Why I Want To Lose Weight

Sometimes, you just need to remind yourself.

I want to lose weight...

• To be healthier.
• To be saner.
• To live longer. 
• To live well.
• To feel centered. 
• To feel in control.
• To feel different.
• To feel better.
• To be stronger. 
• To be happier.
• To be in better shape. 
• To be more comfortable in my skin.
• So I can wear whatever I want.
• So I can do whatever I want.
• So my body never restricts me.
• So my body can take on any challenge. 
• So I can run from zombies.
• So I can run from bears.
• So I can catch sight of my reflection for a brief second and think, "Daaaamn."
• So I can stop feeling disappointed in myself.
• Because I want to prove to myself I can
• Because I want to prove to the world I can.
• Because I want to feel at peace.
• Because I need to feel at peace.
• Because I want to. 

APC: Day #30

.card.

APC: Day #29 (Belated)

.the last thing you bought.

Really Wanna, Wanna Zig-A-Zig-AH!

Things are still hard.

And I just had a thought.

In this crazy world, there are some people who just get everything they want. They have some sort of magical magnetism, a quality, a vial of luck mojo that they sprinkle over life and they just always get the best of everything. Or, if not the best, the best for them.

I have friends like this, good people, people I like just fine. But I also hate them. And their luck.

Because I am not of their tribe. Not that I have the shittiest fortune in the world or anything, but I don't think I'm necessarily touched by an angel, blessed by Buddha, in touch with the cosmos. I don't think I have stumbled into any amazing life situations like a kickass job or apartment or boyfriend. Things don't fall into my lap. I'm just kinda, you know, there. Doing my thing. Never getting what I want.

And so my thought: Food, though. With food, I can have whatever I want. Maybe that's my problem?

*slaps self*

Nah, I'm fine. Toootally fine. Peachy with a side of keen. We're not talking about food. I want for nothing.

I guess I have a point.


I'm waiting for something good to fall from the sky.

It just seems like it's time, you know? I've had a run of badness lately, cars go boom and boys go bye and no one ever replies to my resumes. I want to make changes but things seem so stagnant. I try my best but I can't control the universe.

I just soldier on.

But I feel like there's something in the air. Some tinge of electricity. Some turning of the breeze.

Something good might happen soon. I can feel it.

I want it.

This is now.

Please oh please don't make me go to work today...

APC: Day #28

.clock.

PUPPY PILE!

I feel so ew today.

Look, puppies!

Do Not Call List

Sometimes, when I'm bored, I get the urge to be productive. You know, on a small scale. Productivity without effort. Or movement. Or brainpower.

You know, like purging the thousands of sales emails in my inbox. Or organizing photos. Or cleaning out my wallet. Or making lists.

Today, I succumbed to the impulse to weed out my phone contacts.

And now I'm irritated.

It was easy enough to start out. Delete all the dudes with just one name---boys from the Internet, obviously. Delete people who I worked with briefly and haven't spoken to since. Delete college acquaintances who wouldn't be on a mass text about a theoretical engagement or bun in the oven. Delete ex-boyfriends' parents. Delete sister's ex-boyfriend, BFF's ex-boyfriend, my ex-boyfriend. Delete Gingers.

But then it gets tricky. Because some of these people...I have no idea who they are.

There's one entry for a man whose name sounds VERY familiar, but I have no idea how I know him. But, I have TWO numbers for him, so clearly he was important. So he stays. But I don't know who he is. 

And then there's an 818 for a woman who shares a name with the author of a memoir I've read, set in LA. This name does not appear on my Facebook friends list. So...did I somehow end up with the number of this random writer? Is that even possible? WHO IS THIS PERSON?

I'm flummoxed.

I hate not knowing things.

I hope I never get drunk and call these people demanding, "TELL ME WHO YOU ARE."

There's no point to this post.

I guess I'm done.

APC: Day #27 (Belated)

.on the road.

Single White Female

There have been five engagements in my orbit in the last, oh, 10 days or so. Five. A close friend from high school, two of my best friends from college, and two more acquaintances from my past who put their news on Facebook. Sparkly rings and beaming smiles dominate my newsfeed.

