LET ME SEE THAT THO-O-O-O-O-ONG!!

I am really, very, extremely confused and concerned.

I would like to know how (and WHY) women would wear underwear (I can't possibly call them p-----s, ugh, foul word) under their yoga shorts.

Because they like to feel not one, but two layers of sweaty cotton wedged between their, um, cheeks? (And why cotton? WHY???!?)

Because they think it will hide their cellulite? (It doesn't. It does add a nice layer of padding, though.)

Because they think it will hide the fact that they need to shave/nair/wax/laser? (Again, no. Take care of that. Or wear shorts that COVER IT.)

Because someone taught them that not wearing underwear might possibly be something...dirty? (On behalf of commando girls, I beg to differ.)

Maybe they just don't know better.

And I am here to set them straight.

I see you back there, in the back row, trying to discreetly pull the wedgie out while the teacher looks the other way. I see you, the uncomfortable look on your face, as the waistband from your underwear creeps out above the waistband of your shorts, right before the teacher gives the "no picking no wiping no scratching" lecture and looks right in your direction. I see you, and you can't concentrate on your asanas because you, my friends, are concentrating too much on what is creeping up your ass.

I particularly want to shake some sense into those of you who wear granny pants under your yoga shorts. They bunch up. They look bad. They can't be comfortable in any way, and when you get a wedgie, my dears, I can't imagine how incredibly disgusting sweat-soaked cotton feels in that position. Oh, no. Not to mention the fact that you aren't old enough to be my granny, or even my mother. Ugh, just ugh.

And the thong. What is the point? You are wearing what amounts to a boy-cut swimsuit bottom. Do you wear a thong to the pool, under your swimsuit? (Oh my god, do you???) Are you trying to revive the visible thong trend, in Bikram yoga class? Surely it might feel better to put on a nice clean pair of yoga shorts, sans underwear, than throw those lycra babies on over the pair you have been wearing all day.

Whatever your reasons, please reconsider. It is hard enough for me not to pull my yoga shorts wedgie; it is painful for me to have to watch you deal with you and your underwear.

...she had dumps like a truck, truck, truck...

(I confess, I have NO IDEA what the hell the "Thong Song" even means, and yes, I did have to google the lyrics. Stupid, stupid song.)

NEW THINGS COMING SOON

I can't promise it will be this week, and I can't promise I will do everything every week, but I am adding some regular features to give this blog a point:

Unsent Letter Thursdays: A letter to anybody or anything that I can't, won't, or just didn't send.

Sunday Confession: You know how you think everyone else is normal? They aren't. Read why I'm not right here, and be challenged to comment with your own confessions.

Crap Jobs Tuesday: Hooray! The worst of the worst help-wanted ads.

Random Recipes: Inserted on random days, some fun and tasty raw-food recipes. (You don't have to be a total raw-foodist like me to enjoy them.) Maybe when I get more time (and money) I will make some really fun things, like raw cupcakes!!!

IF NOT FOR NOVELISTS...

...I would feel like a complete loser (as opposed to, say, a nearly-complete loser.)

There is a bit of backstory due here. Very recently, I was coerced into joining Facebook. (I say coerced like someone pulled my hair and twisted my arm, but really, I found out my junior high friends were all on it, and I had missed a get-together, so I joined.)
And yes. There, in all their glory, was my eighth-grade class of 1993. Careers! Kids! Travel! Oh, my!
And then there is me. Somehow, "went to college, moved out-of-state, went back to college, got sick, worked some crap jobs, went back to college again and finally got a degree, got married, got really sick, and then got another crap job" does not sound like something I would want to tell my old friends. Neither does "I work in retail." Or, "I shopped away my savings, and now I am trying to figure out how to learn something that evil HR harridans consider important or else go to yoga teacher training...BUT I HAVE A GREAT WARDROBE DAMMIT!!!"
Yeah. None of that. So while my old classmates have families (I'm not jealous...I have decided to remain child-free...but still) real careers, full passports, and great homes, I have...well...a part-time job that allows me to sit and blog. (Not really. Interesting, though, how years ago, all anybody wanted was a job that allowed ample time to read, write, call your friends...hmm, I guess that is "growing up.")
I'm not discounting what I do have. It's just that, when you are a "class brain" and you are 13 years old, the world seems wide open. 15 years later, you realize that somehow, life happened, and you have been passed on the career/life highway by everyone else, no matter if they got straight A's or sat in the back and scribbled all day (I'm not saying anyone did this. I'm making a point.)
So. Facebook. Old friends. Feeling of complete and utter loser-dom, with no way out.
And then I realized, I never really feel like a loser when reading novels penned by 20- or 30-somethings...novels that tell stories about people just like me...too much education, not enough time or money, too much "stuff" that got in the way. How do these writers know exactly what I am going through?

