reevaluation

So this article (and the comments that follow it--really worth the read if you're interested and have time) sparked a discussion with a friend, and a lot of thinking on my part. I have been posting a bit about my eating/working out habits and frankly, though light-heartedly, beating myself up about them.

Here's the thing: I have a very strange relationship with my weight, as I'm guessing every American woman (and a lot of men) does, if she doesn't have a downright bad one. As a result, I have a tense relationship with food. I love it. I love it in large quantities. But I feel bad about loving it, and I feel bad about eating it. Particularly in large quantities. There's something very frustrating and heartbreaking about the idea that both of those things are simultaneously true and that it's so, so common AND that the entire culture feeds it. (See, e.g., the phrase "sinfully delicious.") And I want more than anything to STOP feeling bad about it. I want more than anything to stop and think, nah, I'd really rather have a nice salad because I WANT A FUCKING SALAD and not because I think I can't have the burger that I really want. OR to order the burger and not being thinking about how I should have really ordered that salad instead because I'm a big greasy lardass. (Well, I am greasy, because I desperately need a shower, but that's another post.) And I want people to shut the fuck up about how "unhealthy" it is to be fat. And because, of course, Kate Harding says it best, I'll just link.

Anyway, this is a rambling, likely incoherent missive and basically what I want to say is this: I am sorry if my self-talk has made you think negatively about yourselves. I know it has made me feel negatively about me, and thus I am going to try to stop it. I can't promise I'll be perfect, but I really am going to try.

back off the wagon

But really, you knew when I said "ish"that my heart wasn't in it, right? I have always been jealous of those who (1) can't eat when they're stressed, or (2) find working out relieves stress. I am not that person. Working out is good for me. I know this. And I even like how I feel when I work out regularly. But you know, I don't particularly enjoy it and working out is...work. It takes time and lots of effort. And I know intellectually it's worth it, but often it's hard to convince myself of that in the moment.

Anyway, this is my confession: I have eaten about 21323 pints of ice cream (wedding gift ice cream maker = love) and worked out once in the last two weeks. Sigh.

My Dad Is Better Than Your Dad

My dad...

never met a board game he didn't like.
makes the best popcorn.
is the best with a good puzzle or riddle or trick.
taught me the glory of Skyline Chili.
gave the best toast anyone had ever heard.
is a pro napper.
once made a bunch of Jacob's Ladders at a time in my life when I thought that was THE CRAZIEST THING EVER (though sadly, sans sweet Australian accent).
reads voraciously and fast and made me love reading via Fox in Socks.
is really proud of me, no matter what...

but most of all, he could kick your dad's sorry ass at flip cup.

I love you, Dad. Happy Father's Day!

reasons I hate the state where I live nos. 45682 and 45683

I went to get a new driver's license this week, with my new married name. I walk into the state DMV and wait patiently in line to get a number so that I can wait to be called up to the desk to actually do the transaction. I get up there, they figure it all out, charge me $25, take my picture and....

they'll mail me my new ID in 7-10 days.

WTF? I have never been to a DMV where they didn't just print out the ID right there. AND it's not as though these IDs are fancy or anything--they're laminated print-outs. Prime fakers material. My old ID had a hologram on it and they still were able to print it on the spot!

To make matters more annoying, they took my old hologrammed ID and STAPLED IT to the print out showing that I had a new ID coming and CUT THE CORNER OFF OF IT. It's the most ridiculous, backwater bullshit I have ever seen. I have to fly today...thank god I have my passport.

Speaking of my passport, did you know that when you change your name you have to pay the passport fee all over again? And since the hubs and I are traveling in August--less than 10 weeks--I'll have to pay the additional $60 to have it expedited! Ugh! If I knew that getting my name changed was such a pain in the ass, I wouldn't have done it. Seriously.

Okay, but on to reason 45,683: I'm being audited. Keep in mind that, before this year, the state had never heard of me. I had never worked here, never had a driver's license here, never voted here...nothing. (And that's on purpose.) Anyway, so even though I didn't work here last year either, I had to file taxes here as my state of residence. I sent them $1,800 they were not expecting. $1,800 from a person they've never heard of. What do they do? MAKE SURE SHE'S LEGIT. Definitely going to need to double-check, make sure she doesn't owe us like $1,950 or something. Assholes.

Anyway, two more months here and then I'm FREE AT LAST, FREE AT LAST, and I'll get to experience yet another state's DMV quirks. Awesome.

"hey awkward couple!"

-Actually yelled at the hubs and me from a car window. When the hubs tried to respond like "yes? you called?" the drunken douchebag yelling at us apparently thought he was trying to fight him and started yelling "what are you going to do? think about it" before they drove off.

But we laughed and laughed before heading to our favorite bar: the back porch. Cheap beers, warm weather, the dog playing in the yard...it doesn't get much better than that.

back on the wagon-ish

So, in preparation for the wedding, and because it was the good-kid thing to do, I started working out. Like a lot. As in, most weeks about five times a week. (That may not be a lot for everyone, but it was a lot for me.) I ate reasonably well. And I lost 10 pounds between Thanksgiving and graduation. Not too shabby, especially considering that I put on a bit of muscle.

