Friday, March 14, 2014

I am dying to play Scattergories WITH GROWN-UPS.

I am dying to play Scattergories.

It’s fun to play the junior version of the game with kids at after school. It’s not quite as fun as the adult version, because you only do one category at a time, but it’s still a very good time. Playing it with a variety of age groups is also great, because on one side of the table are fifth graders valiantly defending “Games” as a point-worthy entry in the category of “Games” (it’s not), and on another side of the table are first graders quietly insisting that “knight” starts with an “n” (it doesn’t, as I’m sure you know), and there I am fuming because they’re all giving me stage 5 judgy face because they think I MADE UP ‘N Sync (I OBVIOUSLY DIDN’T) to get a point in the male vocalists category and even if I didn’t make it up, it clearly would start with an “I” (it should, but I don’t make the 90s boy band rules).

Like I could ever create something as wonderful as a boy band… I’m not GOD, children.

I love Scattergories so much. Every time it comes up, I think of the time a guy friend of mine insisted that one could save up for a duck (are ducks expensive? is that a thing?), or the time I wrote down my boyfriend’s family name for the category “things with balls” (he is one of three boys). Lately, I find my love for Scattergories leaking into other areas of my life. I bring it up at meetings, in the Costco parking lot, and at the doctor’s office. I even find myself thinking of possible categories for a version of the game developed around my life: Reasons why a camper is crying in the shallow end, Moments in my life when I would have benefited from having Veronica Mars around, Songs from the 90s, Pet peeves, Things found in a pilates class, Things that Pashu the cat is terrified of, Possible explanations for why my car smells funny, etc.

I love my students, I do, but it’s getting progressively more difficult to suppress my competitive Scattergories spirit when playing with them. I constantly find myself wanting to shush them for talking before the hourglass is up, and COULD YOU PLEASE STOP USING THE SAME THING FOR TWO SEPARATE LETTERS IN THE SAME CATEGORY? You can’t DO that okay? GOSH. This is serious stuff, okay? And while technically “poop” and “doodoo” are two different words, they mean the same thing, and should not both be used in the category of “things you don’t want to swim in a pool with.” I don’t know if there is a specific mention of this in the directions, because I’ve never read the directions, because one of my roommates (the one who owns Scattergories) is the smartest person on the planet and can basically RECITE the directions. But even if there isn’t a specific ruling against that, YOU DON’T DO IT. It’s like bringing a Happy Meal to Chili’s. There isn’t a law against it, but you just don’t do it because IT’S NOT OK.

And while I love children, and have dedicated my entire career to them, they have this annoying tendency to think that if they haven’t heard of it, it doesn’t exist. If I were playing with my peers, and I wrote down 98 Degrees for the boy band category, even if none of them had heard of it, they would trust me. Although come to think of it, when I DID use that, I didn’t get the point because one of them HAD heard of the band, and knew that the band name was written in numerals instead of letters (I LOVE RULES). Children, there is a whole world out there, full of bands that were famous before you were born, restaurants, brands, foods, animals, books, places, and TONS OF OTHER STUFF YOU HAVE NEVER HEARD OF. Just because you haven’t heard of it doesn’t mean I made it up. I wouldn’t give YOU stage 5 judgy face if you wrote down something I’d never heard of. But just so you know, peloni is not a special kind of pepperoni found only on pizza in France. I don’t know if you made it up, or if you sincerely believe it, but it’s not a thing. PELONI IS NOT A THING.


I guess what I'm trying to say is, will someone play Scattergories with me? All the time? 

Monday, January 20, 2014

LIFTING WEIGHTS MAKES ME FEEL SO MUCH BETTER

It was really difficult for me to hear that steady state cardio was not going to make me lose weight. I mean, it shouldn't have surprised me. I trained for a marathon and didn't lose a pound. I was overweight for years while running over 30 miles a week, and only when I stopped running 6 times a week and started boxing twice a week did the pounds start to creep off me. But despite all the evidence proving this, I still didn't want to believe it. 

But I stopped running, and started lifting. A lot. Well, Body Pump three times a week a lot. And I shouldn't even say 3 times a week because I'm not even done with the first week, but I know that this time, I'll actually continue lifting, and it'll actually make me stronger and healthier. If not, I'm going to return to this blog and yell at myself repeatedly. 

