Sunday, December 9, 2012

The Most Badass Resume You Will Ever Read

Hey guys, remember how this is me all the time?  

Yep! That is me alright. Oh except that I am white. Oh and also I am actually really super lonely and totally wish I had a guy in my life.

Ok, ok. I know I wrote a blog about how awesome it is to be single recently. And it is! Really! Don't get me wrong, I enjoy my independence probably more than most pathetic single chicks do. Ahem. But when you by some great incident actually commit yourself to feeling something about someone else other than complete disgust or indifference, even if it is just the tiniest bit, and things don't work out, it can really, really suck. Considering I only manage to find people I deem worthy about once or twice a year, it is always especially devastating when they inevitably do not reciprocate any whiff of attraction.

So I guess if I am going to be honest (and I don't really want to be, guys, trust me. It is difficult for me to admit any kind of weakness-- particularly when I am attempting to write a blog about being a badass-- but I feel like we have built up such a close relationship that it would be wrong to violate your trust, internet), yea, I feel kind of sad about being single lately. It is the contrast really, that gets me down so easily. As soon as I picture myself with someone, it is really hard to face the truth of reality and realize they don't feel the same way, especially when you prolong your desire over the span of several months. It is as if for the past three months I have really, really wanted a piece of cheesecake that has been sitting on my kitchen counter all this time, only to have to face the facts that for some strange, irrational reason, I can not have the cheesecake. Maybe there is a magical forcefield around the cheesecake and it is wilting away into nothing like in Beauty and the Beast or it is being eaten by mice or my roommates or the cheesecake prefers other girls. The reason does not really matter. It is just so cruel! So unfair! All I want is that cheesecake! So I get all sulky and cranky and end up having to spend all my time in coffee shops as it is to only place to go where I can be productive because I get too distracted at home trying to drown my sorrow in games of Tetris and staring at the wall.

So... that is where I am at in life right now. Having been raised as an over privileged suburban white girl who always gets everything she wants one way or another, not getting things I want is completely unacceptable. It makes me mad, really. Because personally I think I am awesome! When I look in the mirror every morning, I see the most badass, attractive, fake red-headed pale freckled pole dancing writer chick in the whole entire universe staring back at me. Sometimes she has really gross pimples or unwashed hair, but for the most part, she is pretty much the definition of perfect. And I love her. Seriously. It is most upsetting that not everyone else perceives me as the most awesome creature ever to grace the planet, for whatever strange reason. I cannot imagine why. It is not like I am really weird or awkward or self absorbed or kind of mean or anything! Geez. Get with it, guys.

I just don't understand why other people-- single, attractive, intelligent, and hard working young men in particular-- do not fully realize how great I am. Because I am. (And I will keep saying that until you believe it). I feel as if the rejection I receive is often premature or uninformed. And in the end, it is not even really that I need a boyfriend! If I somehow managed to get one, it would probably be similar to one of those situations where you buy a phoosball table or trampoline. It is really awesome for like, a week, and then you get bored. You start to wonder what the hell you were thinking and don't know how to get rid of it. So you stuff it in some corner of your basement or garage, forgetting about it completely until the day comes when you move away and leave it there for the next owners to deal with...

Alright, so maybe that is not the perfect metaphor.

What it really comes down to is merely the principle of people underestimating me. I feel like frequently in life I come up second best, primarily because I severely lack proficient social skills, and it is frustrating. Sometimes I just wish I had a straightforward, no fuss method of showing people I am awesome. Like a demo reel or a resume or something. I was thinking about this very matter and that is when I had my revelation. Why not do it? Why not just write a resume of awesomeness?

I already made the boyfriend application (I still totally have submissions just pouring in. Totally. Yea). So why not do my part and meet everyone else halfway? It saddens me that there is a necessity to do this. Really people should totally just absolutely love me and want me right off the bat, but I guess life does not work that way and sometimes people need a little push. Since I am so great, I am willing to give that push. I will go 110% at this, even if it means pushing everyone right off the cliff. So come on you little lemmings, follow me!

