I love facebook. Love love love it! Except when I check JR's page and find that a really pretty girl has written on his wall. Then I hate hate hate it. But besides that, the pictures are obviously the draw.
As a single girl, meeting a new guy and then finding him on facebook and having access to his pictures was like, my god, the greatest thing to EVER happen to me! And I wouldn't just look at ALL of his pictures. I would look at ALL of his pictures, over, and over, and over. Wanna know how many times JR looked at all of my pictures? Zero. He said he made it through the first few and that was "enough". Are most boys this indifferent? Like hi, how are you not dying to see every single pic available of me? To this day he still doesn't know what pics I have tagged of myself.
But I do. I have them memorized, and I look at almost all of them on almost a daily basis. Is this normal? Probably not considering some poeple closest to me are tagged in over 1,000 pics. How can you possibly control what people see when there are that many? I have slowly untagged some over the years, deleting more and more each time I accept a friend request from someone I used to date/like. I think I've weeded out all the terrible ones. And when an untag isn't enough, I hound and harrass that person to DELETE the picture from the universe entirely. Because, hello, just because I detag doesn't mean other people can't see it! The ones who listen to me are my favorite friends. The rest of you are mean.
And for that, people think I'm ridiculous and too critical and fussy and vain. But here is my question. Don't I have the right to allow or not allow pictures of ME to be shown to the entire world? If I don't want everyone seeing a picture you took of my unphotogenic face that came out with me looking like the fat witch from Hocus Pocus, isn't it valid for me to ask you to please take it down?
Like, at my wedding some day, it will be my day, right? My day to pretend I am perfect and wicked pretty and love everything about myself and my life. Like, what if all my guests take a bunch of pics of me where my nose looks bigger than normal and my eye is half closed or you see extra back fat hanging over my dress or I have a major double chin because you were too low when you took the picture? I say, you shouldn't be allowed to post it. Not just of me, but of any bride, or any girl, or anyone, if they don't want you to, right? It's just not nice. When people ask me to delete a photo I've posted of them, I do it, because I know some day I'll probably ask them to return the favor, so I have to stay on their good side.
But back to stalking. The only thing better than looking at your crush's pics are finding pics of his ex. Except it's not actually better, its awful. Because really, chances are they're not going to be fatter than you, and they're not going to be as ugly as you hoped they'd be, and I'm going to x out of the page feeling terrible about myself, insecure about the relationship, and mad at the guy. Because I found pics of his ex and she was pretty. Rational.
Or have you found yourself looking at pics of girls, and you have no idea who they are? How much do you hate yourself when you're looking at some random girl in a bikini on the beach and you're in the middle of comparing her better body to your mushier one and someone walks by and asks who that is and you look up and say "...hm?" When the rumor circulated about being able to see who looks at your profile, my heart stopped for 5 seconds which may actually constitute as being dead. Like I actually might have died for 5 seconds, because my life would have been over since there is NO possible way I could recover after certain people found out how just how many times I looked at their profile.
So here's to that rumor never coming true, memorizing our tagged-pics line-up, and never posting pics of each other in the white dress. Cheers!
Friday, May 28, 2010
Love Chub
I read an article the other day in Women's Health. It explained how to avoid "love chub": gaining weight while you're in a relationship. First of all, I hate the word chub. And I've hated it since I heard my ex-boyfriend say "chub rub" once, to describe when a girls thighs rub together when she walks. Which to me was always embarrassing yet normal, but finding out there was a name for it made it so much worse.
While I am still trying my "eat whatcha want" routine, I'm still obviously hoping not to gain weight. And since I just signed a lease to move into an apartment this September with a BOY, I have to now, more than ever, be ready to enter a whole new food environment. Like I ever figured it out on my own.