BUT ANYWAY... I feel better. I love this feeling. Every time I move several muscle groups hurt, but I love it. It's a constant reminder that this week, I GOT OFF MY ASS. And I'm definitely hallucinating, but in these hallucinations, I see that my body has begun changing after 2 weight lifting classes. I swear if I squint I can see muscles that weren't there before.... 4 days ago. And yes, I'm 100% full of shit, but this is one instance where I'm totally buying into the bullshit, because while I may be seeing muscles that aren't there, THEY WILL BE THERE, so I'll keep imagining that they already are. 

I do want to go running, and eventually I will. I also want to run another marathon, and I'm sure I'll do that too at some point. But I'll wait until my clothes fit, and my squat weight is more impressive. And even then... LOTS OF INTERVAL TRAINING. Plus Body Pump. And yoga, barre, HIIT, biking, pilates, and more. Can't I just work out all day? Can't that be my job? Please? 

I'm off to ice my quads. 


Saturday, January 18, 2014

an open letter to the BC boys downstairs

Dear BC Boys,

We need to talk. About the bass coming out of your subwoofer. Now I love bass. I always have. But there is a time and a place for booming bass lines. When you foolishly decide that the time and place is ALWAYS and IN THE SAME HOUSE WHERE I LIVE, you violate the order of things, and ruin the bass line experience for the rest of us. So here are some things you need to know:

1. The songs you're listening to are terrible. All I hear is repetitive, unimaginative garbage. Get some taste. Expand your musical horizons. And for the love of GOD, if you're going to listen to a song on repeat while salivating over how wonderful the bass sounds, PONY BY GINUWINE IS THE ONLY ACCEPTABLE CHOICE.



2. It's currently 12:15 p.m. on a Saturday. Outside it is snowing. Our street, despite being the craziest BC party street in this area, is silent. All the other BC juniors are still sleeping off their hangovers. No one else will be awake until at least 2 p.m. to begin the process of rehydration and scrubbing Sharpie genitalia off their faces. WHAT ARE YOU DOING shaking our house with bass at this hour? Gatorade will rehydrate you. Nail polish remover will rub the Sharpie off your face. You would know these things if you'd spent the night partying like a normal undergrad instead of sitting alone in the living room being proud of the bass coming out of your subwoofer. And while you're at it, buy some blinds or curtains so the whole neighborhood can't see you all the time. It's weird that you wave at me every time I walk inside from parking my car.

3. You're scaring the crap out of my kitten. The wood floors vibrate through her little white paws, and she looks at me like the world is ending and will I please save her. Despite being a cat, not a lot scares my kitten. She's the kind to walk up to a brand new person, snatch an ice cube out of his drink, and proceed to play hockey with it for 10 minutes. DON'T SCARE HER.

4. Do not play anything by Florida Georgia Line. That's strictly girl music, and it's weird when you try to appropriate it into your world.

5. Some of us have jobs. Some of us have class. But all of us have things that we need to do on a semiregular basis that start at specific times, which means we have to go to bed at certain times in order to be conscious. I'm not asking for you to go to bed at 10 pm because my roommate does. I'm just asking you to turn to bass down so she can put on headphones at 10 pm and not still be kept awake BY THE FACT THAT HER BED IS SHAKING FROM YOUR BASS.

6. We've knocked on the door and asked you to turn down the bass, and you've been quite receptive to this (when you can hear us knocking, which is rarely, given the bass). But I think you're missing the point. Your bass should never be up that high. Your stereo should never be up that loudly. It's unnecessary. My roommate has a super nice subwoofer, and when she blasts music, it sounds LOUD and INCREDIBLE, and I can feel the floors vibrating... IN HER ROOM. On the second floor of this house. When I go upstairs to my room on the third floor, I can't hear it or feel it. If I can hear and feel your music from 2 floors away, you have it on so loud that YOU can't even really hear it because the bass is rattling all your dishes and the melody is reduced to a whine at a frequency only some animals can hear. That is completely unnecessary. Who are you trying to impress, playing music so loudly that you yourself can't enjoy it? You're missing the point. We shouldn't have to ask you to turn it down. You should be checking with us before turning it up for the occasional party, because COLLEGE. We went to it. We get it.