I now present to you, my Badass Resume of Awesomeness (click to full view): 

Sunday, November 25, 2012

Thanksgiving Is Awesome

Dearest readers,

Recently, I celebrated the best holiday ever invented by mankind: Thanksgiving. A day where one can eat to their hearts content and no one can judge them for being a greedy fatso about it. A day where no one has to worry that servings of their favorite dish will run out, for there is no end to the Turkey God's bountiful spoon and also three people made the same thing, so we're totally covered. A day where neurotic psychos such as myself can mindlessly do something they absolutely love until their body screams in painful protest--no, not running, although weirdly the same behavior applies in that case-- but eating. Glorious eating! And oh what food there was to eat!

I want to take a special blog entry to describe and review the foods that I ate during the Great Thanksgiving of 2012 and also the aftermath that was Leftovers Day (most people call it Black Friday but as we all know I don't shop). As someone who really, really likes eating, I assure you that my palette is of the highest caliber and I will do my best and uphold my duty to offer the most in depth and well informed critique of the foods I consumed so that you can drool in jealousy and perhaps get a few ideas for your Thanksgivings of the future, of which I hope meet even just half of the amazingness that mine was. I will try to be as detailed as possible.

It all began on Thanksgivings Eve. I decided to tap into my matronly side (a severely neglected side of myself) and cook some things for other people for once... I mostly just wanted to eat them myself. Thanksgiving was a good excuse to make large batches of them. I put on a super girly 50s housewife apron and modest high heels (not really) and set to work baking sweetbread from scratch and also mini-apple pies cooked inside apples, because I am so meta. (I am so meta, I don't even use the word 'meta' properly).

The bread? Came out awesome.
The apple pies? Came out awesome.

Here are some photos I took on instagram because I have such an artistic soul and my regular camera phone is not sufficient enough to capture the depth of my spirit.

Awesome sweetbread

Awesome apple pies

My roommate had the brilliant idea of making an apple crumble with the leftover apple pie filling and crust. We ate it with some ice cream for dinner. It tasted awesome.

After cooking and taste testing my food quite sufficiently I went to bed, giddy with dreams of the tasty delights that lay await in the day to come. I was like a child on Christmas, except I actually slept because I have spent months honing my internal body clock to go to sleep and wake up at very specific times. But I will still pretty excited and all that. 

The next day, after a quick 5 mile run to make me feel a little less guilty about the events I was about to partake in, we headed off to the magical land of West Hollywood... I apologize. Those of you who do not live in Southern California probably do not realize that I am being completely sarcastic about that comment. Do not let the silver screen misinform you; Anywhere even in the vicinity of Los Angeles is actually a stinking pit. Fortunately the people we were going to visit are very cool and live in a nice house, so it was easy to pretend we were somewhere else a little less hellish. 

We arrived around 11am and were presented with completely alcohol-free drinks, sausage and egg pie, homemade bread, crackers, pear slices, and the most wondrous selection of cheeses. I would tell you specifically what kind of cheeses there were, but I don't actually know because I only pretend to be an educated person when really I know very little about the wonders of the world. This extends to the world of cheese, unfortunately. Perhaps one day I will be a cheese master, but those are only distant hopes for the time being. 

The drinks? Awesome. 
The breakfast pie? Awesome. 
The bread? Awesome. 
Crackers? Well, they were pretty normal, but still awesome. 
The pear slices? Awesome. And surprisingly very thin. Like really, quality deli-meat kind of thin. And crinkly. They were quite the sight.
The cheeses? Awesome. Especially the soft one. That one was really awesome. 

Then it was time to head off the site of feasting, several miles to the West of our location. Or East? North? South, maybe? Who knows. We were in LA. It is nothing but a labyrinth of concrete vomit. It is a feat just to tell which way is left in that place.