Nothing like a deluge of happy couple news to make a single girl feel a little down. Just a little.

Look, I don't need a relationship. I am not desperate, I am not sad, I am not lonely. (Well, I am lonely, but that is unrelated to my single status.) It depresses me greatly when when people tie their entire identity to the idea of being in a "couple", and cannot find their own happiness outside that predetermined framework. There are so many girls I know who truly feel incomplete without a man, who can't function as an independent person, who live their lives as if their sole purpose is finding a pot of penis at the end of some big rainbow. I'm definitely not that girl.

And I'm perfectly content on my own, truly. I've honestly spent so much of my life by myself I'm really quite fine with it. I've always been a pretty solitary person, ever since I was a kid, I've always liked a little breathing room. I'm introverted in that I absolutely need some "me time" to recharge my batteries. Being alone isn't the problem.

And, also, I'd much rather be single than be in a sub-par relationship, I know that for sure, and I'd definitely rather be single than spend every waking moment on the hunt for an eligible douchebag. That sounds exhausting.

So, no, I'm not desperate. And it's not like I want to get married anytime soon.

But still. Still. It would be sort of nice if someone showed some interest in me.

I'm not, you know, ugly? I smell okay. Sometimes I shower. I can hold conversations about very interesting things like the television and what I ate for lunch. I'm nice, sometimes, if you haven't pissed me off, or if I'm not hungry. Or tired. I pretend to be interested in sports and cars and shit. You know, man stuff. I laugh a lot. I have a nice rack.

But alas, all these winning qualities are wasted. Wasted. Not a candidate in sight.

I may not be desperate, and I'm not on the fast-track to marriage and brats, but I do feel like I'm ready for a relationship. I want to get to know a nice guy, and spend time with him, and explore the city with a partner. I'd like to get a little kissage. I wouldn't mind a free meal every now and then. I'd just like to form a connection, temporary is fiiiine. He doesn't have to be the one.

I'm still just not excited about the idea of going back to online dating, but I'm not sure how else to put myself out there more. Bars are always a bust, yoga's not exactly an easy place to chat up a shirtless sweaty dude, the grocery store is full of old men and frazzled dads. I have a bitty crush on a guy at work but I can't exactly jump his bones without violating some sort of code of conduct, whether corporate or social. I don't have a plethora of friends in LA and those that I do have no single men to send to my auditions.

What's a girl to do?

Except buy herself a fake sparkly ring from a Taco Bell vending machine.

Friend Crush

There was a blonde in front of me in yoga the other day with, no joke, the hottest body I've ever seen in person. She was completely fit and toned, but soft and curvy. Strong but feminine, thin but clearly healthy. Basically, my ideal body type, and far far off goal.

I sort of felt lecherous staring at her, but she was right in front of me. Plus, her lululemon purple polka dot outfit was super cute. And her belly button was pierced. And at one point her hand bumped my foot, and we both apologized, and her voice was surprisingly deep and husky.

Basically what I'm telling you here is I totally developed a girl crush.

How can I make her my friend? I am equally as bad at meeting new friends as I am meeting men to make out with.

I need some suave friend pickup lines. Or I can just stalk her.

Lunch Date Style

I met my mother for an absolutely delicious lunch today at One Pico in Shutters on the Beach in Santa Monica. I never complain about a) getting to spend time chatting with my mother b) taking an extra long lunch from work or c) free food, so all in all I am in an excellent mood post-meal.

View from our table. Not too shabby.

I enjoyed a salad of butter lettuce, avocado, dates and grilled shrimp with a buttermilk vinaigrette dressing, a little bread with butter and sea salt, and we split a chocolate caramel dessert. Delicious all around!

You never know who you might run into out and about in LA, so I tried to, you know...make an effort today.

Hey, I blowdried my hair, that's something.

• Top by Phanuel (On sale from Angl in the Westside Pavilion. There's also a location in Santa Barbara where I did almost all my high school shopping.)
• Jeans by Express. ($17 from Marshalls.)
• Gold Kitty Necklace from Somewhere in Spain (A gift from my sister.)
• Gold Crystal Necklace from Forever 21
• Gold Belt Cuff from ModCloth
• Flats by Coach (I've probably had these at least eight years? Seven?)
• Purse by H&M

A Sunday

*Lazed about in bed with Bentley, allowing myself as long as I damn well pleased.