7. You're probably going deaf by this point. Get it checked out.

8. You now have the bass on in the house, as well as in your jeep, which is parked in the driveway. Now my ears are melting at the double assault of this unintentional mash-up of epic douche proportions. CUT. THE. SHIT. And watch Pitch Perfect, so you know how to do a mash-up correctly.

I hope this helps educate you on the acceptable way to enjoy bass. You just put on a Guns'n'Roses song, so perhaps all hope is not lost.

XOXO- Your upstairs neighbor

Saturday, January 4, 2014

What Would My Mom Say: Gossip Girl Edition


My mom’s pretty awesome. She’s witty, brilliant, articulate, and able to effortlessly deliver authentic one-liners with perfect comedic timing. Interestingly enough, that sentence describes my father just as accurately (stay tuned for a later blog post, titled, “Daughter of mine, your skirts are too short: a collection of one-liners where comedy meets overprotective father”).

But back to my mother. We’re super close, and we talk constantly, but even when I’m not with her, I find myself thinking of how she would comment on a given situation. Halfway through an episode of CSI: Miami, when Calleigh Duquesne steps onto a crime scene, before I can stop myself, I’ve blurted out, “What is she wearing? They’re in a salt marsh and she’s wearing a white pantsuit? And is that decolletage really necessary? You’re examining a dead body for gunshot residue. What’s with the breasts on display?” (See examples below).



Frantic, I clap my hand over my mouth and sneakily side-eye everyone in the room. Did anyone else notice that my mother’s words just came out of my mouth?

Someone usually says, “Why are you looking at me funny?” because my side-eye is not sneaky or subtle at all, despite my efforts. Then I explain that I was wondering if they noticed that I just channeled my mother so eerily, hence the awkward side-eye, and of course no one cares because my mother and I speak and gesture identically, use the same voice, and say many of the same things, so there’s not really much of a difference between us, and everyone here knows my mom and loves her anyway so it isn’t weird that I’m channeling her, until I make it weird by explaining it in excessive detail when no one would have noticed in the first place because the only person who knows I’m channeling my mom is me because I’m inside my head and I know that I 100% don’t care what color suit Callie wears or if her tatas are hanging out of it. Then I make things worse by writing about this experience using a Law&Order SVU-style heinous run-on sentence so now when my mother DOES read this blog, she’ll call me, and judge me for my terrible sentence structure.

Looking forward to hearing from you Mama!

Long story long, I sometimes hear my mom’s hypothetical commentary at the most random of moments. I am currently binge-watching Gossip Girl (season 3 NO SPOILERS), and the following is a synopsis, then a list of things I think my mom would have said had she been watching this episode with me.

Season 3, Episode 15: The 16-year-old Virgin

My synopsis: 

Vanessa and Dan try to navigate the murky “best friends who slept together” waters with about as much success as any of us had in that same ocean in high school/college. Jenny contemplates losing her virginity to a drug dealer, and Serena, Rufus, Lily, Blair, and Nate conspire to show her that he’s a bad guy and to stay away from him. Lily and Rufus deal with relationship stuff that no one cares about because they’re old. Chuck’s mom resurfaces from the grave, bringing with her his abandonment issues and Blair waxes sad poetic that he’s not confiding in her. Serena tells everyone she was a slut at age 16, and is surprised when no one says, “No you weren’t.” Female employees accuse Chuck of sexual harassment, and clearly it’s unfounded because it’s not harassment if it’s CHUCK BASS because everyone wants a piece of that. Everyone. Man. Woman. Chimpanzee. Chuck Bass love knows no bounds. There is a party for some reason. Everyone awkwardly congregates in Brooklyn. Greek food. Couture. Picket lines. Smoldering Chuck Bass stares. THE END.




What Would My Mom Say? 

It's a weeknight. Don't they have homework? 

Don’t they go to school? They show the dorm room, but couldn’t they at least have them leaving a lecture hall once an episode? Is it that difficult to allude to learning taking place?

So all of these characters have dated each other? How many times? Don’t they know anyone else? Was high school/college like that for you honey?
*Answer: Yes.

Look at that cropped coat Serena’s wearing. Why won’t you wear anything like that?
*Answer: Because I have no torso or waist. Duh.