We relocated to another very nice apartment, so as to try and forget where we were again, because it was very traumatic actually having to go out into the streets and be reminded for a few minutes. There were many very hip, young couples there, but more importantly there was food. Dinner was on the brink of readiness. Appetizers were set out. There were completely nonalcoholic drinks galore. I helped myself to some innocent cranberry juice and started sampling. There were more cheeses. I don't know what kind, but I think one was what some people refer to as "brie." It was awesome. I ate a lot of it. 
There were also prosciutto wrapped dates, which were SUPER awesome. I nearly died. I don't often normally much like prosciutto or dates, but they were so awesome I even went to the trouble of figuring out what prosciutto was and how to spell it so I didn't look like an idiot on the internet. And let me tell you, that was a lot of trouble to go through. It took me like, 5 whole minutes to figure it out. I thought prosciutto started with a "b." 

After awhile of trying to save precious stomach space and subsequently failing to the lure of the prosciutto wrapped dates, it was dinner time. THE dinner time. The dinner time of all dinner times. We took our seats. We received our plates. As usual, I was one to get the ball rolling and started serving myself probably what was inappropriately too soon. Let me list for you now, all the things that I served myself, and what I thought of them, in detail: 

Turkey. Primarily dark meat (it is the only way to go, honestly). This turkey was soaked in buttermilk before being roasted. It was awesome. 

Gravy. I don't usually eat gravy, but it was in this really cute little gravy boat in front of me at the table. Turned out it was awesome.

Stuffing. Also not usually a dish I tend to eat a lot. Or ever. But this one was super moist. It did not even look like stuffing. I did not even know that was what it was. Which is actually why I served myself some. But it was awesome! 

Cranberry sauce. There were two varieties being served, one more gelatin-like, and one made up of real crushed cranberries. Both were awesome. 

Mashed potatoes. Classic. Awesome. 

Chili-infused mashed potatoes. At least that is what I think they were. There were beans and corn and salsa and stuff in them, so I can only assume. They were awesome. 

Steamed greenbeans. Awesome. 

Greenbeans in a creamy mushroom sauce. Holy crap. So awesome. 

Sweetbread that I made. We already know that it was awesome. 

A little whiskey-butter on the sweetbread... Actually this was one of the few things I did not like. Not a whiskey fan, really. But everyone else thought it was awesome. 

I got seconds of the turkey, stuffing, chili mashed potatoes, cream sauce green beans, and sweetbread. At that point I couldn't clean my plate because it hurt too much. It was a travesty, but one I of course expected, as one always must on the day of turkey feasting. What is Thanksgiving, but a time of pain and sadness that one cannot eat more? We are spoiled, upper-middle class Americans with far too much to eat. What a shame. What a pity. If only we could have more. Our lives are troublesome indeed.

I had to spend some time comatose in my seat, not moving even the slightest bit, as it was too painful and disrupted my strained digestion process. It was most unfortunate that the people next to me started talking human politics and socialism. I only managed to escape by the necessity of needing to call my mother. Thank god. It was a close one. God forbid I actually become opinionated on a matter of social and cultural importance. Yelcgh. The thought disgusts me. 

After awhile I regained a little mobility and we took a nice walk, perhaps burning off 50, maybe even 60 calories. I know the number may seem small, but every little bit makes a difference on Thanksgiving. And with dessert coming up, it was more important than ever. 

The dessert collection was quite a sight to see. In addition to my mini apple pies inside an apple, there was blueberry pie, pumpkin pie, ice cream, and coconut macaroons. I had some of everything. And guess what? All of it. was. awesome. I kept trying to eat more, but my body kept protesting. I sat slumped in a large, perhaps too comfy armchair, in pain and impatience. Every time I thought I might be able to eat more, it only took another bite to remind me of my weakness. Ah what shame! But it was well worth it. I did manage to consume a fairly honorable amount, and felt proud of what I achieved. 

And thus we returned back to the other nice house in LA. And after a few hours we also ate some banana cream pie someone had dropped off, complete with a whole banana or two inside. I also ate a plate of cheesecake, because it was there. Both were awesome. I fell asleep to two people playing a Dead Space video game for the wii, which was perhaps the most beautiful moment of the day, as it has been a long time since I have gotten to sit around watching other people play games. (This is weirdly one of my favorite things to do on the holidays, besides eating).

