realizations

i have been realizing more and more recently about the not so crazy idea of weight loss. there are so many things that completely freak me out about losing weight... and i know it's normal to have fears and worries. i've just never been completely honest with myself about my own fears before.

maybe six months ago, i started working out with a personal trainer. i had finally reached the point of wanting to try to do something to change my body. to lessen the space i take up in the world. we met twice a week, and worked on a variety of things including weight lifting, cardio, kickboxing, ab work, etc. i allowed myself to burst out crying as i kicked and punched as hard as i could. it was beginning to heal me in ways i never knew possible.

right when i started to actually enjoy working out, i got honest with my trainer (and by then, my friend) about how much my knees were really hurting me. i had to start wearing a brace on my right knee, and a wrap-type-thing on my left knee. i also started working out more... sometimes three times a week, other times skipping an entire week at a time due to scheduling issues/laziness. once i got into the studio each session, however, i enjoyed it. i often had to force myself to show up, but i knew the importance. even if i lost track of the importance on my emotional well-being, i could always feel the importance on my physical health. my body was so pleased with me!

i became unemployed, by choice, a month and a half ago. not going to get into that now. but, i could no longer afford to work out with my trainer. it was such a difficult realization, however, because my trainer was my friend. it was difficult to make that boundary, and still spend time with a friend... whenever i couldn't pay her to train me. i made it work, though, and have gone on the occasional bike ride/walk with her. but... never alone. i still have not been able to get to the point of forcing myself to work out on my own. i was spoiled with the start of my weight loss process including a studio and a trainer - when that ended (or was postponed), i faded fast. being unemployed, i spend far too much time sitting. i embroider, because it pleases my emotional/mental side. i get up to go to the bathroom or make a meal, and realize my right knee hurts. i did ask my doctor about it a couple months ago, and she told me that i need to walk differently. haven't figured out how to do that yet.

i know that i need to change. i've seen the impact that working out can have on my emotional and mental well-being. i've seen and felt what it's like to lose some weight. i am really very good at counting calories, balancing my food intake, and finding healthy options. right now, however, i can't afford the foods i know are good for me. surely there are cheap/healthy options out there somewhere...

my fears come into play with the knowledge that change needs to happen. i know exactly what i'm doing wrong. i'm eating foods that quickly make me feel happy. i'm smoking. i'm not sleeping decent hours. i'm not spending time to prepare meals, and snacking all day instead. i'm not exercising. i make excuses for each of these things to be acceptable. i realize that depression and anxiety are major factors for me, but shouldn't be excuses... just bridges i need to cross. i keep saying that once i get a job, everything will become easier. i doubt my willingness to change will pop up out of nowhere, however. comfort over change. it wins every time for me.

a main fear for me isn't failure, but success. the thought of losing the weight i want to lose, feeling better, and being a different person terrifies me. the idea that people all of a sudden seem to have this green light to compliment your appearance, and tell you how bad you looked before... well it disgusts me. i don't know what i'd do if i succeeded... but i do have goals, both short term and long term.

my hope is that if i hold myself accountable for bad decisions and choices that could seemingly easily be changed, that i will at least start to get back on track. it's possible the steps are going to be damn small, but they'll be there.

update on jamie's bag... again

it's not the best picture, because in real life the lines are straight and not warped. also, there are greys/light browns/white/black in real life.

update on jamie's bag

Just a quick update on some of the bag.

the forgotten (and most attractive) idols

Something was lacking from my previous idol-filled post: Crystal. I hadn't yet had the time to figure out final thoughts on this season... and now that I actually have the time, I don't see much of a point. Yes, I watched and was a loyal Crystal fan from the moment I first saw/heard her. She is fucking gorgeous, with the best voice idol has ever seen. So... when said person doesn't win, I just feel a little less like writing about the season. Although, I will say this: Casey sure was purdy... sometimes I picture what Casey/Crystal babies would look like. I mean come on... you tell me how gorgeous it would be:

Favorite performances from the season: All of the last performance show of Crystal. And, of course, Jealous Guy.

And for more Crystal goodness (and great commentary on the whole season)..... idolatry.

Nothing Matters Anymore: Otherwise Known as American Idol

[The following heart-wrenching and not at all sad or inappropriate piece was written over a year ago. I did no editing for current feelings, including those on Crystal Bowersox and Casey James. Too many gorgeous pictures and tearful performances for me to sort through at the moment. This is for you, Jamie... for dealing with... well, a perfectly healthy obsession.]