One of the things that contributes to Love Chub is having his snacks become your snacks. True that. Being around a guy, specifically this guy, has presented a way of eating and drinking that is totally unfamiliar to me. Like, who just drinks gatorade because theyre thirsty, or non-diet snapple because they like the flavor? And who buys cream puffs out of the freezer section to eat as a snack later, when there's no special occasion? Or orders a ceasar salad as an appetizer, every meal? But guess who else orders a ceasar salad now before every meal? And guess who else has learned to take a more than a few sips of non-diet snapple, and who suddenly realized that CREAMPUFFS might be the thing thats been missing from her life all these years? Oh we're running late? YES grabbing huge breakfast sandwiches is a GREAT idea. And gummy bears before bed IS a good idea for a late night snack.
There is also a direct descending correlation between the frequency of my workouts before and after I started to date him. I'm seeing him later, I should go to the gym first, but then I'd have to wash and dry my hair again. So I'll go with sit on the couch and do my nails instead. Oh, you're gonna do laundry all day today? Instead of working out I think it would be a better idea for me to sit on your bed and toggle between watching you and your tv.
Here's a good quote: "A study last year in the journal Obesity found that couples who live together for two or more years are less likely to be physically active, and the women are more likely to become obese." Hello! That can NOT happen. But how am I supposed to get motivated to work out when I am literally obsessed with him and my time with him?? And what is it going to take for me to refuse Creme Brulee after a huge meal that has left me busting full? And what if his favorite foods that I cook him are all fattening? Do I cook us separate meals? Do I force healthier choices on the poor guy? Can I secretly cancel his gym membership and sign him up for my gym so we can go together? While I'm not at that level of crazy, I am already panicking about how this will all pan out. Maybe I'll just be embarrassed to eat my usual "secret" snacks in front of him and I'll just drop 20 lbs, just like that.
What's weird is, even though I eat more calories per meal when I'm with him than any other time, I go home after the weekend to find I haven't gained any weight. And that is because this GENIUS of a guy has figured out how to eat when you're hungry and not eat when you're not hungry. Thats why we have huge 1:00pm breakfasts and no lunches. That's why we get ice cream on the way home from the movies, because he's "in the mood." Or a huge sugary home-made lemonade on the way home from the beach because it's the best we've ever had.
But then I get carried away, and say, WANNA GET SOME POPCORN FOR THE MOVIE? And he says, no, because he's still full. And that is when I feel as fatter as I ever have before. Really, creampuff pete? Cheesecake after chicken parm but no room for popcorn? ...Can it really be that simple? This whole me-not-dieting-thing has really thrown me and I feel lost, and I really, really need to find my way. and hopefully my way is very away from the land of Love Chub. Because that's embarrassing.
While I am still trying my "eat whatcha want" routine, I'm still obviously hoping not to gain weight. And since I just signed a lease to move into an apartment this September with a BOY, I have to now, more than ever, be ready to enter a whole new food environment. Like I ever figured it out on my own.
One of the things that contributes to Love Chub is having his snacks become your snacks. True that. Being around a guy, specifically this guy, has presented a way of eating and drinking that is totally unfamiliar to me. Like, who just drinks gatorade because theyre thirsty, or non-diet snapple because they like the flavor? And who buys cream puffs out of the freezer section to eat as a snack later, when there's no special occasion? Or orders a ceasar salad as an appetizer, every meal? But guess who else orders a ceasar salad now before every meal? And guess who else has learned to take a more than a few sips of non-diet snapple, and who suddenly realized that CREAMPUFFS might be the thing thats been missing from her life all these years? Oh we're running late? YES grabbing huge breakfast sandwiches is a GREAT idea. And gummy bears before bed IS a good idea for a late night snack.
There is also a direct descending correlation between the frequency of my workouts before and after I started to date him. I'm seeing him later, I should go to the gym first, but then I'd have to wash and dry my hair again. So I'll go with sit on the couch and do my nails instead. Oh, you're gonna do laundry all day today? Instead of working out I think it would be a better idea for me to sit on your bed and toggle between watching you and your tv.