I had gone to bed with something of a stomach ache, but woke up refreshed and renewed, ready for a day of leftover glory. We began the day with home-cooked waffles. They were awesome. I had a little maple syrup, yogurt, and many types of jam on mine, including mixed berry, cranberry danish spread, fig, and a couple types that I could not pronounce and thus cannot recall now. They were all awesome. I was quite partial to the fig and danish spread, myself. There was also the best bacon I think I have ever had. It came off this enormous hunk of bacon mass, and was the softest, most actually meat-like bacon I have ever encountered. 

After breakfast, there was some newborn baby holding and homework to be done, but that did not stop us from grazing on leftovers of an entirely different Thanksgiving meal that had been brought to us. This included more turkey (not as good as the buttermilk turkey, but still awesome), french onion soup casserole (holy crap so awesome), cinnamon sweet potato chunks (awesome), mac'n'cheese (awesome),   and other typical Thanksgiving goodies that fade away in my memories. I am sure they were also awesome. 

There was a box of desserts that had been delivered by a passing guest the morning before. Upon inspection they looked delicious and we decided to eat them. Inside there was some flaky, creamy pastry thing with layers of flakiness and cream, a frosted strawberry angel food cake thing, and fruity custard tarts. I had some of each. They were all awesome. My favorite was the flaky thing. It was the most awesome. 

In addition, there was grazing on more desserts, including apple crisp, leftover cheesecake remnants, and some terribly fabulous cookies. They were all awesome. There was more homemade bread and hummus too. Awesome. 

Believe it or not, after not too long it was clearly dinner time. We were so starving. So pizza crust was whipped out, gravy was lathered upon it, and stuffing, turkey, and other leftovers were placed under a layer of cheese. It cooked for a short while, and Thanksgiving leftover pizza was born. It was literally one of the most awesome things I have ever tasted. I don't know why no one had thought of such a thing before. I cannot even tell you how awesome it was. There was also an alternative new-age leftover pizza made with cranberry sauce, aged gouda and who knows what else. It was awesome. 

I had 5 pieces of pizza in total. I would have had more, but my body resisted. At this point, I knew my time to eat endlessly was coming to a close. I mourned, but accepted my fate. I shortly returned back to my apartment with my roommate in tow, back to a life of raw veggies and regular plain old cheese. It is difficult, after such an extravaganza, to come back to such a dull existence. But I still have many more Thanksgivings to look forward to (only 363 days until Thanksgiving 2013!) I am already scheming what I can do with my leftover pie crust and looking up coconut macaroon recipes online. After all, Christmas is not far off on the horizon...

Thursday, November 22, 2012

Things I am thankful for, Sexless and Cynical style

Here at Sexless and Cynical, we would like to acknowledge the day of celebrating that involves stuffing your face until you want to puke. We think it is the best holiday ever conceived of and participate in it most joyously. 

The catch is, in exchange for eating your bodyweight in rich, heavy foods, one is meant to show thanks and be grateful for all the things in their life. Our glorious and most cherished founder, Meri Moose Gooey Boogers, would like to share all of these things with you now. She would also like to say that she remembers to be thankful for these things every day anyway, but this is just a list she will now voice for your reading pleasure and also so she can jump on board with the holiday spirit.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone! Please remember safe eating and use your condiments. 

Things I am thankful for, Sexless and Cynical style: 


-Cooking as an excuse to "taste test" food. Over and over again. 

-Shiny, metal poles that are sturdy enough to spin and hang around on upside while contorting my body in various positions, whether they be chrome or brass or any other material.

-Long, colorful silk fabrics that descend from the heavens for me to play on--or rather, flail around like a drunken monkey on. 

-A strong, healthy body. I refer to both myself and any strong, healthy body that belongs to an attractive man in his 20s or 30s. 

