU HAVE OUNCES UPON OUNCES OF DELICIOUS COLD CALORIES. OF HEALTH LIES.

(Also, black sesame ice cream? SCREW YOU, YOU BASTARD I love you, call me xxx.)

Then, of course, the Frappuccino. Now, I get Mocha Light Frappuccinos. Skinny mocha sauce, non fat milk, the whole she-bang. But. But. What comes out of my mouth is ‘Venti skinny mocha Frappuccino. With whip. And two pumps of raspberry.’ The result? Twenty four ounces of icy chocolate pseudo coffee goodness topped with a crown of whipped cream and oh god it’s good but it’s so bad. It’s like wearing a conservative outfit buttoned up to the chin but then you’ve got a corset and lace semi see through crotch-less panties underneath and no one knows. Get on with your bad self.

So. Yeah. I, plus seven new pounds (grumble pudgy face), am trying to get back on track.

I am tracking on Weight Watchers and on My Fitness Pal (with custom goals), and holy hell am I all over the place.

One: I eat sooooo many carbs. My proportions are about 70% carbs to 13% fat to 17% protein. It’s a little ridiculous. I gotta give up the waffles. Breakfast should have protein! Maybe I’ll do a smoothie and eggs. Something.

Two: Night time? OMG I WANT CHIPS. ICE CREAM. HONEYCOMB CEREAL! At the moment I’m munching on the occasional apple and drinking tea. I also need to start doing origami again. Keeps your hands busy. I made a bird! And a little box. But man, cranes are hard.

Three: Man, I keep eating my feelings. Happy? TIME FOR ICE CREAM! Sad? *sob into food* Angry? Booze and chips! Bored: …whatever.

I should just use my elliptical more. It’s just so easy not to!

But, starting next week, there are going to be fitness classes in my life. (High intensity core, yoga and/or Zumba!) So I think that will help.

I just have to fit in exercise in between classes, studying, homework, writing, cooking, dog, boyfriend (I love you magpie!) and whatever else happens to fall on my head. Whatever. It’s past midnight, I’m supposed to be sleeping. And in the morning? I’m not making waffles!

I’m making ginger cookies instead.

Oh boy.


Starbucks Is Eating All My Money

23 06 2013

I have a Frappuccino addiction, and with someone at my income level it is devastating. I have very little money, and when I get money, do I save it? Nope. I justify that whatever piddly amount I have isn’t worth putting towards my student loans or savings and spend it like I have thousands just waiting to be spent. It’s not like I have rent or bills or anything, so who cares, goes the mentality. Oddly enough, once I have a steady paycheck, I’ll probably be a lot better with money and budgeting.

Also, any of the Light Frappuccinos at Starbucks don’t automatically come with Skinny syrup. They are made with skim milk and I think the base is different, but the syrup isn’t, you have to ask for that separately. It doesn’t change the price, but you would think that the low calorie version would have sugar free syrup, or at least the versions that  would use the sugar free syrups that they already carry. Yes? No?

Other things I hate about Starbucks:

1. Baristas who get pissed when you tell them they messed up your drink. I’ve done that job, I know once a drink is done you want to forget about it. But I never got an attitude about it.

2. People who don’t know what they want. ‘I want something with chocolate. No, I don’t know what it’s called. I WANT CHOCOLATE.’

3. The ‘real’ Starbucks are inconsistent as hell when they make my Frappuccinos. Too thick, ice chunks, funny taste. I have a favorite barista in the frickin’ Barnes and Noble Starbucks. She makes it perfectly. I need her to make a tutorial or something.

Now there is a break, because I had to take a Benedryl and I’m too sleepy to type properly.


Bobbi Brown wrote this makeup manual, and the girly part of me that doesn’t care about practicality or sense or anything that isn’t soft and pink and glittery is all OMG I MUST HAVE ALL OF THESE PRODUCTS WHEE. The rest of me is all ‘…who the hell has the time or money or inclination to buy and use of these things? There’s twenty different brushes and sponges and what?’ Maybe I’m just bitter because I can never find a makeup that covers but doesn’t give me zits and doesn’t feel like thin cake batter on my face. …or maybe I don’t want to spend twenty minutes every day fixing my face and blending foundation and penciling my eyebrows.

…maybe I should get a makeup consultation or something. Or read the rest of the book. When I have money to buy it and take it home and put different things on my face.