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R-E-S-P-E-C-T. And with that, I was hooked. Kelly Clarkson is where it all began for me, and that day in the summer before college began, I fell in love. With a tv show. I fell in love with a t.v. show. And aside from my relationship with my bfff (best fucking friend forever) Jamie, my relationship with American Idol has been the constant I’ve ever so craved for the past eight years.

Over the past eight years, I started and finished four years of college. I had my first kiss, and my first experience with sex – come to think of it, everything that has really happened to me in life has been in the past eight years. I’ve grown up. And, Idol was there for the ride.

Year one: I remember the summer before college, watching Kelly Clarkson perform week after week as I packed up my life and tried to tell myself I was ready for college. I remember visiting a friend at her college before I ever started at mine, and peeking into the lobby window of her dorm to catch a glimpse of that night’s episode I was missing. One of the very first nights in my dorm room, I remember frantically trying to tape the finale as I had to attend get-to-know-you mixers as a freshman class. And of course, I remember Clarkson’s performance of Respect. I was blown away.

Year two: I remember going downstairs in my dorm with my friend Carrie, to another friend’s room to watch the show weekly. We cheered on Jennifer Hudson, and cared so little about Aiken and Studdard.

Year three: I watched with my roommate, and we obsessed about how happy George Huff made us. The rest of the season felt fairly insignificant with what was going on in my life at the time – but damn that George Huff made me smile…

Year four: Looking back on this season, I find it difficult to think of any stand out performances. However, season four marked the start of a miracle in my life: I met Jamie, and she watched with me in my dorm room every single week. I have a feeling she will deny this, but I even remember her cheering on some of the contestants. After the final performance show of the season, I remember watching at my mom’s house. We each voted for Bo as much as we could, and I left half-way through the voting to run to the grocery store for ice cream. I remember us keeping track of our votes on a piece of paper – tally marks against Underwood country.

Year five: Year five marked the start of my obsession. Year five marked the true, and possibly frightening, loss of emotional control on my part. And as soon as it started, there was no stopping it. This obsession started with “Father Figure,” an Ace Young performance that changed me forever. I really wasn’t expecting to fall in love with this guy - but I guess stranger things have happened. I began creating the story in my head - that the beautiful and tender Ace was madly in love with buddy Chris Daughtry, and that even though Chris was married (to a woman), he felt that the affection was fun. The more I thought about it, the more I just knew it was true. Their relationship became all I could think about. I watched videos of their performances over and over again - pausing on group numbrs if it looked like they were going to hug. And damn, those boys hugged a lot! Week after week, I taped the results show so I could go to the local bar with friends. I would usually get home and rewind just a few minutes, so I knew who left before I watched the whole episode. I became more and more worried about Ace each week, and then it happened... Ace was voted off.

I remember that night a little differently than Jamie does. Maybe bcause my world seemed to be falling down around me... Maybe because I was pretty damn drunk. What I remember was this: I drunkenly called Jamie, upset about the show. What Jamie recalls (and reminds me of quite frequently) was nothing less than an emotional breakdown. I’m told that I called her immediately after I rewound and saw that Ace had been voted off. I guess I was pretty distraught, sobbing to her my now infamous line: “NOTHING MATTERS ANYMORE!” She tried to calm me down and to help me think of happy things. She even told me she loved me, to which I again responded that that didn’t matter, that nothing mattered. I still don’t fully believe her, but it does sound like something I’d do. Now it does, at least. I knew at that point in time that I really liked Ace, and didn’t want the Ace/Chris love affair to have to end. What I didn’t know was just how integral a part they were playing in my emotional well-being. It became more and more confusing - why had a lesbian fallen for these guys? Why Ace? Well, he’s beautiful. Plain and simple. No other explanation needed. To this day, some three years later, I still listen to his rendition of “Father Figure” at least once a week. I even bought his recently released album - and forced myself to listen to it all the way through, despite really not liking it. As I listened, I felt embarrassed for him. And me. Plus, it’s sad that he’s still singing to women. What the fuck...

Year six: Not a fan. I thought a few people were decent, but nothing spectacular stood out for me. Blake seemed like a nice guy, but I got really tired really fast of his beat-boxing nonsense. -- Not nearly as tired as I got of the Christian Virgin Princess Ms. Sparks.