*Took a morning stroll to the Farmer's Market.

*Bought myself flowers to boost my mood out of the Sunday Blues. (You know, that feeling you get when you realize you have to work tomorrow?)

*Watching "The LA Complex" while cleaning the fucking shit out of my apartment. (Deliciously trashy, would recommend.) I completely organized my dresser (long overdue), did all my dishes, washed my yoga clothes, towels, sheets, and comforter, cleaned my bathroom, tidied my bookcase, and swept, Swiffered and vacuumed the whole place.

*After all that work, I definitely think I earned a delicious delivery sushi feast! Enjoyed whilst trying out "Bones" for the first time, it's sufficiently entertaining.

*In awhile I think I'll crawl in bed and open up a book. There's nothing like relaxing in a perfectly clean place.

*I used an exercise skip today...I wanted a day of no sweat. Though all the cleaning kind of took care of that...I just need to go 4/5 days this week and I'm right on target for my Active August Challenge!

APC: Day #26

.dream.

.sunshine.

A Saturday

*Morning yoga, featuring my longest crow pose yet and vast improvement on my headstand.

*A deliciously healthy breakfast: apple cinnamon Chobani, a breakfast quesadilla, and a banana.

*Piano music from the church next door.

*Cuddling with Bentley.

*A yummy Taco Wrap Deluxe lunch.

*Retail therapy. (I may return the purse.)

*Got some motivational support from the llid of my Healthy Choice Vanilla Bean Frozen Greek Yogurt (delicious, BTW).

*Finished up the Netflix available "White Collar". TEARS.

*Cheesy Chicken Cups for dinner --- pretty darn good. Followed by Cheesecake Stuffed Strawberries.

*Trying out "New Girl", planning an early bedtime.


Obviously, I have the most exciting life there ever was.

APC: Day #25

.heart.

APC: Day #24 (Belated)

.a stranger.

Things that piss me off at work.

This is not a comprehensive list.

• When someone makes some sort of delicious smelling lunch. Because it makes me hungry. So rude, people.
• Did you SERIOUSLY just put a spoon covered in peanut butter in the sink and not even rinse it off? SERIOUSLY?
• Also, dried oatmeal. Scrub that shit yourself. I went to college.
• Wednesday lunch is free, and decided by me, so don't come up to me and complain that you don't like it because I DON'T CARE. It's FREE.
• Also, putting a passive-aggressive little sad face next to the name of the restaurant I'm ordering from makes me want to PUNCH YOU IN YOUR FACE.
• When people read the sign on the door that says Social Security has moved down the street, still come in, and say, "Where is Social Security?" I SAW YOU READ THE SIGN.
• When people come in and ask to be directed to an odd numbered address. Well, we're even, so I'm going to guess ACROSS THE STREET. GOD.
• I totally get that my job is to file, and I'll DO it, but if you only have one piece of paper, and the filing cabinet is significantly closer to you than my desk is, don't you think it would save time to just...do it yourself? Maybe? Or, you could IM me.
• If you spill coffee on the counter, clean it up for the LOVE OF JESUS. IT TAKES FIVE SECONDS.
• Also, if you spill granola, same thing.
• Oh my god if you get honey all over the drawer handles then don't clean it up I think you should die a slow and painful death by piranha. 
• To all sales people: if you call at the same time every morning and I always tell you that someone is not in yet, maybe you could try...calling at a different time of day? Maybe?
• Of course, I still won't transfer you, 'cause you're obnoxious.
• Back to the kitchen: are you fifteen? Are you completely incapable of closing drawers or cabinets after you open them? Christ.
• Also, dirty dishes don't go on the drying rack
• And plastic forks DON'T go in the dishwasher.
• Your dog is barking very loudly and it makes my head hurt. 
• Your shoes are ugly and they make my eyes hurt.
• Your face, that shit just bugs me. 

APC: Day #23 (Belated)

.pair.
.mirror.

I guess he's sorry.

Boom Bang Crash?

So, I had a thought earlier. I don't know where it came from. The depths of my fucked up psyche.