Oh. Yeah. That explains it. They must have had somewhat similar experiences.

Which is why I am back to thinking that maybe I should just be a writer after all. (Supplemented, of course, by something else. At least until I can go to yoga teacher training. Then, I will stay away from stores and restaurants and offices.)

I WOULDN'T STAY WITH A MAN WHO TREATED ME LIKE CRAP...

...so why are we expected to take crap from people we work with?
I am not talking about clients or customers...I could deal with complaints all day. Because while there will always be people who will never be happy, usually I can at least resolve the problem.
I'm talking about dealing with people I actually have to work with, every day. Maybe I just can't stand it because I'm not doing what I really want to be doing. Which is another problem altogether. I said I would give myself until the beginning of next year to just decide what it is that I want to do. However, I am not going to sit around on my butt being unhappy until then. I have a few ideas so far, but my problem is actually making the decision, and being happy with it (says the girl with about 6 majors in college).
Even when I was finishing my degree, I considered paralegal work. Actually, I considered law school, but knew that with loans and other things, that would not happen, at least not immediately. So I thought about being a paralegal. When I worked insurance claims, I did a lot of the things that a paralegal does, even though that went way above and beyond my job description (what I was paid for, etc). I often wonder why I quit, but then I remember: I tend to be impatient. If after 18 months, I don't even get a real review (other than a review of my "team"), any kind of recognition for what I do (besides from one person), or even a simple "thank you" once in a while, I get discouraged. I know I jumped the gun, but something about saving someone else's ass every week while they got paid twice as much as me made me very angry. Oh well. It was good experience, and I actually liked the work itself...just maybe not the "team" (essentially led by me) that took credit for everything and did...very little. So yeah. Paralegal work. I know I could do it, would like doing it for the right firm, and would be proud to say "paralegal" if anyone asked what I did. It could even lead to bigger things...people go to law school in their 30's...right? However...it is desk work, a lot of indoor work, basic paper-pushing sometimes...and I always wanted to try to avoid that. Well. It's still in the mix for a possibility. I am preparing my resume to send to quite a few firms. It can't hurt to try.
And then there is teaching yoga. I know I should have spent all the damn money I spent this past year going to teacher training, but I never would have made it. I would still be scared, if I got a chance to go in the future, that I wouldn't make it. Autoimmune diseases are no joke. It might sound pretty harmless on webmd.com or whatever, but they really simplify everything. Really. Now, I know that many, many yoga teachers have other jobs. Which is fine. I have always wanted to bartend...maybe not in 20 years...and the smoking thing would make it harder to find a job (I quit smoking 2 years ago, and don't ever want to work where smoking is allowed). There is nothing wrong with waitressing(well, besides that I hate touching food). My grandma raised four of her daughters waitressing. That kicks ass. Back to yoga...I have seriously considered selling all the rest of my stuff (all those expensive purses and shoes I "needed") to try to go to teacher training. Like, next year. Because I would have to get a lot of other shit in order first. Teach some yoga, write a little, tend bar or check coats or whatever. First up: confidence. Need it for both. No way will I apply to work in a club feeling/looking like I do now. Same with yoga. Half naked, sweaty, and teaching? Yeah, gotta work on things first. .
Thus ends my ramble..just throwing some ideas out there...

THINGS I LIKE/LOVE...AND THINGS I DON'T LIKE

THINGS I LIKE/LOVE:

1. Yoga.
2. Fashion. (okay. I do "love fashion" especially in terms of self-expression. However, this is definitely an Alice-down-the-tunnel thing for me. I tend to shy away from self-expression if I see someone more successful, more happy, more fill-in-the-blank than myself. I immediately decide that I must imitate their style, in order to fill my emptiness. Fashion, then, is a dangerous area for me, and I should probably just stick to exploring it on my own time rather than using it as a way to explore careers and make contacts. )
3. Reading.
4. Writing.
5. Nutrition--specifically holistic nutrition and raw foods (again, though...the "fanatic factor" and recent market-ization of raw foods pisses me off, and if I think about it too much, I tend to feel like my head will explode.)
6. Fitness
7. Dogs
8. Natural grocery stores (I could spend hours in one. Every single day.)
9. School/college.
10. Oh, no. I am sure I will think of a lot more. My sort-of-bad mood could be contributing to this pathetically short list.