Okay, now I’m going to talk about Active Link, Weight Watcher’s activity tracker thingy. I am now obsessed with it. I feel badly about myself if I don’t get 100% activity goal every day. It’ll be ten thirty at night and I’m doing jumping jacks like a mad woman going ‘I’M ONLY 98%, I HAVE TO MAKE 100% ARGH I AM OBSESSED.

No, really, I keep poking the jiggly areas of my body in frustration and then I go into plank. And then I eat baby carrots and pita chips and hummus. Mmm. So crunchy.

And I really really really want to like yogurt. And I don’t unless it’s really sweetened, which totally defeats the purpose of yogurt. So I want a smoothie, but then it tastes too much like yogurt and I don’t like it unless I put Crystal Light in it and ARGH HEALTHY FILLING EATING IS HARD. Sometimes I just want a cheeseburger with bacon and fries. And a milkshake. A chocolate milkshake. Sigh.

But I’m having a turkey burger with grilled potatoes, possibly with steamed broccoli. And that’s pretty good too.

Sincerely yours,



22 04 2013


That’s basically how I am now.

I don’t want to be home, but I don’t want to be out, because I don’t really have anywhere to be, and I’d rather be home doing nothing or writing than be out wandering. I have to be in a certain mood to wander. It’s not like I’m in a new city or country, where wandering will always lead to something different. Here, I have paths that I have walked, and the part of me is nervous and scared of anything unfamiliar doesn’t like to be forced off the path without a specific destination.

So I’m going to try a new thing, starting this week sometime. I think I will pick a destination, and head for it, and explore that way. Once I’m out, it’s much harder to run and hide, and the part of me that loves new things will be too busy looking around to let the scared part protest. Once the weather is a little warmer, I will return to the cupcake shop again, and wander the area around there. (I can’t afford most of the area around it, but it’s fun to window shop. Plus, there’s a tea cafe around there, and I want to go back to it. I went there on a date once, I haven’t been back since, and it would be nice to go again.)

I’m also thinking about going back to my support group. I feel like sometimes I need something that’s not therapy, but I can just…talk and be with people who get it. And I think it’ll help me develop my empathy more, listening to others and not getting irritated by their expression of emotion.

On another note-I’ve lost forty-five pounds! Holy crap, right? I started out at 198 pounds, and now I’m at 153! Now, the top end of my healthy weight range is 141 pounds, and I don’t want to be right at the top. Also, to be a Lifetime Member of Weight Watchers I have to stay within 2 pounds of my goal weight. (Well, two pounds above, I can go below if I wish.) So I’m going for 138, which is fifteen pounds down. I bet I can do it. I mean, the last ten pounds are apparently the hardest, but I’m going to do it.

I’ll probably have to work on my fitness ADD. Apparently I hate workouts that feel like workouts as well- I’ll do high knees and butt kicks while I jog with the dog, but I don’t think I’ve ever gotten through a workout DVD. (I like the Wii Fit, but the Wii’s disk drive can’t read the disk anymore, so I can’t do it. I am crushed.)

(Those of you who want to lose weight and have a dog, take the dog for more walks. It helps and the dog will be happy.)

Tomorrow, however, I’m going to make cupcakes for my ceramics class. It’s an expression for my love of baking and my affection for the members of my class. (Except for irritating Hobble Husband. I call him that because he hurt himself being an idiot and is on crutches, and also he is a pitiful excuse for a husband to his wife. No job, thinks too much of himself, expects her to constantly accommodate him, and has the shallow charisma that appeals to people but conceals his flaws. Gag me. I hate men like that. However, he’s getting a cupcake because it’s not as if I can keep it from him and I like his wife very much.)

I feel less restless now. I think this blog helps me with that feeling. I’m grateful for it. And for you guys who apparently read it, ha ha.

Sincerely yours,


Here I Am, Back Again, J.J.’s Back, Tell a Friend

19 05 2012


Guess who’s back, guess who’s back…Okay, I’ll stop now. No more early 2000 music references. …did that song come out in the early 2000s? I don’t remember. ::goes to check:: Yes it was. Okay. Anyway.

Down fourteen pounds! WOO! And in typical American fashion, how did I celebrate?

With fried chicken, French fries, and chocolate ice cream.

But I’m back on track today. It’s eight thirty and I still have ten points. …I will probably have a frozen peach cup. (Which make good snacks, actually. Get the ones in light syrup, not the regular kind, and freeze them, and it’s a good substitute when you want something cold.)

