Every summer it’s the same thing: ‘I’m going to lose the last 30 pounds so I can rock a bikini and be a super fox forever.’
I start out with good intentions, I start eating better, I work out, I get so pumped I become addicted to it.
21 days is what they say it takes to break a habit and making something new and fresh ingrained in your body. Here’s the thing, 21 days isn’t long enough for this girl. I hit day 21 and my brain goes ‘Hey, psst, hey…let’s eat that, we’ve worked hard. We deserve it.’
Fuck you Brain.
Because it’s exactly one week until my best friends wedding and I have somehow gained 15 pounds since I’ve moved home and no matter what I try I can’t lose it. So I have 45 “last few pounds” to go now. I’m fucked.
Please God, if you love me at all: Don’t let me be the fat bridesmaid.
The dress that months ago fit like a glove and made me feel like a super fox now makes me feel like I’m being squished while somehow making me still look hot. I don’t understand the magical properties of this dress, but there it is.
I have tried eating right, I’ve tried smoothies, I’ve given up starches, tried calorie counting, I’ve gone on Herbal Magic, and now here I sit one week before the wedding and I can’t even remotely give a fuck about losing weight anymore because there is something more important than the fat on my body:
My best friend is marrying the love of her life.
I’m focused on my best friend having a great time at her wedding and thinking how much easier it is to just find a body-shaper that’ll hold it all in so that I can sit down without splitting my dress up the butt. (She’s agreed that that will be hilarious and not embarrassing at all and she can’t wait for it to happen. Dick.) Before the decision to stop focusing on myself and completely focus on them, I made a game plan for afterwards to make myself shut up.
The day after her wedding I’m going to eat a poutine and start again.
I have not given up on my body, summer isn’t the only time of year I want to be healthy. It’s just the only time of year I have the desire to lay around without most of my clothing on since it’s hot as hell. I will not give up on myself, I will move onwards and upwards from here and work, work, work.
I can FINALLY exercise again after having to stop because I was getting an ass instead of a butt and those two inches of rocking ass I gained were too much for the bridesmaids dress. That’s right. I had to reflatten my butt. A hilarious coincidence in my life since most people want a rocking ass for such events and dresses.
Keep moving forward.
The wedding has come and gone and here I am, the same weight in spite of having said poutine. We can also add Filet o’ Fish meal (made my ENTIRE body feel like garbage), so many chips…just so, so many. And ice cream up the wazoo.
The wedding itself was one of the most enjoyable experiences of my life, the food was amazing, the dancing was stupendous (clocked in a literal 2 hours straight of it), and I stayed sober because I was having so much fun I didn’t need to drink in order to talk to people. (Whoa Anxiety Girl, what are you saying?! You get nervous talking to people you’ve known your whole life! I know right? Wedding magic.) I cried a handful of times (I completely blame that on the brides dad.) and got so jazzed my friend was getting married I’m pretty sure I was the fastest bridesmaid up the aisle.
I fit into my dress with the help of super spanx and another bridesmaid and the bride herself forcing the zipper up. (It’s a fickle zipper, it had nothing to do with fat…or so I’m telling myself.) And a special shout out to my little sister who every time I had to pee came with me and shoved her hand down my dress in order to pull the spanx back up. Yes. That happened. I’m stupid and got the kind that are shorts that go up to my boobs because Papa has thighs and they chafe and then I would have to pull my dress up to my neck, pull the spanx back up and wiz. This happened until about 11 pm where I ripped them off and tossed them in the trash in the bathroom because Fuck it.
I looked hot from head to toe anyway, I told you: That dress is pure magic.
I was not the “fat bridesmaid” even though everyone else is skinnier than me, I didn’t look like a monster beside them, I looked like a shapely hottie because that was the entire reasoning behind that specific dress being chosen. In the brides words: I want my bitches to look hot.
The bride looked like a babe all day in spite of the rain and the only way I could be happier for them is if they have a honeymoon baby. Which they promise isn’t going to happen come hell or high water. Come on guys, I gave you a salad spinner, the least you can do is make me that weird lady your kids call Uncle Al because Aunt Alli sounds ridiculous. Haha
Love and light bitches.
My best friend is a dickhole. I pick him up from his house one day and he hands this book to me and says, “Read it, you’ll love it!”
Naturally, when he says this to me I’m skeptical because the last book he told me to read was Fall on Your Knees by Ann-Marie MacDonald. Great writing, great book, circumstances in the book make me rage and feel disgusted. Therefore I hate my best friend.