And then May hit, and I just stopped. I ate like shit, and I didn't work out basically at all. It was kind of awesome. And then I gained 5 pounds.

So anyway, in the last week, I've made my less-than-triumphant return to the gym. I knew going in that I would have lost a fair amount of strength and stamina. And I had. It's disappointing because I know how much work it was in the first place, but I guess it's also good to know that I am able to get back there.

So the point of this post is: I am back. I am working out 5 days a week again. Not because I need to fit into some dress, and not because I need to look good on a beach in August (though that wouldn't suck either), but because I like being strong and fit.

Now, if only I didn't like beer and fried things so damn much.

unsolicited uterus update: empty

Well, hilariously, I had my very first pregnancy scare two weeks after I got married. (Wait, Dad, that's not hilarious--that's the first possible time it could have happened. Fuck it, you might want to stop reading now.) Anyway, yes, the first time I convinced myself that I was preggers, it was the first time it wouldn't have given my grandmothers heart attacks. It would, however, have given me one.

Here's a tip, friends: when they say the pill is 99% effective, that only is true if you are absolutely psycho religious about taking it at exactly the same time every day. (The actual overall effectiveness rate is somewhere around 90%. HOW FRENCHING SCARY IS THAT?!) And for the most part, I'm good about that, but with the wedding and traveling and whatnot, this month...not so much.

Anyway, normally, I wouldn't have thought much about it. And then I felt really nauseous and puked for no apparent reason last week. And I didn't think much of it. I mean, I thought it was weird, because I hadn't eaten anything bad and other than the nausea I didn't really feel that bad, but you know...I'm kind of a puker. (Though almost never without the influence of alcohol.) Anyway, I felt better pretty quickly afterward, and so I sort of forgot about it. I lived my life--with caffeine and alcohol (dear lord, lots of alcohol last Friday night) and though I didn't actually eat sushi, I totally would have.

Until, that is, my boobs got so unbelievably tender I would have thought I was 15 again. When I was 15 I had the worst PMS any human could possibly have. I got migraine headaches. I had crazy mood swings (well, crazier than regular 15 year old ones). And, of course, the boob soreness. At times I even avoided staircases for fear of jostling the ladies. When I was 16, I went on the pill, and like magic: I had a period like a regular person. Sometimes I even forgot it was coming!

Anyway, cut to Saturday night when I'm getting ready for bed and I have that familiar feeling: crazy-sore, swollen boobs. Boobs so sore I feel like even the weight of my t-shirt was crushing them. I commented to the hubs that it was weird, I hadn't felt like that since before BC...

And then it occurred to me. Holy shit. I'm pregnant.

And I felt...annoyed. I don't want to be pregnant right now. I don't want to be pregnant any time soon. I don't think I'm going to have health insurance soon (not health insurance that covers anything other than getting hit by an in-network bus, anyway). I like to drink. I like to stay out late with my friends. I like to have lots of friends who are about my age and don't have kids. I already am the freakish married one, now I'm going to be on the fast track to suburbia? Ugh. Speaking of the drinking, did I do what I did to myself last Friday night to myself AND a fetus? At what point do you worry about fetal alcohol syndrome? This has to happen with a lot of unplanned pregnancies, right? I'm not the freak terrible person who made her baby retarded because she HAD to have another Miller Lite, right? Oh, AND I'm not even starting work for 9 months, how can I afford this? Wait, I have to start work in 9 months, what am I supposed to just pop it out and get to work 3 days later, Sarah Palin style? I don't want a baby! This is so unfair! (Or totally fair, given the odds that it would happen.) But whatever, whyyyyy meee? It would be really weird to place a kid for adoption in my scenario, right? I mean, I have a stable home and relationship. Not to mention the fact that I'd be as big as a whale at Thanksgiving/Christmas and so the awkward questions from family who'd love to have another baby around would be so awful.

And abortion? I don't know--I mean, I'm not sure fetuses are people, but I'm also not sure they're not...so while I am 100% not judgy about others' choices (I actually think it's a sex equality issue: if we have all these potential decision makers--courts, state legislatures, etc.--why wouldn't we put the choice in the hands of the one person who will have to bear the most cost, whether financial, physical, or emotional? Because she's a woman? And the state's going to say she has to incubate this potential person at the expense of honoring her choices as a person? WTF? Anyway, this is a way-too-long aside y'all owe to Kitty MacKinnon.), I'm not 100% sure I could abort this fetus.

I'm a little surprised by how negative my own reaction was, honestly. The hubs and I have discussed having kids someday (probably in the 5-10 years from now range) and you know, we're married. We're a family. So this wasn't the plan...lots of things happen you don't plan for. But it was what it was, I guess.

So the hubs bought a test. (Keep in mind at this point I'm not yet late.) Negative. But only 83 percent effective at that point. Okay, well, I guess I can stop 83 percent of my worrying then.

And then I waited. Two solid days of only worrying I might be 17 percent pregnant. I expected my period last night. No dice. This morning, nothing. Noon, nothing. I went to have a beer thinking, well, I don't know for sure yet...this might be the last beer I get to have for a while. At the bar, it comes! Sweet relief! Another beer! Thank the lord: Kate Gets Her Period and we don't have to start Kate Gets Knocked Up.