"How funny would it be if I got into another accident today?"

Turns out, not that funny.

(I really hope I'm not manifesting my thoughts again.)

Sitting at a stop sign. Rocking out to Sia, "Clap Your Hands". Patiently waiting for the car in front of me to make an unprotected left. Apparently, he didn't feel protected enough, so he REVERSED INTO ME. Minimal damage, but oh my poor Marilyn! She's had a hard week.

Sigh.

LA, we're fighting.

What are the odds my insurance company believes that neither of these little incidents were my fault?

Dear Mister Bentley

Dearest Tree,

You know I love you. I've raised you from a tiny little kitten into a big strong gay gentleman, and given you all your little heart could desire. I try my best to make you happy, to make your life as blissful as it can be.

You, however, clearly are not trying to be a good roommate.

Please stop throwing bitch fits at 5:30AM because you're hungry. Your feeder will go off at 6. I promise you.

Also, bitch fits at any time are really unacceptable. I don't speak Cat. Try morse code.

Also, if you're mad at me for not paying enough attention to you, please talk about it with me like an adult.

Don't poop in front of my face while I'm sleeping.

Love,
Your mother

Daily Dose of Adorable

There's a ten week old puppy in the office this week.

Today, I got to babysit him.

DYING.

Crash Bang Boom

Honestly, I'm surprised that I've lived in LA for over two years now and have managed to avoid being in an accident.

Until last night.

Everyone's fine, my poor Marilyn just needs some cosmetic surgery, but damn. Car accidents are NOT FUN, in case you were wondering.

I had gone out to dinner with a group of friends and was cruising along the 405 at nearly 11PM, counting the minutes until my head could hit the pillow. Tragically my exit was closed, so I go onto the next and get in the exit-only lane. Up ahead of me was a BMW who suddenly decided they didn't really want to get off the freeway, and started trying to merge into the lane to the left. LA drivers are douches, and no one would let them get over, so brilliantly they basically STOPPED. I had to slam on my brakes and swerve to the right, between the car and the concrete wall. Total ninja-driver.

Just as I took a deep breath of relief, a motorcycle wedged between myself and the other car.

I can't believe the rider wasn't hurt. It could have been so much worse.

I called the cops, we get off the freeway, narrowly avoiding being hit by other drivers desperate to exit. The driver of the BMW was a pretty young thing who actually asked me, "What happened? Who's fault was that?!" Um, yours?

Really, the whole thing was more of a nuisance to me than a trauma, as it could have been so catastrophic. Especially considering my Marilyn only had some big scrapes on the driver's side, and broken mirror.

And well, that mirror was already broken. So now I get it fixed for free.

Plus, the cops were cute.

So I'm calling it a win.

APC: Day #22

.home.

"How did this get in my mouth?!"

This is 100% factually accurate.

Things making me happy today.

In case you couldn't tell from my rantings earlier, I'm a bit worked up this afternoon.

So let's look at some fun links, shall we?


Dog Shaming

Dogs. Holding signs with their confessions of misdeeds, for public shaming. And they clearly know it.

"I eat my own poop."

Prince Harry Naked On The Internet

In Vegas. I missed him by ONE WEEKEND. ONE. Oh what I would give to party with the Ginger Prince...

Before and Afters

Seeing other people's amazing progress is always inspirational. I tend to worry about frequenting Tumblr due to the rampant thinspiration and pro-ana blogs, but I think this one seems safe.

Matchbook

Bikinis matched to book covers. This is some deliciously creative eye candy.

Choupette Has Two Maids

She's a kitten, owned by Karl Lagerfeld, and is more spoiled than I will ever be. I want her life.

Whole Foods Parking Lot

From the hilarious souls who brought you "Yoga Girl".

SHOUTY FEMINIST HIPPIE

For the most part, I have kept it pretty light on this blog. Or, the less light stuff, comes from my own pathetic emotional fuckery. I figure, there are dozens of people better qualified than myself out there on the Internet, writing about all the important shit, so I'll just talk about kitties and shoes and pretty boys.

But in the last week or so, I have been overwhelmed with so many stories from the news that literally make me sick to my stomach.