Year seven: The inner hippie in me was finally happy with Idol. Jason Castro. Oh honey, Jason Castro. From his audition on, I was in love. I knew instantly that he’d want to be my friend. I just knew it (until after the season was over and I learned about his freaky Christian ordeal). I started watching videos of him singing with friends, pre-idol. He was always just so, so, so cute. And high. Oh lord, the boy always seemed completely high. And I loved that about him. I loved watching him goof off in the group numbers, and I loved his pre-performance interview clips. I loved the dopey looks that never seemed to leave his face, and the responses he came up with for the judges (“I was thinking Bob Marley!”) Week after week, I was eager to watch his awkwardly divine performance. I asked my friends to call in and vote for him. It was... Intense. I remember thinking he wasn’t the best singer by any means (I also really liked David Cook), but that he made me so happy that I just needed him to stay around for a little while longer.

When Jason was voted off the show, I admit I was a little worried how I’d respond. The fact that he seemed to be relieved by the announcement really helped. It was as if he knew it was coming - and although I wasn’t quite ready for it, I had to remind myself that he had forgotten the words to a Bob Dylan song. Minus ten hippie points, Mr. Castro. For shame. But aside from the whole post-Idol Christian awakening ordeal, I still pretty much love him.

Year seven marked the first time I went to the Idol concert - and I fuckin loved it! I really had the time of my life at that show. My boss bought tickets for her partner’s birthday - with the understanding that she would not have to go. We felt a bit out of place at the concert - for we aren’t exactly teeny bopper fans. But despite the fact that we sat really far away, it was an amazing show. She brought little opera binoculars, and I took tons of pictures. I remember saying I had a great time, but probably wouldn’t go to the Idol concert again -- until...

Year eight: Adam fucking Lambert. Dear sweet lord... Yep. As I often say to Jamie, “It’s scary how much I like him. I know this.” From the hip movements to the high notes, I love it all. I don’t know how many lesbians are this obsessed with him, but I’d like to meet them all.

It all started with his audition, and even some of Hollywood week. He wasn’t shown nearly enough, but I knew right away there may be an obsession of Ace and Jason levels beginning. As the season progressed, it started getting dangerous. I started all the familiar actions - looking at articles and pictures online, watching every pre-idol video I could find, and watching back each episode to see how the other contestants responded to him. For me, he became this amazing and hot fantasy creature, who, at the same time, I knew would be my very best friend.

I don’t know what it means for a lesbian to have sex dreams about men, but today when I woke up, I had this strange urge to shower. I then had to remind myself that I was not going to have sex with Adam Lambert that day (as happened in the dream). So, the shower waits a day. What a relief! I don’t understand why the dreams happen, but that doesn’t mean I want them to stop. It’s like my own little private peep show - where my mind controls everything that happens.

After the pictures, videos, articles, and dreams, I find myself still wanting more Adam Lambert. Perhaps he could perform in a really strange (and probably not good) duet with Eddie Vedder - at least it would be hot. I want more, because I tend to convince myself in these circumstances that the other person would be my very best friend if they just got to know me. Isn’t that somewhere in a stalker handbook of some kind? The feeling one gets from liking someone so much whom they’ll never know - well it’s a fun little package of unending hope and tragic awareness.

So, after all the purely hot performances, all the hip thrusting, shoulder shrugging, and subtle glances at the camera, I have a hard time moving forward. I will be attending the concert again this year - with Jamie! She’ll be the one with the headache, in the “I’m really very glad I am here” shirt, taking pictures during the concert - but only of my reactions to what’s going on... To hold over my head forever. Out of love, of course.

It’s obvious by now that my Idol obsession is something I think about often. When I listen to the oldies station on the radio, I usually am reminded of something Idol-related with every other song. The show has been such a solid presence in my life for the past eight years that I’m worried what I’ll do without it. When that day comes, I may just need to take the day off of work - to cry.

In case it wasn’t clear, I love American Idol more than most things and people. It sounds sad, but it’s true. People haven’t really impressed me lately, but Idol never lets me down.

embroidery project

i've taken on a big undertaking in the nerdy, glorious project of embroidering a sayid-themed tote bag for jamie. i'm excited, eager, and worried for it... and hoping it turns out well. i'm going to document the process here, so i can hold myself accountable for making it look decent/fantastic.

here's just the basic outline in pen:

things that make me not scream while being jobless

• coffee with sugar-free french vanilla creamer every morning
• will and grace, the entire series, on dvd
• nbc.com
• candy coated sunflower seeds
• embroidering/patching my old jeans
• the interwebs
• painting my nails... over and over again... one layer on top of the last... forever
• watching my nails grow
• smelling sewer in my house

so... some things make me scream just a little.

It doesn't always go your way.

It doesn’t always go your way.