THINGS I DON'T LIKE...

1. Working FOR somebody. I never do well if I am not in charge, or at least working WITH somebody. If I have no real responsibility, don't expect me to perform as if I am doing something of utmost importance.
2. Touching people, for the most part. Many people are fine for touching, they pass the personal space test. But the reason I discontinued cosmetology/esthetician school, and nixed the idea of massage school, is that I will never be comfortable touching 100% of people, and in that line of work, you can't pass up even one person for that reason. There is no real criteria that decides whether someone is touch/don't touch. Maybe I am just weird.
3. Food. My husband is awesome at restaurant work. I can't/won't eat most things, and therefore can't/won't work around it. "Nope, sorry, can't tell you how the pasta is, I have Celiac disease..." Er. Won't. Fly.
4. Selling. Trust me, I know that businesses would die if nobody could sell, but if I am hired to be a personal trainer, I want to be a personal trainer. Not the person that has to pull out a script and a sales book and tell people that I can help them if they commit to $1500 (about a tenth of which I will ever personally see) all while wearing a fake smile and a stupid navy blue polo shirt that is stiff with starch and 11 sizes too large. No. Thanks.
5. Being judged all day. Reason number 2 that I would not be the best hairstylist. 19 clients could sing my praise, but the one that seemed unhappy would throw my day off track. I realize that I can't possibly make everyone happy and I just need to get over it, but that one negative judgment would make me mess up the rest of the day. This is a pattern in my life. I need to either get over this (which seems unlikely) or find a career that would minimize this kind of situation.
6. Being cold and/or doing things that cause physical harm. I understand the need to save money and energy, but if a place is cold enough to make my nose run all day long, there's a problem.
7. Having to dress up, yet dealing with things that ruin what you are wearing. Enough said.
8. Sitting. All. Day.
9. Making phone calls. You know how I suck at dealing with people who insult me or my work? It gets much worse if it is on the phone. I will never do telesales. I will become a topless dancer first.
10. The fact that this list basically says "I HATE WORKING!!!!" and really says nothing about general paths I should avoid. Damn. Does this mean I am destined to be a lazy loser who does nothing?
Eh. No. I know that I am not the only person out there who feels like I do...and I know that the ones who are ambitious and creative are successful. All it takes is a little time and creativity...right?


p.s. I know people out there will start ranting about how I need to "get my foot in the door" and "stop complaining and pay my dues." And to that I say this: I have worked at just about every job imaginable. I have tried to climb a corporate ladder, by basically doing monkey's work and following the "career path" outlined on their website for godsakes, going back to school under their direction and taking company sponsored classes that would make prison seem fun. Doing this, I have not made any great contacts, paid any "dues", gotten any great experience, or even made a move upwards. Sure, there is a lot to say about just "having a job and being able to pay your bills," but for anyone to say that that simple fact should make me content and complete is just facile and demeaning.