A candidate for Senate spouting bullshit theories about legitimate rape and pregnancy, then insisting he was just misunderstood. A teenager sexually assaulted then publicly blamed for ruining her attacker's life. Paul Ryan's very existence.

But it's not just the US---in the Dominican Republic, a sixteen year old girl discovered she had leukemia while she was nine weeks pregnant. The chemotherapy she needed would kill the fetus, however, violating the country's anti-abortion law---so she was denied treatment for 20 days before the courts made up their minds. And then she died.

What is WRONG with this world!?!?

I just I can't even start. The SEXISM. The VICTIM-BLAMING. THE STUPIDITY. I just try to form a good logical response and I can't...LOUD NOISES.

You're telling me my body is SO DAMN ADVANCED that I can physically SHOOT RAPIST SPERM away from my eggs? And if I get pregnant, that's MY OWN DAMN FAULT. I gotta birth that damn baby, oh and also, you probably won't have programs to help me raise it. OH, AND ALSO MY FAULT? Getting RAPED. 'Cause I was just drunk and slutty, and you know, FEMALE, and maybe I should keep my mouth shut so I don't make my poor attackers FACE ANY PUNISHMENT? 'Cause you know, boys will be boys and all. Not like they should be held ACCOUNTABLE OR ANYTHING. I SHOULD APOLOGIZE FOR HAVING A VAGINA.

OH AND ALSO. MAYBE A FERTILIZED EGG IS LESS OF A PERSON THAN A FULLY FORMED TEENAGER? MAYBE?

I JUST CAN'T RESIST CAPS.

FLAMES. ON THE SIDE OF MY FACE.

I wouldn't say that I'm incredibly well educated when it comes to politics. Fiscal issues, debt ceiling, tax rates, blahdiddlyblah. The only issues I tend to debate and focus on are social ones. Gay marriage. Birth control. What the hell I'm allowed to do with my own vagina. Etc. You know, relevant stuff.

I'm going to make a pretty controversial statement here:

 At this point, I honestly do not understand a moral defense for voting Republican in the upcoming election. I cannot speak to every individual candidate or supporter, but the party as a whole has tied itself to so much sexism, racism, and general bigotry that I cannot comprehend a reason you would want them in power. Is your money really more important to you than the rights of your fellow citizens? And if you're voting with your hateful social and religious beliefs in mind, do you understand the concept of separation of church and state? Do you realize the general platform of oppression championed by your party is designed to drag me by my hair, kicking and screaming, back into the 1950s?

It makes me sad that elephants, my favorite animal, have been appropriated by this tragic, antiquated party.

Okay, deep breaths.

I think I'm done.

For now.

EDITED TO ADD:

Well, I just found this article, which basically is my point exactly, except WAY BETTER WRITTEN.

Favorite Songs: "Shake It Out"

Fear and Fat

A little more introspection for you on this gloriously boring Tuesday afternoon.

Once I identified that I was still living with the fantasy of being thin, I tried to trace why that was leading me to self-sabotage. In theory, if my problem was that I was expecting things to get better as I got smaller, you'd think I'd work HARDER to get thinner, like there's some sort of magical poundage threshold I needed to cross, and then life would be amazing.

But obviously, that wasn't the case. The closer I get to my idealized goal, the more I fuck myself up and run away.

Five of the the seven weeks since I've returned from Spain have ended with me "in the red" with my WW points. I have bounced in the same five pound range for most of that time.. The only thing that's balanced out my increasingly self-indulgent eating has been my ramped-up exercise. I have allowed negative emotions and irrational logic to screw with my motivation.

Why?

I think I'm afraid.

I think I'm afraid that I'll reach my own vision of success, but I won't know myself when I get there. I won't recognize myself in the mirror. I won't see myself as I really am, or if I do, I won't know how to live within that skin. I'll never look the way I want to look. I'm scared I'll get complacent, I'll gain it all back anyway. I'm fearful that I can't sustain these habits. That I won't remember how good it feels to treat myself well, and I'll stumble again. Will I be able to maintain? Will this all truly become second nature? I'm irrationally worried about how I'll operate in the world in this new body, how people might treat me differently, if I can ever trust someone's opinion of me without them knowing who I used to be. Will I ever actually find peace?