I wish I had been told when I was far younger that this idea of life... sucks. That there are so many days where getting off the couch feels like more work than solving global warming or figuring out gun control legislation. That the so-called simple things like brushing your teeth, putting on clothes, picking up your keys and walking to your car... that these simple things can and will be a bigger accomplishment than stories heard of hero childbirth or bomb detonation. I wish I had known what this would feel like. I like to think I would have avoided it.

The older I get and the more I learn about mental illness, the more I realize that depression and anxiety are by far their own brand of illness. Granted, similar to illnesses such as schizophrenia or bipolar disorder, depression and anxiety seem to have exact prototypes, expectations, and symptoms. We’re told at the same time, however, that there are always exceptions - always cases and people who break the mold. I’ve grown weary of these expectations of illness if there is such a large number of individualized diagnoses. Everyone’s illness is their own - or at least that’s what I’ve been taught. And yet, we turn to textbooks, diagnoses manuals, and case studies to diagnose the disease. Once you’re labeled, you can be medicated. And once you’re medicated, you can blend in.

Depression and anxiety tend to have a far greater chance of going unnoticed. Symptoms often appear more inward, or at the very least are more socially acceptable. When I am highly symptomatic, I spend time alone. No one knows what I’m doing during that time, and that thought allows me the freedom to just be. Spending time alone, although sometimes frowned upon in our social environment, feels too easy. I’m not hearing voices, and I’m not delusional. Or, if I am, no one is there to notice it. That’s comforting...

I don’t remember ever being diagnosed with depression or anxiety - just medicated. I have been off and on meds for the past seven years. And it’s weird to say that, because no matter how long I spend off of meds before starting up again, I always feel like they’re a normal part of me. As normal as my addiction to the show Dexter, nicotine, caffeine, or cute little garden gnomes, I suppose. So I have adjusted to the fact that life... sucks. I don’t mean that in an over-emotional, pessimistic, we’re all failures type of way. I do see beauty in every day life. But, I was never expecting all the shit. I wasn’t taught about all the fucking shit. The shit was hidden from me - from everyone. Forced to find the shit on our own, and armed with no defense once we found it. I wasn’t surprised when I first went on meds; but rather, relieved that something finally made sense.

The more I make sense of everything that’s happened in my life, the more I hate self-reflection. I don’t think we’re ever really ready for what we find when we look inward. I know I wasn’t. It’s quite the lonely feeling, depression. Not that I expect to be told that once you’re diagnosed with depression, you’re the hit of the party...the party animal ready to stand in the spotlight with all your buddies. Maybe I expected to have more of a community - but that’s the thing I’ve found with depression; that people don’t tend to discuss their symptoms.

I feel I have come to a point in my life where I have two choices: take medication, or don’t. What appears to be a fairly easy decision has caused me a great deal of turmoil in the past seven years. What I’ve found is that the symptoms are often very similar whether off or on medication. How life differs is the duration of symptoms. For example, I am always going to be a person who cries fairly often. While on medication, I cry in short, very intense almost sudden outbursts. While off medication, I cry a little all day long. So life has become a fairly simple choice: how much time can I allow to crying and letting it all out?

For the time being, I often feel content with being on medication. It’s so easy to go back to feelings of giving up hope, being desperate for help, and worries of becoming emotionless, empty, or dull. I feel, however, that being dull is the least of my concerns. Often I’m aware that I’m secluding myself from others, or that when I am around loved ones, may appear “dull.” What concerns me, though, is if I feel that way when I’m all alone. Sitting here alone in my apartment, I feel boring, yes... But also what I describe as simply feeling at home. With everything that has occurred in my life in the past few years, that feeling is what I value the very most. And I’ve come to learn, with all the shit in life, that the only way I can have that “home,” is to create it myself.

could be fun

looking forward to:
AND... .

just felt like that needed to be said. i'm having a springtime of smart, charming, funny men. it was bound to happen at some point.

my nails are clicking on the keyboard as i type this. again... bound to happen at some point.

facebook leftovers

"I'm addicted to these stories. Which is odd, because I don't have an addictive personality." - from karen walker...and me.

"I am amazing. If I ever get up off this couch, I'll be unstoppable." - roseanne

"I'm liberal with a touch of reform and a smidgen of zippity-pow!" - gilmore girls

"I'm not good OR real. I'm evil. And imaginary." - will and grace

"Do I need to be liked? Absolutely not. I like to be liked. I enjoy being liked. I have to be liked. But it's not like this... compulsive need to be liked. Like my need to be praised." - the office

"Daryl Philbin is the most complicated man that I have ever met. I mean, who says exactly what they're thinking? What kind of game is that?" - the office