It’s nice to see some women with smaller chests on television.

LOOK AT THAT FLOWER ARRANGEMENT. FLAWLESS.

Look at that flower arrangement. HEINOUS.

Are any of the characters Jewish?

That’s funny. The Humphreys are supposed to be the ones without money, but that Brooklyn loft costs a fortune.

See honey? Their skirts aren’t all short. Learn from them. Please.

After Blair says, “Serena you haven’t eaten bread since middle school!”
FINALLY! Reality! I’m tired of all these shows portraying these skinny minnie women eating deep fried carbs all the time.

Everyone is wearing too much makeup. Absolutely everyone. Awful.

That coat is to die for. To. Die. For. I think it's Burberry.


Chuck Bass is definitely more attractive than Nate Archibald. Nate’s so girly. He has petite features. Kind of like every man you ever dated from age 14-20. Why did you pick all of these girly men? Thank goodness you’ve moved on from that phase.

A dorm-sponsored party for freshmen would never allow alcohol and would never be that nice.
*She’s 100% correct on this one.

DO THEY EVER GO TO CLASS? EVER? EVEN ONCE?

What does Serena.. do.. exactly? Other than being a yienta (Yiddish for busybody).

Honey, you’re prettier than any of these women. And I’m not just saying that because I’m your mother.
*False, but I’ll take it.

I’ll be right back.  

Twenty minutes later, I’d find her in another room of the house, having started a completely different activity because she couldn’t sit still through 40 minutes of a teen drama from 2010. Fact.

SO there you have it. What do you think? Have you ever thought about how YOUR mother (or father) would comment on one of your beloved TV shows?




Saturday, September 28, 2013

Spicy Vegetarian Pho Recipe

I love Pho. I do. As a child, my mom used to bring me to an occasional lecture at University of Texas at Dallas (she taught grad school marketing) and on the way home we’d always go to Pho Huy. Even then, I was a picky eater, and she’d give them Meg Ryan in When Harry Met Sally-esque directions to the waiters so they’d make something I would eat. Eventually, they memorized it. Eventually, vegetarian pho became a thing. 

This recipe takes awhile to make. Sorry. I’m going to be up front about this. If you want something that is quick, easy, healthy and tasty, look elsewhere. This takes time. And it’s one of those recipes that actually gets shittier if you don’t take your time, because the flavors don’t set into the broth enough.

This recipe is different from many pho recipes I've found for a few reasons. I use more garlic, onions and ginger. I also add the peppers, which gives is a kick. I also cook the vegetables in the soup on the stove, which I suppose you could avoid by blanching them beforehand, but I already use two pots, and I didn't feel like using another. However, if you do blanche them, cut out step 2 and add all that into step 3. 

Ingredients:

FOR STEP 1: the broth

½ of a large onion (any kind will do).
8 garlic cloves, halved
several slices of ginger (just hack away at a frozen piece of it with a knife. Whatever you can slice off in 30 seconds will be enough)
1 cinnamon stick
2 pods of star anice
6 cloves
1 poblano pepper, cut into chunks
1 jalapeno pepper, de-seeded, cut into chunks.
soy sauce (a couple tablespoons will do)
32 oz of vegetable stock (I use two boxes from Whole Foods. Sometimes I switch brands and the amount of ounces changes. It’s not a huge deal).

Sidenote: Use gloves when dealing with the jalapeno. I wish my mom had told me that sooner, before I couldn’t take out my contacts for 2 days because my hands still stung my eyes.

FOR STEP 2: COOKING inside the soup:

protein
8 ounces of tofu, sliced thinly and pan-fried in as little oil as possible
OR
1.5 cups edamame

vegetables: choose up to 3 cups of the following, in any combination:
onion, sliced thin
snow peas
broccoli, sliced thin
carrots, sliced thin
zucchini, sliced thin
yellow squash, sliced thin

FOR STEP 3, TO BE ADDED TO SOUP AFTER IT’S COOKED:

hoisin sauce
limes, sliced into wedges
sririacha chili paste
beans sprouts
cilantro or basil

Directions:

STEP 1: 

1.     Put onion, garlic, ginger, cinnamon, star anise, cloves, poblano and jalapeno in a big pot. Spray the bottom with a tiny bit of olive oil spray (so cleaning this pan isn’t a stage 5 nightmare), but for the most part, dry roast them on high heat until they start to char. Stir frequently. Be prepared. You will cough. Your eyes will tear. This happens when onion, jalapeno, and poblano have an orgy at high heat on your stove. Your roommates may yell at you, or pretend they spontaneously came down with a chest cold to explain their sudden coughing. Let them get away with it. They’ll probably enjoy the soup later.
 