And that's the thing.

There is kind of peacefulness in living in a body you hate. There is safety in choosing to disregard all expectations, in deciding to do whatever the hell you want. In being fat. In knowing that disappointment is inevitable. There is so much comfort in the familiar, in doing what's easy. Even if the familiar and easy is a state of sadness.

The mental issues that go along with losing weight are absolutely the biggest obstacle for a lot of people. It's never just as simple as "calories in, calories out, get some exercise and you'll be fine!" If it was that easy, we'd all be Bar Rafaeli. There are infinite reasons why someone might punish themselves with food, might find comfort in self-destructive habits, might resist making healthy choices in favor of what's familiar. It's so hard to motivate yourself to move outside your comfort zone when everything outside it is terrifying and new.

And I'm right on the edge of leaving my comfort zone, permanently. I think I'm stalling and self-sabotaging because I don't want to cross that threshold, I don't want to enter a world where I'm "normal" and have to operate as such. A world where I'm not getting constant praise for my improvements, where I'm just supposed to be better. Reverting back to the comfort of bad habits makes me feel like me, instead of a stranger I have yet to really meet.

No, becoming thin doesn't change the person I am. But in order to become thin, I have changed. And I don't know how to feel about this person yet.

But I think I'm refreshed and recharged. I have plans for the months to come, ways to keep myself excited and motivated, ways to challenge myself and my perceptions. I think I've come to a place where I'm ready to truly live a permanent, healthy lifestyle. I've discerned the reasons behind the last few months of struggle, and I'm ready.

There's no reason to be afraid.

Los Angeles, I'm Yours

Sometimes I think about moving.

But then I look around, and realize all the awesome reasons to stay right where I am:

• Palm trees.
• Sunshine.
• Hot surfer boys. (Purely for eye candy purposes, surfers are too baked to date.)
• Proximity to my family.
• Generally mild weather. (These last few weeks of brutal heath not withstanding. And by brutal, I mean above 85 degrees.)
• The Hollywood sign.
• The PCH.
• Tons of live music and museums. (Not that I take advantage of these things nearly as much as I should.)
• The beach. (Not that I ever go there.)
• Legalized marijuana. (Not that I would ever partake...ahem.)
• Funky hipster bars with delicious drinks.
• Quirky little shops with adorable jewelry. 
• Dog-friendly culture. (I WANT A PUPPY.)
• Delicious authentic Mexican food.
• Amazing fresh sushi. 
• Laid-back people.
• Liberal culture. 
• The ocean to use as an escape route when the zombies come. 

Ways to make this city better:

• Less traffic.
• A better job.
• Less douchetastic men.
• A bigger apartment.
• Less hermitness. 
• More friends.

I'll work on those. First task, convincing a million cars to GET THE FUCK OFF MY FREEWAY.

APC: Day #21

.9 o'clock.

Killing My Fantasy

We are being very introspective today.

(By "we", I mean myself and Mr. Tree. Not the royal "we", that would be just silly.)

We have cuddled, and commiserated, and consulted. And I think I have come to some conclusions about why everything has just seemed so goddamn hard lately.

Backstory:

A few years ago, when I was at my lowest point with hating myself and my body, I discovered a corner of the Internet where people are trying to change society's attitude towards overweight people. There is a movement called "fat acceptance", which in essence maintains that fat does not always equal unhealthy, or ugly, or worthless, and that our culture needs to overhaul the way we look at and treat the obese. Fat acceptance tells you that you don't have to diet, you don't have to change, you just need to accept who you are and live a healthy life.

This idea was exactly what I needed at that moment in time. I needed to be told that I wasn't less of a person because I couldn't control my weight, that losing pounds was not necessary to be happy, that the good things (and bad things) about me will be there regardless of my size. I needed to be given permission to forego the diets, the disordered eating, the forced exercise, and just be.

(Of course, I am now clearly ignoring one of the basic premises of the movement, which is that you don't need to lose weight. I decided, for me, this was a journey I needed to embark upon for my own health and sanity, but I still do believe in the ideals. It was only once I accepted myself as I was that I could change.)