Here's a good quote: "A study last year in the journal Obesity found that couples who live together for two or more years are less likely to be physically active, and the women are more likely to become obese." Hello! That can NOT happen. But how am I supposed to get motivated to work out when I am literally obsessed with him and my time with him?? And what is it going to take for me to refuse Creme Brulee after a huge meal that has left me busting full? And what if his favorite foods that I cook him are all fattening? Do I cook us separate meals? Do I force healthier choices on the poor guy? Can I secretly cancel his gym membership and sign him up for my gym so we can go together? While I'm not at that level of crazy, I am already panicking about how this will all pan out. Maybe I'll just be embarrassed to eat my usual "secret" snacks in front of him and I'll just drop 20 lbs, just like that.
What's weird is, even though I eat more calories per meal when I'm with him than any other time, I go home after the weekend to find I haven't gained any weight. And that is because this GENIUS of a guy has figured out how to eat when you're hungry and not eat when you're not hungry. Thats why we have huge 1:00pm breakfasts and no lunches. That's why we get ice cream on the way home from the movies, because he's "in the mood." Or a huge sugary home-made lemonade on the way home from the beach because it's the best we've ever had.
But then I get carried away, and say, WANNA GET SOME POPCORN FOR THE MOVIE? And he says, no, because he's still full. And that is when I feel as fatter as I ever have before. Really, creampuff pete? Cheesecake after chicken parm but no room for popcorn? ...Can it really be that simple? This whole me-not-dieting-thing has really thrown me and I feel lost, and I really, really need to find my way. and hopefully my way is very away from the land of Love Chub. Because that's embarrassing.
Piece a cake
I hate being the person to cut the cake for a bunch of people. Too much pressure. I won't do it.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Oprah has done it again
So after watching a DVR recording of Oprah, my mother and I have both added a new book to our collection: Women Food and God. I'm sure a bunch of you have heard about it. Or not. I'm going to visit my boyfriend's parents this weekend, and thought I'd even pick up a copy for his mother as a mother's day gift. I called my mum to ask if she thought that was a nice idea, she yelled, "NO. LANI,THIS IS A BOOK FOR PEOPLE WITH AN OBSESSION WITH FOOD!"
Enter me.
The gist is how we never win when it comes to dieting and being obsessed with losing the same 10, 20, 30 lbs we've always been trying to lose. (Or the same 10, 20, 30 lbs we've lost and then gained and then lost and then gained). We miss out on all the small things, all the beautiful things, all the fun things in life when we're preoccupied with depriving ourselves, beating ourselves up for cheating, and hating ourselves and our bodies for "failing" and being overweight.
I am sick of feeling liek I've failed. I am sick of having every part of my day filled with thoughts about my body, my weight, my meals, other people's bodies, what other people think of my body, panicking over whether or not I'm going to eat a leftover slice of free pizza at work that day, and hating myself after I do.
I realized some time ago, after listening to my grandmother call herself fat for the 4 millionth time, that this was going to be a never-ending battle. A war I've waged against my self that I will fight in until the day I die. And honestly, I don't know if I have the energy for that. The author writes, "Failing is built into the weight game. There is no way to play it and win." I want to stop playing. I want to take myself out of this game and sit my butt on the bench where I can have a sliver of cherry pie and not only not care, but not feel the need to reach for more. "To be able to have one of something. One bowl, one piece, one bite."
And truthfully, we've all heard this before. Dieting doesn't work. Deprivation doesn't work. It's not about the food, blah blah blah.
But this is what got to me: "Can you remember a time, perhaps when you were very young, when life as it was - just the fact that it was early morning or any old day in summer - was enough? When you were enough - not because of what you looked like or what you did, but just because everything was the way it was." And I cried, because I want to wake up and be happy to enjoy another beautiful day. Not to be able to rush to the scale.
Basically, I'm being asked to stop dieting. To give up my crash atkin-like diets, and throw away my Weight Watchers points calculator and daily food journals. And I don't know if I can do it. Thinking in terms of dieting, and cheating on my diet, is all I know. But I know this works, it's been proven over and over and over. That if you learn to listen to your stomach, eat when and where other people can see you, sit down while you eat, and stop eating when you're full, the food loses its value and you're just left with filling your body only with what it wants, and needs. I'm sure a bunch of you think this sounds ridiculous. Like, wah, you get to eat whatever you want. But the challenge is being okay with that, not restricting calories afterwards, and not overdoing it. For me, this seems impossible.