So when he tells me that this book is wonderful too, my eyebrow goes up immediately.
Here’s what I have to say to Ryan after reading this book:
Fuck you. Fuck you for handing this to me. Fuck you for telling me I would love it. Fuck you for forgetting that it was about the Holocaust. And mainly, fuck you for forgetting that I have declared a ban on all Holocaust books for the unforeseeable future because they make me feel horrible right down to my bones and I don’t recover for weeks.
Immensely tiny compared to what they went through, but I’m an empathic person. I really do feel that sort of thing in my soul and it imprints on it forever.
Now that I’m done cursing Ryan, I’ll tell you about the book.
It’s about two men who are set on a quest in the midst of all the ugly and the danger, they are sent on a quest to find eggs for some higher ups daughters wedding cake. It was very well written, beautiful story, horrific parts (naturally) and the ending…oh my god the ending. Was so beautiful I can’t even begin to appreciate the mark it has left on my insides.
We’ve all been rocked this week by the “sudden” passing of Robin Williams. But I’m betting for him it wasn’t sudden. It was a long and tiring road for the man who made us laugh.
So I figure this week I would forgo my own journey of weight loss and vanity and talk about the thing that is on everyone’s mind.
Mental health and depression.
It’s pretty obvious that it can take anyone no matter what their personal or career success is. Robin Williams was a wonderful actor, comedic genius, and generous person with the financial gain of his success. So it has taken everyone by complete surprise that someone who was so well-rounded in all aspects of his life could even remotely be depressed about life.
But here’s the thing about depression: It doesn’t give a shit who are. It’ll laugh in your face and take you no matter how hard you try.
I do not have depression, but I have been depressed. It lasted for close to a year and then I decided I wasn’t going to let it define my own life and take down peg by peg what I had already built. I wasn’t going to let it rob me of a future. THAT is not depression. Sure, it was bad. But I could get myself out of the hole with the simple decision to BE out of the hole.
Depression is a whole other beast. It’s endless. It’s not a fight to the finish but it’s a fight. I have friends (plural) with depression and I can shine the light in their eyes, I can spend hours, days, months, etc, trying to make them see what their lives are and how much they have to be grateful and happy for, what they have to live for, but I can’t be there all the time holding their hands and telling them it’s going to be okay every minute of the day. (And who the hell would want a chipper asshole doing that in the first place? I would punch me out if I did that to me all the time because when you are depressed the last thing you need is someone telling you how good you’ve got it and things could always be worse.)
I can even tell them to “Buck up mother fucker!” (Which I have.) And it makes them laugh sardonically for a brief three seconds.
Depression is the worst of the worst because people think that is really does take a ‘Buck up mother fucker’ to get the person “motivated” to change their lives. Doesn’t work like that.
I kind of want to talk about all aspects of it but that would take 75 years and there are enough people voicing their opinions and concerns about what it is to have depression (yay for the informed! Keep it up!), but instead I would also like to talk about the people who aren’t depressed who have people in their lives who are and what you can do to not completely help, but to alleviate things a little bit.
First off: Don’t become a fucking cheerleader. Nothing is more irritating than someone sitting there being like “You can do it! You can survive this! You are better than this!”. No. Just no. Because you know what is going through that persons mind?
Nothing. They will tune you out because you don’t understand what the fuck they are going through. Depression isn’t something you can will away. It’s an endless dark pit that they are laying in where they can’t see the top and can’t even see the rope you are lowering down to pull them out. It’s like being upside down drowning in the ocean and you have no idea which way is up.
The hardest thing to understand is that they lose most of their emotions. It’s just a deadened feeling of nothingness. And no matter how much you try to make them laugh or point out the good, they will just look at it as though it’s the colour grey and blink at you.
What you can do is one of the most important things I think everyone in the world needs:
Be a friend who listens. Don’t suggest things, don’t tell them they should exercise or eat better or stop reading depressing books about the Holocaust. (Which all humans should totally be doing all of these things anyway, but it still doesn’t do shit.) Suggesting things is making them feel like there should be a solution for this, and there just isn’t. It’s a mental state, yes, but it’s also a chemical/biological/sciencey thing in their genetic make up that they really can’t change.
So let your people know that they are your people. That you are here for them. That you are listening to the words coming out of their mouths, taking it to heart, and carrying it around for them for a little while and are not just concerned, but caring about them. LISTEN. Really fucking listen, because that’s what most people want in life anyway. Someone to just hear them.