I also started getting SELF magazine, which I like, partly for the different exercises. I tend to get stuck in exercise ruts. And there’s a recipe in this month’s issue that I want to try, with salmon. (I found out from weight watchers that wild salmon is better for your than farm raised because its muscle tone is better, that farm raised has more fat. But since wild is twice as expensive, I think I’ll be sticking with farm raised unless it’s on sale.)

And tomorrow is my first…5K! I’m actually really excited. I wanted A to come with, but due to his history with smoking he was all ‘Pass’, but I’m still going. I hope I can finish it. I mean, I can walk two miles, and I don’t have to run it, but still.


I can’t tell where A and I are at all. It’s like we’re heading towards each other without a sure sense of direction, or if both of us want to keep on going. Maybe that’s just me. I don’t know if I’m looking for a romantic ideal that doesn’t exist and I don’t want to settle for reality, or if I think there’s something better out there. But I think less of myself, if that’s true. I mean, you’re not supposed to be looking past your partner, just in case say, Misha Collins turns up sans his beloved wife and wants to go out. What does that say about me, if I keep an eye out for someone else while I keep my arms around him?




Disgusted and Hopeful

19 04 2012

Today I’m going to talk about my journey on the express bus. Riding on the express bus itself is usually pretty comfortable unless someone who’s too fat sits in the seat next to you and you end up pressed against the window and your breath ends up creating moisture and it feels like a St. Bernard is breathing on your face. But anyway.

My journey starts downtown, so there’s little stores and people to look at, and then, after about thirty blocks or so? The area gets expensive. Slick, you can almost taste the black credit cards expensive. As we go up we pass Michael Kors, Coach, some stores I’ve never heard of before but ooze the aura of expense, Prada, more boutiques, and plenty of building where the rent for a one bedroom is probably twice of this apartment, and it’s a three bedroom. The sidewalks are so clean I could probably lick it, and there’s Starbucks everywhere. Most of the people walking around are white. Then we go further up, and it’s not as expensive, there’s a Gap and a Banana Republic and that unnecessarily expensive workout gear store (it’s called Althea or Athena or something), there’s a Barnes and Noble, little Asian restaurants, Easy Spirit, places like that. It’s a little sloppier, but it’s not so bad. The people are a little more mixed. But twenty blocks from there? It’s like being in a different city all together. There’s garbage in the street, and I wouldn’t touch the sidewalk barehanded. The stores are almost laughable, they’re all bargain stores with things in bins on the sidewalk, a third of them are closed. There aren’t any Starbucks, only Dunkin Donuts and Baskin Robbins and McDonalds. Most of the people are black or Spanish.

There’s supposedly more equality now, and I can’t help but laugh. There’s still that same gap between the rich and the poor, and often the same gap is between white people and everyone else. The affluent part of the city is something to be admired; it’s clean, there’s a good variety of stores and restaurants, and there’s plenty to do. But you leave that area and I feel like the people who live there have been forgotten. Why is it acceptable for these people to have garbage on their streets, while less than two miles away the streets are clean with plenty of accessible trash receptacles? I understand that the stores are going to be less expensive in a lower income area, but it’s not as if the city can’t do something so the people living there can take pride in their neighborhood.

Exercise is boring. I need to start taking classes or something, because goddamn am I bored. All I do is crunches, walking, rowing, weight machines. I’m starting to think my muscles are bored, and considering the fact that they aren’t sentient, that’s saying something. I might try the Zumba DVDs again, but the women are so annoyingly perky I want to kick them. But I think that’s just a reaction to having to push myself and being in pain, so I yell at the very in shape women who are pushing me.

A and I have a meet up on Saturday. I won’t call it a date because we’re going to chat, and I think he probably wants to forget about a second try. I sort of do to, especially since there’s other possibilities out there. I want to have fun. There’s a guy from OKCupid who wants to meet next week. It’s nice to get attention, ha ha. And A is annoying the crap out of me, especially after canceling on me and then telling me to tell him when I’m free as if he doesn’t want to push me, and then…I don’t know. Maybe I’m just in a bad mood.

Today is Weight Watchers, by which I mean it’s a meeting day. Hopefully I’ve lost a little weight, because if I’ve gained again I’m going to jump out a window or something. …maybe nothing that dramatic, but I’ll be really frustrated. On the plus side, I think I see a little more definition in my abs. I’ll cross my fingers.

Oh, time for the meeting!

