My Big Idea

It goes like this: when someone likes you, you're indifferent. When someone doesn't like you, you're crazy for them. And that just isn't fair, now is it? You know the cliché where you want what you can't have. I've found myself in situations like that, and when I get over the person I look back and think, "what was the big deal?"
I tell myself this person (or whatever) is awesome, and I refuse to believe anything different until that person makes it quite clear who they really are.

We pursue what's just out of our reach. We're doomed for dissatisfaction because we always want more--or at least what we assume is more. In hindsight, we realize we were just pursuing what we already had.

Every person on this earth should make a pact to seclude him or herself for six months and then at the same moment come back to each other. Maybe then we'd see every person in the same light. If you can't have anyone, maybe you'd appreciate everyone.

PJs

You know what's a really odd word? Pajamas. It's such an everyday word, yet has anyone questioned its usage until I just did? Actually, my family has rejected the word and replaced it with "sleeping clothes." It makes perfect sense: clothes you sleep in. However, it provides great imagery of clothes that are actually sleeping themselves.

In order to provide answers as well as questions, I just did some research for you. Apparently, the word pajamas (also spelled pyjamas) comes from a group of pygmies in Africa that used to make tiny clothes out of leaves and bark to wear while they slept in order to protect them from the cold.

...Not really. It's actually derived from the Persian word Payjama meaning "leg garment."

The other answer made sense, though--you believed me, right?

Fatspace

Some coworkers and I are planning on doing this website called Weight Loss Wars. It's where you compete with your friends, or even strangers to lose weight. The concept is great because you can shit-talk to each other, look at each other's progress that's displayed in line graphs, and leave comments on each other's profile. It's like myspace for fat people. Anyways, since we always obsess about our weight like just about every other woman in this country, we thought we'd give it a try. It seems like it will be great motivation as long as everyone really commits to it.

Another good idea for motivation is to watch TLC's show Obesity Clinic. Man oh man, I was sitting on my ass watching TV, and not five minutes of watching Obesity Clinic later I was doing sit-ups on my living room floor. It's a reality show documenting "super-obese" patients as they attempt to lose enough weight so that doctors will clear them for surgery.

It’s amazing how they let their bodies get to that point. I guess in general many people have problems in their life that they allow to fester and grow until it's no longer just a job where you don't get paid enough, or a relationship that has lasted months too long, or the last hole in your belt that's hanging on until you graduate to the next size up. It finally erupts into a pumpkin-sized tumor growing from your 200 lb. thigh. You now have no other alternative but to face you fears, overcome your battles, and remove the 400 lbs that have been weighing you down.

Yeah, so…I hope I win.

I love puppies!!!

Although I'm a meat-eater, and don't seek out animal rights issues, my friend is a member of PETA and sent me this link: http://www.petatv.com/tvpopup/video.asp?video=iams&Player=qt

It's footage taken in an Iams animal testing lab so it's pretty gruesome--especially how jaded the workers are about the cruelty. If you have a dog, love dogs, are a dog, or eat Iams pet food on a regular basis, you should watch this video.

Peace.

Girl Phase

My life seems to be divided into phases. I have this boy phase and that boy phase and happy phases and sad phases, lonely phases, and busy phases. Now I'm in my girl phase. Most of my guys friends I've treasured so much have moved away or spend most of their time with their new girlfriends or both. And without realizing it, I seem to have replaced them all (temporarily) with female friends. I have an abundance at the moment. Before I continue, please be aware that I love them and they are a lot of fun. My only issue is the drama they seem to bring. There is open conflict and hidden conflict, jealousy and envy. It's odd.

The biggest theme of my phase has been girlfriends being jealous of my friendships with other girlfriends. To me, that's a waste of good drama. It's very elementary. But for some reason, in my 27th year, this has been an ongoing issue. I would much rather guys being jealous of my relationships with other guys. It's flattering; I like to boost my ego by thinking it means I'm a great friend--but it's also unneccessary. I have since learned to be very careful using the phrase "best friend." It has repeatedly gotten me into trouble. Maybe when you get older you no longer have "best friends," you have close friends. Or maybe you just have friends. Why is there a need to rank your friends? There are many people in my life, men and women, who I know I would do just about anything for. One isn't better than the other. And the older I get, the more I find out that a person's seniority as your friend doesn't necessarily mean that person knows you any better or even as much as someone you just met.

I'm lucky enough to have many people of both sexes in my life that I'm very close to. Every friendship is different. And I'm friends with different people for different reasons. But my biggest issue with my girl phase is that I've learned how much I really miss my boys.