Understand is the next thing. Understand that this comes in waves, the waves can last as long as they goddamn well feel like and sometimes that’s going to be hard not just on your friend, but on you. You know that thing on airplanes that says for you to put on your oxygen mask before you help anyone else?
Don’t fucking pass out on your friend. Take care of you, deep breath, and go help. Even if helping is laying on the floor next to the person while they stare deadened at the ceiling. And if you can’t take it anymore after a period of time? Just think about how they must feel because long after the hour where you get up and go get a churro that person is still laying there staring and not feeling a fucking thing for days on end.
I was a dick to my friend this week because I wasn’t taking care of me. I picked a fight like an asshole because I was stressed out and needed a friend and they have other social anxieties that I wanted to wish away for my own selfish reasons. Obviously, that can’t happen. And somebody with social anxieties like myself, should really know better. But because I didn’t put my oxygen mask on first, I was a Grade A dickhole.
I’ve read articles, I’ve read books about depression, and that’s the dirty little secret they don’t tell you in books:
You need to be relatively stable to be stable for someone else.
As for Robin Williams himself, I’m going to miss the shit out of watching his movies. That man makes me pee my pants with laughter like nobody else. And not even just that but his thoughts on life have kept me going when all hope was lost for me. (I even semi-quoted him in last weeks Keep Moving Forward because what he said means so much to me and I have held onto that quote for years when people have been shitbuckets to me.)
Here’s to Robin, a beacon of light and love even when he couldn’t feel it.
This is my favourite Robin William’s thing ever, never fails to make me laugh really hard.
I censor myself a fair amount. Obviously not on here, I mean, I curse like a sailor and act like an asshole, so I wouldn’t call writing here censorship. Here: I call it like I see it.
But out in the world, these lips are zipped.
Which leads people to believe that I’m a quiet, thoughtful, smart, independent, confident, caring person.
Ha ha ha. You dumb whores.
Ever hear the saying “Beware of the quiet ones.”? Yeah. Papa isn’t just a rolling stone, papa is a bitch. A bitch with a penchant for cursing and a love of being a jerk. Unfortunately, the rest of the world doesn’t seem to like that and as much as I love being a jerk, I also don’t like to hurt other peoples feelings on purpose or otherwise.
I don’t literally mean it if I say stuff like “you dumb whores” “you stupid bitch” etc. I have yet to meet someone who is genuinely stupid. Everyone is smart in their own way, whether it be artistically, musically, sciencely, or mathematically. (I’m aware ‘sciencely’ isn’t a real word.) And contrary to popular belief, I do actually like people and give them a fair shot at getting to know me. I’m super quiet when I meet new people for a reason:
I hear more when I speak less.
And the less I speak, the more people say to me. It’s interesting and I like it and you get to know other people more, which I actually enjoy.
Today I picked my little cousins up from Day Camp (something their parents enlisted them in so I don’t drown their babies in the bathtub from too much time together) and I witnessed something beautiful. Violet doesn’t generally shine to people immediately, and if you cross her she clams up for a minute like she’s making up her mind whether to punch you in the face or just let it lie. (Hello kindred spirit.)
So, when some random kid sassed her, without a moment of hesitation, she called him out for being a dick.
This kid is eight years old and has more confidence and surety in herself than I’ve seen in a person in a long time. And I love that. She dances like no one is watching and even if you are watching she doesn’t give a fuck. She calls it like she sees it and stands her ground. (Sometimes so much I want to kick her.) Not to say that she isn’t sensitive or thoughtful either, she really is. If she knew how much I actually cursed, her head would explode. (I said ‘friggin’ the other day and she scolded me about how it’s a swear. No Vi, ‘FUCKING’ is a swear. Sigh. Kids.)
She has this thing about being called “Crazy” or “Insane”; she thinks it’s a bad thing. I’ve explained to her a million times that it’s a great thing.
So, here’s what I want her to keep hearing when someone calls her that:
Neither of these things is bad. They are beautiful in their own right. Don’t let anyone make you feel like they are bad things because they are wonderful. You get one crazy and fun and insane spark in your life, don’t let other people snuff that out because they have different views on what’s normal. Be sensitive, be caring, but don’t let people walk on you and don’t let them push you around. You have every right to be who you want, say what you want, and still be kind to other people and yourself.
That’s the most important thing: Be kind.