NEW DIRECTION

When I was younger, I thought that I whole-heartedly believed in that whole "No matter what you do, be it saving orphans or flipping burgers, be the best at it, and you will be happy."
Wait, you say. You thought you whole-heartedly believed that? Can you be any more flimsy?
Er, no. Probably not. And I have recently vocalized (to myself, at least) exactly why I have been such a jellyfish.
I can't really blame anyone else. I should have seen it coming. I was a precocious child, kicked everyone's ass when it came to grades, passed for 5 years younger until I opened my mouth. (My dad was always saying to me, "Keep your mouth shut and you can order off the children's menu.") However, I also trusted others' authority 100%. (Until later. Trust me, that is a disaster best saved for another story.) Sure, those of you who know me now know that I question "experts" all the time, especially those who like to tell me what is "best" for me. Growing up, though, I thought that my family was just like the perfect television family (until my parents split when I was nine years old, I was practically the only kid I knew with two biological parents, still married, at home) and that what they told me was 100% accurate. It may have been. But if you know even basic facts about psychology, you know that kids often learn more from observing than direct instruction. And somehow, I learned that making people happy would ensure that they liked me and therefore make me happy, no matter what I had to do to earn that. So through years of high school, college, my early 20's...that is what I did. When I felt like just being me wasn't good enough, I tried very hard to be "different" (you know, that elusive "different" that is really just another misguided youth trying to one-up her friends to "win" for the week, or the night, or eventually, forever. So hooray, now I have an ugly tattoo on my back, among other things.) Not once did I stop to wonder if everything I was doing really made me happy. And this continued, for years and years, until a guy (I will be nice and not say "an asshole." Oops.) I was dating broke up with me and I spent about two weeks in bed. I finally realized that I was nothing but a dying fish, flopping aimlessly, trying to hold on and let go at the same time, able to see the much-needed ocean but just unable to reach it. So I moved on. I did a lot of things that got me the eye-rolls, the lectures (still from my mother, and in trying to figure out why, I am sure it has to do with her own mental state, but forgive me if I have more to do now than analyze her actions), the sighs. I went back to school, supposedly to teach, but changed my mind in the end. Did I really, honestly think I would get a great job with my degree? Probably not. I should have gone back for Nutrition and Dietetics, but someone talked me out of that (see? jellyfish) and I ended up studying literature and writing for those 2 years. I figured I would be able to do that elusive "something" with my degree, but the truth was, I just really like going to school. I wish I could have a penny from each person who complained about it. I could be a student for life with that money.
Back to the point. Here I am, nearly 30 years old, and lost. I know only a few things for sure: one, I am unhappy and two, I am not meant to be where I am. So I am trying to make three lists: things I like/love, things I can do well, and things I want to learn more about.
I know many people out there advocate specialization (you know, don't spread yourself too thin...to which I usually stick out my tongue) and that's all well and good. Maybe I resist the idea of sticking to one thing because so far, I feel like the only thing I have been able to specialize in, is being a jellyfish (spineless, yet stinging). And that is just about the last thing I want to specialize in, above only a few things, such as flipping burgers (no offense, but I'm vegetarian) and allopathic medicine. Yikes.

THINGS I DIDN'T BUY-THIS PICKUP LINE

Okay, I know I'm supposed to be talking about actual things that I actually didn't spend money on, but this was too good to keep to myself.

First, I need to explain the state of myself right now. Out of shape, hair about 3 MONTHS overdue and therefore very rat-brown, red eyes from constantly being around cat hair in the store.
And today. Gym hair, due to me choosing the gym over a blow-out. Bad make-up, due to almost being late for work. Split lip and red spots on face, due to dropping a bag of cat food on my face yesterday (don't ask). Hole in sweater, thanks to job hazards. Gross, too-big, old pants from Forever 21, due to non-laundry-doing husband. The list goes on.

So this (admittedly adorable) guy comes in, dressed in a 3-piece suit, carrying a briefcase.
"Wow, this is a store just for pets, huh?"

Nope, dude...it's really a fetish store in disguise. See? Fooled ya, haha!!

*Guy walks over to a rack of dog shirts, browses.*

"Anyway. I'm blahblahblah with blahblahblah company. Is your office manager or manager around?"

Yeah, right. I have learned well from my boss. Deny, deny, deny!!!

"Actually, not today. Sorry. "
*Hoping he picks Friday to come back and bug someone else.*

"Oh. Okay. I'll have to come back, then."
*Walks toward exit.*
*Without turning around, shouts:*

"You're beautiful, by the way!"


Yeah. Ha, hahaha, hahahahahaha. Seriously. If the fat, the bad outfit, the messy hair and makeup, and the cat-food-attacked face didn't stop him, why did the ring on my finger not?
I will never understand men.

Too bad, though. If I had been single, and he had actually had the balls to say it to me, and not the entire store, I might have given him my number. But I'm not, and maybe if I see him again I should set him straight so he doesn't miss his chance with a girl who actually is single.

IT'S NOT WORKING

So yeah. Eating eggs and fish and all that?
Bad idea, I guess. I have been so sick for the past few days. I woke up at about 4:00 this morning feeling like somebody had filled my stomach and intestines with knives and then placed them in a vise.
I still can't say no to the occasional sushi, but for the most part, it looks like I'm to be a vegan girl for life.
I guess I will start posting smoothie and fruit pictures again, too:)

IS THIS APPROPRIATE?