In my exploration of "fat activism", I spent a good two months at one of my many temp jobs reading the Shapely Prose archives. Kate Harding's writing spoke to me on a level I can't even describe. Witty, honest and thoughtful, sometimes I felt as if she had crawled inside my brain, dug out my thoughts, then jumped into a time machine to write blog posts 3 years prior.

Which brings me to my introspection.

One of my favorite posts by Ms. Harding is "The Fantasy of Being Thin". In this essay, she explores a mentality I think a lot of us are familiar with: the idea that once we lose the weight, all the other things amiss in our lives will fall into place. We'll be thinner, yes, more beautiful, and also smarter, braver, wittier, calmer, happier. We'll be the person we always wanted to be, the person stuck inside us under layers of fat cells and shame.

I think this is my current problem.

I've lost 50 pounds, arrived at the original goal I set for myself back on January 1st. For all intents and purposes, I've found success, and I am "thin".

And recently I have found myself overwhelmed with the lackluster truths of my existence. I'm different, on the outside at least, but everything else is the same. I am not happier.

I was still subscribing to the fantasy of being thin.

And I need to get over it.

I don't think I was consciously expecting some sort of magical improvement of my quality of my life. It's not that simple. I wasn't sitting around thinking, "When I lose weight, someone random person on the street will offer me an amazing job because of my bubbling charisma, I'll fall in love with a ripped, zenned out dude who catches my eye in yoga, and I will always be happy and peaceful and able to resist the McDonald's on Wilshire."

Those things still might happen. But they won't happen because I'm thinner, or prettier. They'll happen because I will make them happen. They'll happen because I'll find a spark inside me, some sort of drive, because I'll grow as a person through my actions. They'll happen because I love myself more, because I'm more confident. And that confidence will come from the knowledge that I'm taking care of myself, not from the fact that I look better in a pair of yoga pants.

I'm still lazy, and a reluctant cook, and kind of shy, and somewhat awkward. Being thinner doesn't mean I'm not a TV addict, or a gossip, or a little-white-liar. I'm not more outgoing, nor more brave. If I want to change these things, I have to commit to doing it, just like I've committed to my weight loss.

I'm the only one who can make me happy.

So, yes, we're being introspective today. And also very wordy.

APC: Day #20

.today.

.eyes.

Things I'm going to do this week...

Monday:

*Go to yoga (CHECK!)
*Clean my shithole apartment
*Watch "White Collar" and fantasize about a world where Matt Bomer is straight

Tuesday:

*Go to the grocery store
*Go to Zumba
*Go to yoga
*Make Cheesecake Stuffed Strawberries and probably Cheesy Chicken Cups from the oh-so-gorgeous Emily Bites

Wednesday:

*Go to yoga
*Avoid the temptation of Wednesday Work Lunch by taking a walk
*Have dinner with my bestest girlfriends, and serve said strawberries

Thursday:

*Go to yoga (sensing a theme?)
*Drop donation clothes off at Goodwill
*Have dinner with my mother, grandmother and cousin

Friday:

*Go to yoga
*Have lunch with a coworker
*Meet a college friend and his boyfriend for happy hour

Saturday:

*Go to yoga
*Go for a hike (or, to Zumba if it's devilishly hot outside)
*More Matt Bomer

Sunday:

*Go to yoga
*Go to the Farmer's Market
*Sell clothes at Crossroads Trading Co.
*FOREVER BOMER

Beachy Before/After

It makes me very embarrassed to put this on the Internet.

But here's some more proof.

Just in case I forget.

195ish. 145ish.

Dog days are over...

Sometimes the perfect antidote to a terrible week is a simple walk on the beach with your best friend, and the company of a dog so full of love for life that you cannot help but smile.

APC: Day #19

.animal/insect/pet.

APC: Day #18 (Belated)

.inside.

"Someone else's sugar's sweeter..."

Gavin Degraw & Colbie Caillat

"When you do a chatarunga do your toes curl?"

My favorite father heard this song in his spin class this morning.

I am in love.

Here is where I bitch, part two!

So many pictures lately, not enough text.

Guess I'll just talk about my favorite topic: me.  And my ass. It's a pretty decent ass. 