That’s why I censor what I say to people. Not because I’m trying to be mean when things come out of my mouth normally, but because the way I phrase things isn’t a known language to most people. My family and friends understand that the words that come out of my mouth are just the scalloped edges on the pretty dress, they are there for show they serve no other purpose.
By censoring, I’m being sensitive to other peoples languages and wording. Words are important.
I’m not stifling myself, I’m just being kind.
That’s how I can keep moving forward.
(I feel like that was a commercial moment where I wink at you with my hand on my hip.)
I’m really enjoying these in between books I’ve been choosing to give myself a break from the Game of Thrones series.
This book was pretty decent, it’s about a bored New York mother who moved to the suburbs in order to keep her family safer and happier and the end result is that she is starting to lose herself and hates everything about where she is and what she’s doing.
And then there is a murder in the neighbourhood and she tries to solve it.
It was pretty interesting and good for a brain break and I felt like she was a real person that I would meet at the supermarket or the park. Run down, tired as all hell, and thinks that the other mothers are basically stepford wives.
It was an easy read and I really had no idea who had committed the murder until they gave the smallest hint of a hint of a hint. And looking back on the book, it made total sense as to who it was, but they were so well hidden that you wouldn’t suspect.
It was nice, I look forward to reading more of her books.
I get down on myself for being single.
I can go ahead and say that I’m happy being single and it’s all magic and freedom, and usually it is, but sometimes I really kick my own ass for it.
Why doesn’t anyone like me? (Less of a whine and more of a ‘What the hell boys?! I’m practically a bro with boobs.” You think they would enjoy that.)
This is the question that crinkles my forehead a lot and I get a lot of replies to it when I bring this question up for discussion with my friends. Actually, I don’t ask that question, I generally say something like “I don’t meet anyone new ever, soooo unless the one non-family member guy I know steps it up, I’m going to die alone in my parents house.” (And I’ve known this person for a few years, so I’m going to assume he’s not interested.)
The word “vibe” is put out there a reasonable amount in response to this.
“You are just putting out the vibe that you aren’t interested.”
“You are just putting out the vibe that you aren’t looking.”
“You are just putting out the vibe that you can’t be bothered.”
My Nonna once told me that I can’t be bothered in the sense that I don’t want another person bothering me and messing up the quiet life that I have, not that I can’t be bothered to even look for said person.
Here’s a vibe I’m ACTUALLY trying to put out: “I’m not interested, looking for, or can’t be bothered with jackasses, liars, assholes, idiots, or bigots. Or sissies.”
I am partial to fools, however.
So, where does that leave a Nerd Queen and unicorn such as myself?
Crying while watching Austenland for the seventh time. Alone. Okay, I don’t cry the ENTIRE movie, it’s a romantic comedy, and it’s pretty much impossible to when Jennifer Coolidge is hilarious.
I don’t even know where I would meet someone; online dating isn’t for me, striking up a conversation with a hot stranger in the middle of the grocery store isn’t for me (could you imagine? “Oh hey…nice melons. Heh heh heh.” That’s me, because in this scenario I’m a cheesy villainesque person from an 80s movie with a popped collar and giant sunglasses I lower in order to say said cheesy line.) and clearly just talking to any man, boy, or regular person I meet doesn’t work.
I actually don’t even know what I would do with a boyfriend once I got one. I would hope it would mostly involve watching Doctor Who while he feeds me pizza…but I think that is less a boyfriend and more a cabana boy? Whatever.
So here’s an ode to myself on a day where I feel like balls for being a lonely old spinster with no prospects and fear that my boobs will sag before anyone gets to see them:
You are beautiful, no matter what they say. Words can’t bring you down. Oh wait…that’s Christina Aguilera’s ode…hold on….
You are magical. You are a unicorn among women and there is no fault in that just because you feel like you are the only one of your kind left. There is nothing you can’t do and no one, even yourself, can make you feel less than just because you haven’t found that person who fills your soul up and makes you want to be a better version of yourself. That person who thinks you look pretty even when you look like you’ve been dragged through a bush backwards. That other person who makes you laugh more than makes you cry. That other person who acknowledges your faults and mistakes and doesn’t make you feel like a complete asshole for them. That other person who sees you being a dick and calls you on it and you don’t want to punch them in the face for doing so.
You don’t need another half, you are a whole person on your own. And that’s part of what makes you special. It’s worth the wait, just make the wait a grand adventure and there will never be a regret.
Stop crying you sissy.
There is only one you, and there will never be another. You are unique in the universe. (And yes, that is yet another Doctor Who quote.)
Keep moving forward.