I am seriously frightened for the future of the world when it is appropriate to respond to an employment ad (for any job) with "myspace page" instead of a resume or even just a letter of interest. Scary.

Am I just getting old?

DESIGNERS FOR PAYLESS SHOES

Welcome to "Stuff I Didn't Buy!!!"

Today's item comes from one of my favorite categories: SHOES!!!



Lela Rose for Payless Elsby Brocade Pump

Now, at $38.00, these would not have broken the bank account. However, I chose not to buy them. Even though I love peep-toes, I love brocade, I love the silver-y color, and I love the little bow, I said "no."
First of all...faux wood. I do own a pair of wedges with faux wood, and I only wear them occasionally (as in, to an outdoor concert where there may be mud that destroys my shoes.) Faux wood on shoes is more obvious than faux leather (which is fine for vegans...I mean faux leather that tries to look like leather). Maybe nobody else ever pays attention to that kind of thing, but I do, and I don't like faux wood on shoes.
But the silver brocade still called my name...and then I remembered another reason why I should not buy them...my past with Payless shoes.
When I was 20 and had just moved back to this hellhole from Colorado, I worked at a music store, bought all my clothes at Forever 21, and thought that having 100 pairs of cheap shoes meant I was the shiznit. (Not really, but whatever.) I really wanted this pair of grey pumps from a catalog, but they were $300 (which, unbelieveably, was almost my entire rent back then!) and I didn't buy them. But hey! I walked into Payless, and there was a dead ringer (in the way that those plastic surgery people who want to look like celebrities are dead ringers for whatever celebrity they are trying to look like--meaning FAKE and OBVIOUSLY FAKE!)
I paid $12.99 for them and wore them out that night. To a club.

And 30 minutes into it, my friend Michael waved his hand at me, and said "Look up at the camera!" and took a photo. Of me crouching down, drunkenly putting wet napkins under the straps of the shoes. He captioned it "This is a new dance move called 'Ouch my fucking shoes hurt'" and I never lived that story down.

I have dancer's feet. They are destroyed, they have very high arches that require support, they swell from overuse. Even expensive, well-made shoes hurt my feet. So the $12.99 Payless shoes were donated to the Salvation Army the next day. I hope some (lucky bitch) woman with narrow, cute feet found them and is still enjoying them in all their yummy fake-leatherness.

Finally...for $38.00, I can go to DSW and score some real leather shoes that won't give me a blister the size of a silver dollar.

And, where would I wear silver brocade shoes? It's like my dress collection...I have nowhere to wear any of those things, anyway.

SO I AM SERIOUSLY CONSIDERING...

giving my blog a theme of "Things I Didn't Buy Today."

Why? Well, I think my blog sucks because it doesn't have a theme or a purpose, and it is just not interesting to read about a nearly-30's girl who doesn't craft or sew or knit (but that may be changing!) and who can no longer afford to spend her entire paycheck on clothes. And I won't be actually buying new things nearly every day for a while, but I sure do still see things that I would consider buying, and don't, for whatever reason.

So I guess I can throw in some other themed days, and definitely post things I do buy, if and when I do, but I figured "Stuff I Didn't Buy" would be funnier.

And we shall see how long this lasts.

I LOVE SETH ROGEN. I LOVE CHIHUAHUAS. OH, PLEASE, SOMEONE HELP ME...

Last night I ran into Whole Foods at 10:47 p.m.
With only thirteen minutes before closing time, I made a beeline for the wheatgrass I so desperately needed and headed to the checkout. Of course, there was the inevitable poky person in front of me, so I had to wait as she complained, counted coins, and cursed the cashier. To waste time, I looked up at the magazine rack. And nearly died.

I saw this:



Now. I am not really sure if I have ever mentioned it, but I have the world's biggest crush on Seth Rogen. No, really. I'm not even sure if Kevin Griffin (from Better Than Ezra) would win over Seth if it came to a "Battle of the Crushes." I mean it. Maybe that is a good thing. I mean, Seth Rogen does kind of remind me of my husband, so that's a good thing...right?