But, I'm going to give this a try. I will follow the instructions of this book and commit myself to giving up dieting and enjoying my life and my body and my world just the way it is now. And what better way to start than to eat something I promised myself I wouldn't get until I was 5 lbs thinner...a cheddar bagel twist from Dunkin Donuts! Hahaha, lordy. So, I'm either about to change my life forever, or gain 100 lbs. If you see me back at a weight watchers meeting two months from now, do me a favor and don't bring this up.
Enter me.
The gist is how we never win when it comes to dieting and being obsessed with losing the same 10, 20, 30 lbs we've always been trying to lose. (Or the same 10, 20, 30 lbs we've lost and then gained and then lost and then gained). We miss out on all the small things, all the beautiful things, all the fun things in life when we're preoccupied with depriving ourselves, beating ourselves up for cheating, and hating ourselves and our bodies for "failing" and being overweight.
I am sick of feeling liek I've failed. I am sick of having every part of my day filled with thoughts about my body, my weight, my meals, other people's bodies, what other people think of my body, panicking over whether or not I'm going to eat a leftover slice of free pizza at work that day, and hating myself after I do.
I realized some time ago, after listening to my grandmother call herself fat for the 4 millionth time, that this was going to be a never-ending battle. A war I've waged against my self that I will fight in until the day I die. And honestly, I don't know if I have the energy for that. The author writes, "Failing is built into the weight game. There is no way to play it and win." I want to stop playing. I want to take myself out of this game and sit my butt on the bench where I can have a sliver of cherry pie and not only not care, but not feel the need to reach for more. "To be able to have one of something. One bowl, one piece, one bite."
And truthfully, we've all heard this before. Dieting doesn't work. Deprivation doesn't work. It's not about the food, blah blah blah.
But this is what got to me: "Can you remember a time, perhaps when you were very young, when life as it was - just the fact that it was early morning or any old day in summer - was enough? When you were enough - not because of what you looked like or what you did, but just because everything was the way it was." And I cried, because I want to wake up and be happy to enjoy another beautiful day. Not to be able to rush to the scale.
Basically, I'm being asked to stop dieting. To give up my crash atkin-like diets, and throw away my Weight Watchers points calculator and daily food journals. And I don't know if I can do it. Thinking in terms of dieting, and cheating on my diet, is all I know. But I know this works, it's been proven over and over and over. That if you learn to listen to your stomach, eat when and where other people can see you, sit down while you eat, and stop eating when you're full, the food loses its value and you're just left with filling your body only with what it wants, and needs. I'm sure a bunch of you think this sounds ridiculous. Like, wah, you get to eat whatever you want. But the challenge is being okay with that, not restricting calories afterwards, and not overdoing it. For me, this seems impossible.
But, I'm going to give this a try. I will follow the instructions of this book and commit myself to giving up dieting and enjoying my life and my body and my world just the way it is now. And what better way to start than to eat something I promised myself I wouldn't get until I was 5 lbs thinner...a cheddar bagel twist from Dunkin Donuts! Hahaha, lordy. So, I'm either about to change my life forever, or gain 100 lbs. If you see me back at a weight watchers meeting two months from now, do me a favor and don't bring this up.
Monday, May 3, 2010
Woof
There have been a recent combination of things that have forced me to take a look at why the heck I am so neurotic and self-conscious. Between dating someone who is constantly becoming frustrated with my insecurities, and putting all my thoughts and stories out to the world through this blog, I've questioned what went wrong inside of my head. Really, why am I like this?
Then I went through old photos. And remembered.
Dear god in heaven, what WAS I? There were about three different stages of terrible-ness, let me take you through them.