Sincerely yours,


A Working Experience

4 03 2012

I had a gig yesterday, which made me feel all productive and everything. Granted , it wasn’t the most intellectually stimulating work (filling out forms and making out guest lists and online forms and credit card numbers) but I can’t complain too much. Except I can, because geez Louise.

I was working for my aunt and one of her friends, but there were other people present. My aunt happens to be blind, but she’s more capable than some people who aren’t handicapped, and only asks for help if she really needs it, or if it is openly offered. Her guests however, are not, and seem content to stay that way, which I don’t understand.  Being dependent, for me, is beyond frustrating. Being able to do things for myself excites me, simply because my depression and anxiety makes it so hard for me. And these women, who are physically disabled, seem…almost content with the idea that someone else has to do things for them, and that someone else will do things for them. Rather than ask for a cup of coffee, they simply proclaim ‘I want coffee’, and then express how they would like it, simply expecting the coffee to appear to their satisfaction. It seems a little…presumptuous to me. Naturally, I don’t expect blind or very handicapped people to do something that would be very difficult for them, not when it would be easier and more efficient for someone else to do. However, that doesn’t make it all right for them to just take advantage of that fact, and a demand does that. My aunt, when asking for something, has always been polite, no matter who she was asking something of.

I wonder if this distaste I have for these presumptuous women has something to do with my distaste for myself, or well, the old me. The one who never did very much on her own, relied on others to read her mind or do the things she found difficult, who shied away for her own responsibilities and difficulties. I think that would make sense; I’m so hard on myself, I think that if I recognized something that I found unacceptable in myself, I would certainly look down or at least disapprove of the trait or behavior in someone else. It might be unfair, because they could be just as frustrated with their own limitations as I am, but all I have to judge them on is their behavior, which I don’t like.

I didn’t exercise today because A. I was tired, and B. I think I messed up my stupid bad ankle. Either that or it’s going to get colder. Or rain. Either one. Or both, it doesn’t matter. My ankle doesn’t like any change in weather. I’m still having a hard time with motivation, too. I mean, if I’m already out, then I’m like, ‘Oh, I guess I can go to the gym.’ But if I’m at home, cozy? I might as well be under house arrest, because I just huddle under the blankets or putter around the apartment because I can’t get up and go! It’s like there’s more than one me, but the one who wants to go keeps getting shut down. Like this:

Enthusiastic!Me: Oh, look, we’re awake! Let’s get up!

Drowsy!Me: …eh. Sleepy. ::proceeds to roll over::

Enthusiastic!Me: …come on, get up get up get up get UP!

Pessimistic!Me: There’s no point in doing anything. Let’s go get some ice cream from the freezer.

Drowsy!Me: Don’t wanna get up. Sleepy.

Enthusiastic!Me: …come on you guys, let’s go, we’ll feel better!

Pessimistic!Me: There’s no point. Nothing will make us feel better.

Drowsy!Me: I’m trying to sleep. Be. Quiet.

Enthusiastic!Me: Oh, I give up, you guys are impossible.

Me: ::doesn’t get out of bed::

And so on it goes. Tomorrow I have to get up, because I have a gig and I’ve already gotten paid for it. (Need to go to bed on time, self!) But the day after? I don’t have to be up until it’s time for therapy. But maybe if I don’t look at it as an obligation, but as a fun thing, maybe I can go? In any case, it’s on my schedule. In the meantime, I’ll try to control my sweet tooth. …Oooh, I’ll buy hummus with tahini. That is super yummy. And not hugely fattening. …I think I should be cooking dinner, but there isn’t anything defrosted. I should make a supper plan too. Hah. Supper. Who says supper anymore? Well, apparently I do, but still.


I started a piece with A as the inspiration. It’s good, I think. It’s a little racy too. Not too surprising, considering the source material. I mean, we were so sexual. Not that’s all we were, but it was a sexually charged relationship, when we weren’t pondering on the universe and all that. I mean, I don’t think I believed half of what was coming out of his mouth, but it was interesting. I think he was always gauging my reactions. I think he saw me as something of a student, someone who would think of him as worldly, that he could teach. Which is one of the things that I didn’t like as much, because it made me feel inferior, as much as it drew me in. Like I said, it was interesting. But as for what I think is becoming a short story, it’s not a direct telling of us, my stories never mimic life exactly, but he is the spark that started this little fire. So we’ll feel what happens, once I get to the end of it. Speaking of which, I’m going to go write and release more emotions! Yay for emotional catharsis!

Sincerely yours,