Blues of the Cheese and Emotional Variety.

Depression comes and goes. It strikes when we are most vulnerable. I've heard of people who are too depressed to eat. I have never been so lucky. My melancholy generally invites peanut butter and cheese over for a big giant pity party.

During these times when I'd rather sleep the world away or hide in my apartment until the landlords kick me out on my ass I must remember that there are a few natural elements that are good for my soul and my body. I speak of sunshine. As hard as it may be to walk outside, once I'm out there and the sun hits my eyes I feel as though I should be doing something.

I run until I can only walk. I walk until the sweat stings my eyes and I'm crying like a fool. I cry and run and walk and sweat and the great thing is, no one else can tell the difference between me being red-faced from sobbing and me being red-faced from sweating. It's cathartic. The sweat releases my fears and frustration. The sun forces me to look at the beauty around me. By the time I come back home I am physically and emotionally exhausted. If I do lapse back into a heap on the couch with a peanut butter sandwich, at least I have earned it.

We all have "fuck my life" moments. We all have days, months, even years when we think it can't get any worse. Suck it up, cupcake. Nobody said it would be easy.

Now go the fuck outside.

Never get off the boat.

Sometimes we fail. Sometimes we don't even know we are failing until it is too late. Boo-fucking-hoo. I got a frantic phone call today. Someone I love became complacent and now the weight is coming back. Let this be a cautionary tale. You cannot reach a goal and then think you will maintain by not working just as hard. She'll be fine. I have every faith that this was a momentary lapse of judgement. But it should serve as a reminder that we should always be cognizant of what's going on with our bodies.

Willard of Apocalypse Now said it. Never get off the boat. Absolutely goddamn right! As long as you are working your hardest everyday, these things won't happen. Gaining weight can feel horrible, like losing the war. Don't let it stick to you like napalm.

Smell that?

What?

Napalm. Nothing else in the world smells like it. I love the smell of napalm in the morning.... The smell, you know that gasoline smell? The whole hill smelled like....victory. Someday this war is gonna end.

Little Girls and Grown Fucking Women

Little girls are clueless. They've come to college to meet boys, go to parties, and go to class when the hangover isn't so bad. They wear jeggings, or skinny jeans every day, regardless of appropriateness or body-shape. They wear high heels for no particular reason, which is baffling because the walk alone from the parking lot to campus is enough to make you want to cut off your feet, let alone walking around for the rest of the day. If it's not the 4 inch hooker shoes, it's those god-forsaken Uggs. Which is short for Fucking Uggly. Climate alert: It is never cold enough in San Diego to warrant the purchase or wearing of wool shoes.



The most troubling thing I see in young girls on campus, though, is what they are doing to their bodies. Pizza, soda, breakfast burritos, these are things that will stay with you. You can see them walking around, not worrying about what lies before them. Instead of paying so much attention to your stupid outfits and party plans, give some of that attention to what is going on with your body.



I am a grown-ass woman. I will not concede to wearing your silly tight pants, regardless of how fashionable you believe them to be. My hips are of the child-bearing size, I do not need to apply skin-tight denim to that. I will wear comfortable (but cute) shoes that get me from point A to point B dozens of times a day. I have also had the joy (or curse) of having large breasts, regardless of my waist size, so I will not be wearing tank-tops. I am not competing with these girls, thank science, but I can't help but notice our differences every single moment I am in school.



I guess I bring all this up because it was recently pointed out to me that I do not dress like a typical college student. Well, I am NOT a typical college student. I am finally comfortable with my body (mostly). I know what looks good on me and what is a fad for little girls. I'm going to show a little leg (because they are gorgeous, if I do say so myself), and a little cleavage (because mine is awesome), and I'm going to be a grown fucking woman.

This Should Be an Easy Choice

Fucking Hypocrite

You need to hold my still slightly fat ass accountable. In all my bitching about losing weight and becoming healthy I neglected to mention I smoke. Well, yes, I fucking lied by omission. You got me. I lose. I'm still an asshole. BUT....It's been well over 48 hours since my last cigarette and I think this might actually take. I'm not quitting cold turkey, like I have before. I'm using an eCigarette to curb nicotine cravings and oral fixations (I giggle EVERY time I type oral). I plan to use the eCig for a month and then quit that as well.

I used to joke that "quitters never win". That's when I was fat. That's when I was kidding myself and making jokes to deflect attention to my double chins. If I can lose all this fucking weight I can do anything. It's mind over body. Cravings will eventually subside and my lungs will happily reward my efforts.

So that's it. I wanted you to know that I'm still alive, I still workout religiously, and I'm still losing weight the slow and hard way (there I go with those damned BJ jokes again). Now I can add years to my life. My hot, sexy, skinny bitch life.

I feel used.

Picture this. I'm at the gym and there are approximately 20-30 elliptical machines to chose from. It's mid morning on a Tuesday so I practically have the entire fucking gym to myself. I chose my machine and start going at it. Then this girl, we'll call her "cupcake" comes in and starts looking around. There are dozens of machines to chose from. She chooses the one right next to me.

At this point I feel as if I should mention I believe there to exist an unspoken agreement amongst most gym goers. It's kind of like when you go to a public restroom and there are 15 open stalls and then someone choses the stall right next to yours. It's just uncalled for, really. Why you gotta be all up in my business?

So there I am sweating away and looking quite attractive as my December indulgences come back to haunt me. Cupcake, it appears, has chosen to work out next to me to make herself look more attractive to the menfolk. It works and a man who I shall call Beefcake comes up and starts chatting with her. For 30 fucking minutes I'm sweating my ass off and grunting and breathing heavy and these assholes are flirting and making a date for the weekend. Really? I needed to witness the mating ritual between Cupcake and Beefcake?

Eventually they walked away and went out into the parking lot to "exchange phone numbers" whatever-the-hell that might be code for. The only logical explanation I can think of though is that Cupcake really wanted to look her best and used me to juxtapose her botoxed perfection.

I'm just going to take this as a compliment, I've decided. I am a fucking aphrodisiac and I sweat sexual pheromones. Clearly, that's what happened.

A Valuable Lesson

It's been a while. But trust me, this gem of a story is worth it.

Some background: I've recently joined a new gym. The gym I've been using at school has become less convenient so I found a local gym with reasonable rates. That said, the only flaw this gym has is its proximity to a large shopping mall, especially now that Christmas time is upon us. More background: it has been raining cats and dogs in San Diego for the last week. Yesterday I found myself in a position where I desperately wanted to go work out, but did not want to drive in the crazy rain, with the even crazier Southern California drivers to the gym during the worst shopping traffic time of the year. Instead, I decided I'd run around the neighborhood for a little while. Rain be damned.

Big. Fucking. Mistake.

I learned something useful yesterday. When you decide to yourself that you are going to run in the pouring rain, and its particularly chilly outside, things are not going to turn out well. After 45 minutes of becoming completely drenched and cold I walked back into the warmth of my apartment. What happened next, I can only assume, is the physical equivalent to putting a sleeping persons hand in warm water. That's right. I involuntarily wet myself. I did not think I had to pee leading up to walking into my apartment, but apparently, the warmth of my livingroom combined with my general cold wetness led to a most humiliating moment. I stood in my doorway in utter shock. I could either laugh or cry. I chose to laugh.

And then I took a shower.