(But...curly hair...*chases after Ben with a home perm kit*)

(Really...notice that both Kevin and Seth have curly hair, while Ben's hair is about as far from curly as it gets.)

You might also not know about my MAGAZINE BUYING BAN. At the beginning of December, I put myself on an until-further-notice magazine buying ban. For two reasons. Well, three.
One: I filled the paper media recycling bin every week, and I don't read the daily newspaper. Ugh, waste of trees.
Two: I was buying, at that point, about 40 magazines a month. 40! Fashion, fitness, yoga, spa, news...you name it, I read it all. Yeah, go ahead, do the math. How sad.
Three: Magazines serve one two purposes in my life: to make me feel like crap about myself/my eating/my exercise/my fashion sense and TO MAKE ME WANTWANTWANTWANT. I mean, that is what they are for...they are driven by advertising dollars, so they make you feel "less than" unless you buy what is in the ad, and then feature pictures of things that you simply MUST HAVE until, of course, you get them from your favorite online store and that $600 handbag is really made just as crappily as the $50 one. Yeah. Talk about "going to hell in a handbag." Oops. It's "handbasket." Whatever.

So, I said NO MORE MAGAZINES. I did fill out some survey for a free year of Self and Shape, which kind of suck as far as magazines go, but are nice for treadmill reading. I had a few slip-ups, and one time Ben bought me BARK, but come on...

The grand total of magazines that have actually been paid for by this household since December 2?

Four.

That is, er, ten percent of what I used to buy in one month. In over three months. So I consider that a triumph.

However. Back to Seth. I seriously considered buying that Vanity Fair last night. But I didn't. See, at the moment, $4.95 for a magazine seems like a lot to me. I have a lot of stuff I need to pay in order to put myself in a better position for the future. And maybe I haven't been perfect, but I have been improving.

And chihuahuas. If you don't know of my "I must own 10 chihuahuas someday" goal and my love for the breed, you haven't been paying attention. I wanted my first chi when I was about 6 and the neighbor girl had them. My parents said "no, they are mean...and we have the Labs."
Humph. How boring, for a little 6-year old girl who could not decide if she wanted to be a tomboy or a ballerina princess. Labs were great for the tomboy part, but ballerina princesses do NOT have drooling, doggy-smelling, duck-retrieving dogs.
So the stars of Beverly Hills Chihuahua (which I loved, by the way) on the cover increased my interest...probably more than Seth did, to be honest.

But still, I told myself "no."

Besides...I don't even read Vanity Fair.

So...if any of you out there are offended by Seth's cute little jiggly belly, or by the bow-tie/barrel ensemble, and you would like to get rid of your copy (or even just your cover!) of this month's Vanity Fair, please let me know. It would be much appreciated.

Because nothing in the world is sexier than a man with a little beer belly, wearing glasses, a bow tie, and a barrel, holding a chihuahua and gazing at the camera. Nothing.

BEVERLY HILLS CHIHUAHUA

Ok. First, let's have a little talk about how much I DON'T like Disney movies. Disney anything. I remember helping my friend Cesare shop for a gift for his girlfriend...oh, nine years ago?...and having to go to the Disney store. Oh, I nearly barfed on the cute little tees and pajama sets.
I don't know what it is, since I loved my Chip'n'Dale cartoons as a kid, but lately, Disney stuff just makes me feel kind of...horky.

Anyway. I wanted to see Beverly Hills Chihuahua ever since I first saw the poster. That was something like last January. For some reason, we never made it to the theatre, and I had been (not-so-) patiently awaiting its arrival on DVD. Yesterday I logged on to redbox.com and scored a copy for the night for the bargain price of $1.08.

My husband had his reservations. Sure, he loves our girls, but a movie about talking chihuahuas? A Disney movie about talking chihuahuas? Um..."I'll watch it for you" was his take on the whole thing.

Yes, it was cheesy and Disney and silly, but I cried. At about 4 parts. My husband told me that someday he would buy it for me just to see my face when the pack of chihuahuas comes out into the desert and scares off the mountain lions. And even though I hate sequels, I am secretly hoping there will be one.

This all might have something to do with the fact that Chloe, the chihuahua in the movie, looks almost exactly like my Marley. Marley was a chihuahua I had in 2004. We found her a new home before she was a year old because I got too sick and messed up to take care of her. I had to leave for a month and I am still upset that my mom or my dad would not care for her for that month. I miss her so much! I hope she is happy still.