2.     When you can’t take it anymore/the veggies are charred, add the broth and soy sauce and bring to a boil again. Once it’s boiling, turn it down and let it simmer for 25 minutes. I recommend watching an episode of New Girl on Netflix, because it’s the perfect amount of time.

3.     If you’re using tofu, now is a good time to pan fry it. You can do this with regular tofu, tofu you’ve pressed for 24 hours, or tofu you’ve pressed in a half-assed way by wrapping it in cloth and stacking your knife block on top of it for an hour. Slice it. Spray the pan. Go nuts until it turns a nice, golden color and gets crispy on the outsides. Then slice it into tiny strips and place it aside.

4.     Taste it. If you feel like the flavors haven’t sunk into the broth enough, let it simmer for longer. If it’s too spicy, add more broth and let it go for another 10 minutes. Your call.

5.     Put a strainer over another pot and pour the soup into it. You’re done with all those mushy vegetables, but I recommend eating some of the onions if you’re hungry/impatient.

STEP 2:

6.     Put the strained soup back onto the stove. Turn the heat on low. Toss in all the ingredients for step 2: whatever vegetables you’re using and your choice of protein. Let simmer for 10 minutes or so, depending on how much you want the vegetables to cook. The purpose is to let the flavorful broth cook the vegetables.

Sidenote
: When I get Pho in a Vietnamese restaurant, they don’t do this. They just give you the veggies, which appear lightly cooked if cooked at all, and then when I put them in the soup they magically cook. Somehow, when I do it this way at home, the veggies are way too crunchy and it’s weird. My preference is to cook them for awhile, just to let them soften slightly. They won’t be as soft as the veggies you used to flavor the soup.

STEP 3:

7.     Add cilantro or basil (not both, just pick one), sprouts, and thin noodles if you want to. I didn’t really include them in this recipe because I’m very carb sensitive, but if you want to, cook them while the soup is simmering during step 2, drain, and toss them in now. Use anything but regular noodles… rice noodles, buckwheat noodles, pad thai noodles, whatever. Regular noodles might work if you get angel hair actually.. But once I used spaghetti and it was extremely awkward.

8.     Squeeze at least one lime’s worth of juice in there. If you want, toss a tablespoon of hoisin sauce. I included the sriracha because you get it with pho at restaurants, but I find I don’t need the spice since I use the jalapeno and poblano to flavor the broth. Your call.

9.     Let it cool, then dig in.


Final Sidenote: You can adapt this recipe in so many ways. I just made it with zucchini, edamame, and onions as vegetables because I literally had nothing else on hand. I also couldn’t find my star anise, and I was out of hoisin sauce (though at this point I should just start buying it from Costco). I also didn’t have bean sprouts, because those require forethought and I thought of this soup when I was already in pajamas (at 5 p.m. don’t judge) and wasn’t about to dig out my car keys. I missed them, but otherwise it was fine.

PICTURES TO COME! My phone is acting weird. :( 



Wednesday, September 18, 2013

No such thing as sin: A Yom Kippur Ramble

Yom Kippur is one of my favorite holidays because I believe in reflection. Any holiday that demands we stop our busy lives and think about the past year - where we went right, wrong, and everywhere in between - gets an A in this teacher's book. As a teacher, I've always worked it into my curriculum. Thinking about choices, whether they are our own or those of the characters we are studying, has always been one of my top priorities. Personally, it's sometimes tough to hold myself to the same expectation because I'm always willing to put myself on the back burner, as I think most teachers are. But regardless of how insane life gets, Yom Kippur forces me to press pause and really, honestly, reflect. 