Cashierophobia

I feel uncomfortable when I go to the grocery store and I know the cashier will know something about my life from the groceries I buy. If the contents of my cart are the exact items to purchase before a camping trip, I feel uncomfortable that the cashier knows I'll be camping that night. If I buy lasagna ingredients, wine, and fresh flowers, I feel uncomfortable that the cashier knows that I'm cooking for company that night. Make sense? I don't know why this makes me uncomfortable. In college, I bought a pregnancy test for a friend who kept putting off buying one herself (yes, it was really for a friend!), and in order to confuse the cashier I also bought powder and tampons. The powder was so I wasn't only buying feminine products, and the tampons were to show him I was still feeling optimistic about the results.

It's also apparent in other situations with strangers. For instance, as I was walking to the coffee shop I'm typing in right now, for a moment I worried that if I came to this coffee shop too much they may begin to recognize me and possibly know my order. So I decided I may have to find another one soon. Then it occurred to me: why am I so scared of becoming a regular?

You'd think I was a very timid person. In actuality, I'm very social and quite the opposite of shy. So why in the world do I hesitate before allowing a grocery store cashier know that I buy a lot of Lean Cuisines and yogurt? Is it because I know that if I was in his or her position, I would be paying attention to everything in a person's cart? I would try to access what kind of person they are, if they are single, if they cook, if they're attempting to impress a date that night. Actually, I do that anyway. That's right. When you are in front of me in line, I see your cat food, your Cheese Whiz, your 12 pack. I notice the Bagel Bites, the wine and flowers, or the frozen pizzas. I'll make a (dare I say) judgement about who you are by what you buy or your subtle body language. I'm in love with human behavior. Maybe my problem is that I'm afraid that others are too.

Yesterday I realized...

...that I don't know how far I can throw a tomato. I have to find out.

Yesterday I experienced that last straw—you know, the one that broke that poor camel's back. Little moments that irked me collected on my shoulders without my realizing it. They hid under my hair and behind my ears and in my sleeves. They weighed down my shoulders. So, without knowing why, I felt as if I had to keep them tight—as if my arms would fall off otherwise. At one point during the day, I noticed this tension. I made a conscious effort to attempt to relax them and push them back down, but once I became distracted again they lifted right back to their taut position. This continued throughout the day until all my little moments had no choice but to show themselves when the last moment arrived. "Straw," I'll call him, was just too heavy to sit on my shoulders.


Right before Straw showed up, I had the best of intentions to meet some girlfriends at my biweekly Pilates class. As soon as I got home, I heated up a Lean Cuisine while listening to my sister divulge the latest about her new boyfriend. While feigning excitement, I punched 5-4-5 on the microwave and hit start. When five minutes and 45 seconds were up, my sister and I hung up the phone and I took my Roasted Garlic Chicken over to my dining room table, a.k.a. the couch.


As I plopped down on the couch—I really shouldn't have plopped—I unknowingly tipped the plastic tray. The (apparently) boiling sauces in my Lean Cuisine spilled backwards into my hand. The pain traveled from my fingers tips, up my arms and into my shoulders. Each little moment I harbored throughout the day was seared. In my rage I threw the Lean Cuisine onto my brick floor. Those moments then crawled out from under my hair, behind my ears, and inside my sleeves. They showed themselves one by one, shrugging their shoulders as they presented me with their bad news--as if I was watching the Ring Girls at a boxing match hold up each of their signs displaying all that I had ignored and stored under my hair that day. Once I reached this climax, all my angst came out of my eyes and flowed down my face. Moments later I cleaned the sauce off my floor and couch and called Aubrey. "I'm not going to Pilates," I simply stated.


Afterwards I ate a room temperature dinner and made a point to watch uplifting television. My sour mood soon faded. I'm not sure if it was guilt for not going to Pilates or because I'm still a child inside, but later I watched about 10 seconds of a woman on a mini trampoline and about ten minutes later I found myself at Wal-Mart purchasing one of my very own. I went home, assembled it, and enjoyed bouncing in my living room. It's amazing how much fun something as simple as jumping can be.


So, yes, long story short: I now have a trampoline and a burn on my hand. But the burn has since faded and the trampoline is surprisingly fun. So, folks, although it didn't start as such, this is a happy story.


[Child closes book]: But don't take my word for it!

This is what I want you to know:

I'm waiting for a time when happiness will be mine. Until then I will wait and wish and regret and hope. Until then I will sit alone in the dark, waiting to feel your happiness. To see what it's like. A moment in your world going fast, as I wait silently in mine. Until then I will write and collect and laugh and dream and sigh and nod and cry and wonder and try to forget. The buzz of my alarm reminds me that I'm awake. It's time to do it all over again.

July 29

Yesterday was my birthday.