I am hoping that I can find a used copy of the movie for less than retail...until then...no mas!

VEGAN, VEGETARIAN, FLEXITARIAN...WHAT???

With so much going on in my life right now, I am infinitely sick of being stressed out about food.
There are already so many things I can't or won't eat due to Hashimoto's, severe digestive dysfunction, wheat intolerance etc.
Add to that the fact that through experience, I KNOW that I feel better eating an entirely raw vegan diet (well, "beegan" since I do use the bee pollen...) and it seems like I have a clear answer.
Right?
Well. No.
See, I'm a calorie counter. And before you go off telling me how I should not do this, blahblahblah, just save it. It is what I know, what I do, and it isn't like it prevents me from working, going to yoga, playing with my dogs, etc. You get the picture. I have been a counter for 10+ years. I know by heart the calories per ounce of all fruits and vegetables, calories per ounce of fresh-squeezed juices, calories per serving of most foods (even packaged foods I have not touched in over 5 years)--by weight. Yes, by the gram. You could say I have a thing for numbers (which is also why I am working out a plan to--don't shoot me--take some programming classes at the local college. The economy!! Must give self job security!! Nitpicky copyediting skills plus math aptitude=awesome programmer. Right? But that's another story. Promise). If I can't measure it, I probably won't eat it (with the odd exception of sushi, because while I was crazy enough to bring a food scale to a restaurant at 20, I just can't do that anymore. Take-out sushi? You bet it goes on the scale. I have it down to a science I won't even go into, allowing for the fish, the rice...I don't eat the sushi with other crap, so that doesn't matter).

So. I'm a calorie counter. And on raw foods, I must eat a LOT of calories to stay as active as I am and not feel like I am starving. Like, 2800 a day, maintenance level for someone like me who works on their feet all day and hates elevators and goes to 90 minute Bikram yoga classes followed by an hour at the gym every day.
Which would be fine, if "maintenance" were acceptable.
It's not.

(Note to self: It's time to get serious about this. You have only liked your body a total of one year since you were 20. This is not some age-related metabolism thing. You have your health figured out. Do something. Just because an XS at almost every store is too big DOES NOT mean you are thin. In your case it means you have a tiny frame and the weight you are carrying looks 5 times as bad on you as it would on a taller and/or larger boned person. Stop pigging it!!)

So. The level I need to be at is next to impossible, with my "need" for giant 600- calorie smoothies (juice and plain fruit only, too--nothing added, I just need a LOT) and 310-calorie Organic Food Bars (the only really portable thing I can eat--don't say fruit or carrots--remember I can't really chew or digest any vegetables or most whole fruit--sucks). I mean, NOBODY would be satisfied this way. Trust me. Oh, if I could just eat until I felt full (which is what I fully intend to do when I am in better shape--it works for maintenance, at least for me) then 100% raw vegan would be so, so easy.
But right now the focus is weight loss, so I am adding in a few more foods here and there--things that are easy to take to work, things that help my crappy (no pun intended) digestive system, things that make me feel more satisfied.
I can't help but feel like some sort of icky failure. I mean, eggs? Really? Sure, they are organic, and I do like them, but...gross. And fish? I like it, but if I had to catch it and clean it myself, I would say "no freaking way!"
I'm sure I'll get 1000 comments about "doing this all the wrong way" but sorry, I don't have the faith in "just eat what you want now, sometime in the next 5 years 20 pounds will come off." Yeah, I would like to feel good sooner than 5 years from now, kthanksbye.
See, I have NEVER eaten anything close to the SAD (standard American diet). Red meat? Quit when I was 15. Fried stuff? Not since high school. Packaged food? A thing of the past. So my calorie counting is completely different than, say, a Weight Watchers calorie counting plan (oops, sorry, POINTS) where you can factor in a McDonald's meal and a fudge brownie. Nope. I'm talking about eating my mostly-fruit diet with some lentils, oats, eggs, maybe a little goat dairy.

WHOOOOO HOOOOOOOOOOOO, I am LIVING ON THE EDGE NOW!!!!!!!

Sorry, I had to do that.
Anyway. Boring, long post, I know, but I had to let that out. I'll update you all on my guilt about being a crappy vegan (or non-vegan, if you will).