However, it has not shrunk much since I got back from Spain. Down, up, down, up, boy drama, social events, depression, ladeeda. I'm still right around a 50 pound loss, my original goal before I lowered it. So that's good. And I will say that despite the fact that the number has not gone down, I'm pretty sure I'm smaller. All that yoga, building muscle, paying off. My shoulders are looking mighty sexy.

And really, I can't complain even a little that the scale hasn't moved in the right direction. Though my exercising has gotten better, my eating has gotten worse, and most weeks since my trip I have ended up "in the red", IE I eat more than my allotted number of Weight Watchers points. No one to blame but myself.

This week, I swore I'd get right back on track after Vegas. Not so much. Wednesday was bad, yesterday was perfect, today is shit. My self-control is just faltering lately. Despite the logical way I can assess my negative feelings and determine that no amount of Cheetos will make me feel better, despite my mantras, despite my support system, I still end up saying "fuck it all" and indulging anyway.

Three bags of orange grossness. And chocolate. Ugh.

"It's just one day. It doesn't really matter. I can get back on track tomorrow."

But what if I don't get back on track tomorrow? One day turns into two, four. A week. And before you know it I'm right back where I started.

But I won't let that happen. I won't.

I need to learn better coping tactics to deal with my rampant girly hormonal problems. I need a hobby. I need someone to follow me around like Oprah does and lock my fridge at night. I need a boyfriend. I need a lobotomy. Maybe I need a therapist.

Hmph.

After this weekend, I have a stretch of time in LA to myself, no forseeable distractions or obstacles. I will recommit, rediscover the magical motivation I had for so many months. I'll get back on track.

And I will stop bitching. 

APC: Day #17

.faces.

.my addiction.

Here is where I bitch.

You know your life is sad when the highlight of your work day is when you blindly grab a handful of envelopes, only to have chosen exactly the number you need.

I'm like a motherfucking receptionist savant.

I am not a fan of my job, have I mentioned that?

I really shouldn't complain. I have a job, which is more than a lot of people can say in this economy. And said job pays my bills (barely), and it's a mere .8 miles from my apartment which means my commute is basically one song long. And the people are nice. I get free Diet Coke. I can wear jeans.

And it's easy. So mind-numbingly, soul-suckingly easy. For the first six months or so, this was a good thing. A marvelous thing! So much time to surf the Internetz. So little responsibility. I am paid to sit still, look pretty, clean up after everyone and feed the office. Yes, much like a French maid.

But now, after a year and a half here, I fear my brain is rotting. I fear I have lost any ability to think critically, work hard, take on a challenge. I have no more drive. I have no more work ethic. I don't give a shit about anything. I feel useless, stuck, helpless. I answer the phone. I file. I feed. I smile.

I am incredibly unhappy.

It's been so bad these last few days. Anytime I return to this place after a brief vacation into the world, I'm reminded of just how much it sucks. I've tried to feed my emptiness and misery with all the snacks I stock in our kitchen, but that only makes it worse of course. And then I feel worse. And then I eat. Vicious cycle.

I burst into tears the other day at my desk.

I'm so jealous of people who found something they're passionate about, and get to do it for a living.  Of course, the problem is that I don't know what I want to do with my life, not really. I want to do something creative, something stimulating, something at least a little interesting. I want to do something that actually matters at the end of the day. I'd love to write or act or just talk for a living, I'd love to throw my life away and travel for a year, I'd love to go back to school, I'd love to just get the fuck out of here. 

Before I die.

I apply to anything and everything, but it's always the same. LinkedIn informs me that 24,388 people have applied to the job before me, and I'm sure at least half of them have fancier resumes. Every interview I get goes incredibly well, I think, and the feedback is always: "We loved you...but hired someone with experience." I don't get a call for 99.9% of the applications I send, because why would they respond? I have a useless liberal arts degree from a semi-decent school, a history of customer service and administrative work, and no unique skills.

I am just like everyone else.

For now, all I want in life is a new job that a) pays more b) uses my brain and c) doesn't kill my spirit bit by bit until all that's left is a shriveled haggard bitch.

That's not too much to ask, is it?

APC: Day #16

.food.

.sign.

APC: Day #15

.finger.