First, I was a girl. And by that I mean I wore feminine clothes. But I was chubby. Chubbier than I cared to remember actually, and chubbier than I think my poor little self was fully aware of back then. I say this because, according to my mother, there were numerous mornings before school where she had to send me back to my bedroom to change into something different. Like, the morning that I came out in spandex shorts, a sports bra, and a fishnet top over it, turned sideways to look at myself in the mirror and said outloud, "this looks pretty good!". Not sure where she was on another particular morning, but somehow in 4th grade I slipped out of house in a leotard and jeans. ...Who does that, you ask? That just happened to be one of
4th-grade-Lani's favorite outfits.
Then all of a sudden I grew about an entire 12 inches, and became a little thinner. But I was still overweight, and my height and weight combined were too much for me to get over. So, I turned into a boy. Except, I wasn't the cool kind of tomboy. I was still shy around boys, got nervous playing sports when any guys were around and couldn't really pull off the 'sporty' look I was going for. Instead of hiding what was embarrassed of, my unstylish baggy man clothes just made me look that much bigger. Especially since I had the same size boobs as I do now (...but back then, they were flattened with a sports bra every day). This was also around the same time that I refused to wear my hair down, because that was embarrassing? So instaed of long flowing hair, it was pulled back into a TIGHT frizzy ponytail with a curly long tail. And dangly earrings, because after all, I was still a girl. So I'm pretty sure I don't have to explicitly state this but, boys were not interested.
And then one day, my mother begged me to let her take me to Rave, the trashiest clothing store maybe ever. But back then it was intimidating, because I hadn't been in a girl's clothing store for 4 years. So we finally picked out 2 shirts that didn't go past my butt, and two pairs of wideleg pants before I had a mini anxiety attack and had to leave the store. So I changed my look a little, but I was still a giant, had braces, and didn't know how to make good eye contact with boys.
Then in 11th grade when I dressed almost normal, learned how to straigten my hair, and wear makeuup, I realized how easy it was to get drunk and makeout, and that surely brings the confidence level up. And now, here I am.
Pics to follow...
Then I went through old photos. And remembered.
Dear god in heaven, what WAS I? There were about three different stages of terrible-ness, let me take you through them.
First, I was a girl. And by that I mean I wore feminine clothes. But I was chubby. Chubbier than I cared to remember actually, and chubbier than I think my poor little self was fully aware of back then. I say this because, according to my mother, there were numerous mornings before school where she had to send me back to my bedroom to change into something different. Like, the morning that I came out in spandex shorts, a sports bra, and a fishnet top over it, turned sideways to look at myself in the mirror and said outloud, "this looks pretty good!". Not sure where she was on another particular morning, but somehow in 4th grade I slipped out of house in a leotard and jeans. ...Who does that, you ask? That just happened to be one of
4th-grade-Lani's favorite outfits.
Then all of a sudden I grew about an entire 12 inches, and became a little thinner. But I was still overweight, and my height and weight combined were too much for me to get over. So, I turned into a boy. Except, I wasn't the cool kind of tomboy. I was still shy around boys, got nervous playing sports when any guys were around and couldn't really pull off the 'sporty' look I was going for. Instead of hiding what was embarrassed of, my unstylish baggy man clothes just made me look that much bigger. Especially since I had the same size boobs as I do now (...but back then, they were flattened with a sports bra every day). This was also around the same time that I refused to wear my hair down, because that was embarrassing? So instaed of long flowing hair, it was pulled back into a TIGHT frizzy ponytail with a curly long tail. And dangly earrings, because after all, I was still a girl. So I'm pretty sure I don't have to explicitly state this but, boys were not interested.
And then one day, my mother begged me to let her take me to Rave, the trashiest clothing store maybe ever. But back then it was intimidating, because I hadn't been in a girl's clothing store for 4 years. So we finally picked out 2 shirts that didn't go past my butt, and two pairs of wideleg pants before I had a mini anxiety attack and had to leave the store. So I changed my look a little, but I was still a giant, had braces, and didn't know how to make good eye contact with boys.
Then in 11th grade when I dressed almost normal, learned how to straigten my hair, and wear makeuup, I realized how easy it was to get drunk and makeout, and that surely brings the confidence level up. And now, here I am.
Pics to follow...
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