This past Yom Kippur, as I sat in Friday night services with my father, I had a lot to reflect about. I hate my body, I feel simultaneously overjoyed and horrified that I'm in between full-time teaching jobs, I'm worried about money, I'm not sure I can sit still for the entire service and I wish I were still in 7th grade so it was appropriate for me to take a 20-minute bathroom break to apply flavored lip gloss, did I turn the oven off, etc. I wondered where we go when we die, what my kitten thinks about all day, when I'd have kids. I tried sitting with perfect pilates posture, and lasted about 10 minutes. I should catch up on Grey's Anatomy, write more, eat less, run more, drink less, and in the middle of this I tune back in to hear the Rabbi say:

There is no hebrew word for sin. The closest translation in English is "missing the target." 


The Hebrew word "hatat," however, has a clear concrete meaning to go with its abstract one. In the Book of Judges we read about a band of sharpshooters, so trained and talented that every one of them can sling a stone at a hair and not miss (Judges 20:16). The word in this verse that means "miss," yehetu in Hebrew, clearly has the same root as "hatat." "Sin," in Hebrew, means something like "missing the target."--From this site


MIND BLOWN.

I didn't MESS UP HORRIBLY.
I just missed the target. 
I didn’t RUIN EVERYTHING.
I just missed the target.
I’m not a TERRIBLE PERSON who deserves punishment/needs absolution.
I JUST NEED TO WORK ON MY AIM.

And that’s a lot easier to process than my usual I’M A TERRIBLE PERSON I CAN’T BELIEVE I F-ED UP YET AGAIN I’LL NEVER GET IT RIGHT I SUCK AT EVERYTHING thought spiral.

Thinking about it as missing the target means even as I was doing things I would later regret, I still had that target in mind. It also means that I was standing on the same field as the archery target that had my goals on it, even if I had terrible aim. Maybe I was running in the opposite direction with my bow and arrow. Maybe I was shooting blind. But at least I was in the same general area as the goal. At least I had it in mind. At least I was on the same field.

If sin is 100% wrong, and there is no Hebrew word for it, then nothing I did this past year was 100% wrong. That means every mistake had a purpose and every regret had a reason. Those mistakes and regrets are mine alone, and I’m not trying to avoid taking responsibility for them. But this makes them seem a lot less futile. It gives my mess-ups a purpose, even if that purpose is me realizing how crappy my aim is as I survey a field full of arrows and an empty target (have I killed the metaphor yet? Probably).

So Shana Tova. Regardless of what religion you are a part of, if you are a part of one at all, I hope you take some time to think about how things have been going for you and reflect. Remember, we all miss the target sometimes. Have a good year, and work on your aim.

I'D LOVE YOUR THOUGHTS ON: 
In the last year (or so), which targets did you make? Which ones did you miss? 


Wednesday, July 3, 2013

BODY DYSMORPHIA: I'M MESSED UP. Are you? Let's discuss.


I just read this beautiful, haunting, honest, and hilarious piece by a writer who recovered from anorexia. It came in the middle of an internet rabbit hole I fell into, one of the negative-body-image-fierce-lady-writer variety.  As usual, I emerge from the reading binge, bleary-eyed in my underwear, wondering what it all means for me: as a writer, a woman, a daughter, a friend, a teacher of adolescents, and a lifelong disordered eater.

Confession time: My weight never dipped below 100 pounds. 

Here's the thing: not all anorexics and bulimics are thin. Many of us look quite normal. At my smallest, I looked a bit bony, arms and legs dangling off a normal-looking, even slightly soft midsection. Both times... At 16, eating 300 calories a day, downing half a dozen horse-sized diet pills, and running track... At 26, eating 890 calories a day, working out endlessly and never leaving the house... I looked good. 

I was never hospitalized. I came close once, after going four days without eating and passing out during a final exam, but never quite made it there (thankfully). 

No one ever staged an intervention. There were no doctors, nurses, treatment centers, support groups, or anything of the sort. Only crash diets, gym memberships, vomiting halfway through a 10 mile run on an empty stretch of highway, and years of feeling unhappy and uncomfortable in my own skin. 

At my thinnest in recent years, I was 127 pounds, and looking back I'd sacrifice a few relatives to get back to that weight, but at the time I felt pudgy. I remember vividly how, even with so little fat on me, when I laid down to tan in my bikini the skin on my hips fell out of my bikini at an unattractive angle. It's gotten to the point where I don't know what I look like at all. I can't tell. Nothing fits. My body appears stretched out, loose, misshapen, and weird. My face looks good, not fat like before when I was crash dieting, but my body... I guess you can only bounce back from so much. 

I go through positive phases. I'll see myself naked in a mirror, lift my arms above my head, and think, "You know what? I'm actually pretty hot." Looking at my stretch marks, I'll think, "Damn... those are awesome stretch marks. They're badges of honor, battle scars to be worn with pride... They are marks of survival, not failure..." 

Then I remember that nothing fits, and I want to cry again, I want to give up, I want to crack down and get back in shape I can be proud of, I want to lie down and do nothing at all... 

AND IT'S JUST A BODY. Before you even think about saying it, realize that I've said it to myself a million times, and I'm saying it right now as I write this: What the hell is wrong with me? Why do I let this take over? Am I that vain and self-absorbed? Is there nothing else that matters to me? What does it say about me that I'm so obsessed with how messed up my relationship with my body is? I hate it. I hate it. I wish I could stop it. Part of me hates you for judging me, but part of me is right there with you, making a face at myself. 

I don't know what to do next. The whole thing makes me extremely uncomfortable. But I have to find some meaning in all of this madness, or else what will it have all been for? There's no way I can just wake up one day and not agonize over my body, right? That ship sailed in elementary school. I was never going to be normal. Maybe I should set my standards lower and learn to cope. 

CONFESSION TIME: I hate myself. Not who I am, but my physical self. I think it has always been this way, and the periods in my life when I thought I was coping were actually denial. I don't know if I know how to NOT hate myself. 

RELEVANT EXAMPLE: My legs look great still, but all I see when I look at them is how much nicer they would be if I hadn't tortured them with years of yo-yo dieting. All I see when I look at them is the fact that they don't fit into my pants and I refuse to buy new ones because new ones are failure. All I see when I look at them is that they are 3.5 inches greater in circumference than they were 1 year ago and I HATE that I know that, I HATE that I have the measurements of my thighs logged from this week last year. I HATE THAT I'M THE KIND OF PERSON WHO MEASURES MY THIGHS, LET ALONE WRITES THOSE MEASUREMENTS DOWN WITH DATES. 

Part of the problem is the fact that I'm afraid to talk about it. I feel self-absorbed, selfish, superficial, obnoxious, and like a total jerk because there are people everywhere that have real problems bigger than being 20 pounds heavier than they should be and not feeling confident naked. People everywhere yo-yo diet, cry in fitting rooms, and count calories, and we shouldn't talk about it because people are in real pain out there and every time we talk about our self-indulgent self-proclaimed self-hate, we're marginalizing the real problems and wasting time that might otherwise be spent solving them, or making our lives better and more fulfilling so we aren't self-indulgent assholes who worry about ourselves all the time. 

Today I'm going to take a stand in the opposite direction: I am genuinely unhappy in my own skin. Regardless of what that says about me as a person, it's the truth, and it's awful. I know the vast majority of the problems in this world are far worse, and that millions of people would love to have this be the worst problem they deal with. But to me this is a big problem, and for myself, I won't let it be marginalized. 

I'm hoping that if more of us talk about disordered eating and unhealthy body image, we'll start to feel better. It doesn't need to be sensational to hurt. Every time I walk down the street behind a thinner woman and find myself searching for a physical flaw on her, just one thing I can claim to "beat" her at, it hurts. She's probably a lovely girl who has important things that matter and she's not preoccupied with the fact that maybe her legs could be slightly more muscular because she's a good person who has better more meaningful things to fill her time with. She doesn't deserve my critique, silent or not. Every time I think back to this mythical time when I was thin with despair -- which is even stupider because I know that at that time I was just as unhappy as I was now, despite being much lighter and fitter -- it hurts. Every time I see someone eat just one portion of something indulgent and I remember gorging myself on Doritos in second grade because even then I couldn't moderate ANYTHING -- it hurts. It hurts to realize you've spent your whole life failing at something. It hurts to admit all of this. It may not be poverty, hunger or abuse, but it hurts, and it's real, and you can judge me all you want for writing about it in such excessive detail, but I need to do something. 

I have battled eating disorders, body dysmorphia, negative body image for most of my life and it feels as if it's eating me alive. I need help. And I'm going to talk about it. 

What about you?