-Big, long geographical formations known as hill or mountains that I can conquer to show life "what's up"

-Comedic television, webshows, and movies that help mask the harshness and pain of reality. Er, I mean, life is great and totally awesome all the time. Yea! 

-Female butts and boobs. Seriously, I am not even really gay, but I do greatly appreciate the beauty of female anatomy. Like seriously. It's amazing. 

-Running clothes and accessories that make me look legit and not as much like the awkward, flailing, crazy person I actually look like when I run.


-Having zero dollars in my bank account for the first time ever, only to remember that I had a summer job and thus still have a bank account full of money to pay for all my crazy fitness addictions

-Being a completely socially inept and awkward female, thus attracting zero men and being able to spend all my time on energy on the most important thing in the world: myself

-Boy cooties that remind me that boys are dumb and having a vagina is awesome 

-Bruises upon bruises upon bruises. They are badges of honor and serve as a testament to how hard I work.

-Sore muscles as an excuse to not get up out of your chair. Also because they mean I'll be stronger tomorrow

-Having a beautiful, flawless face that I don't have to put any make-up on, ever, because it's already so perfect. (That is totally why I don't wear make-up)

-Dogs and cats, as they will one day be all I have in this world as an old and lonely spinster. They will be there for me to tease and make fun of without any repercussions--I mean, they will be good company and true loyal companions. 

-Words so that I can express myself and bore dozens of people on the internet with. 

-Did I mention food? 

-Oh yea and family and friends that love and support me through anything in every way who allow me to have the opportunities that so many don't get to have and blah blah blah all that. 

Sunday, November 18, 2012

The Evil of Daylight Savings

I don't know about you guys, but lately things have been beginning to slip for me. By slip I mean that everything in my life feels like it is just starting to spiral down an evil black hole of doom. Basically I am sitting on the edge of it, dangling my feet, chewing on some bubble-gum, playing with my yo-yo and staring down into a vortex-like abyss that I could potentially get sucked into if I don't get up off my butt and do something about it soon. Herman the worm will not be coming to save my ass. (If you get this reference you win all the gold stars). Right now I am basically standing on thin air like a Loony Toons character. As soon as I look down, oh man, is shit going to hit the fan. 

We all know how this is going to end

I got the ball rolling when I met someone I am highly attracted to awhile back (just another glorious form of anxiety to lug around every. waking. moment.), but really the black hole beneath my feet started growing when I tore my hamstring last week. As excited as I am to have a real athletic injury, thus legitimizing my very fitness-obsessed soul, I am mostly just incredibly pissed off. I did everything I was told! I warmed up! I did the prep stretches! My good split, the one that hits the floor, was feeling really good! My hips were so square! I thought I could go for it. I thought I was extra warm and extra flexible that night. I sank all the way into my bad side split, held it for a few moments and then POP! Followed by an excruciating bit of pain. I played it off cool for the rest of class, telling no one and taking it easy on the tricks, but boy was I gimpy walking out of there. And now I have had to take a break from running, ease up on the poling, and my flexibility has been set back by miles. It's not fair. This is one giant, fat metaphor for my life. Work hard, do everything you are told, and still get screwed over. Thanks, universe. 

So that happened, and not being able to run has been like someone taking me off my happy pills. That first day I had to skip a run I was a mess. It was not a pretty sight. Ever since then, the black hole has been steadily growing, causing self doubt and anxiety all over the place like a drunk, hot mess on puking her guts and other respective bodily fluids out on the street outside the bar at 2am after St. Patrick's Day. I have done some pretty crazy things since then. I wrote in my diary--the real life paper one, that I don't share with anyone, where legitimate shit I feel about my life goes down. I pondered how all my exes were doing for the first time in months. I had a nice little emotional artistic crisis that I shared with the whole world wide web. It's been really enjoyable, this whole doubting everything in my life and crippling fear of the future. I could not enjoy it any more. No really. I could not. 

So I sat down to ask the question, what has happened? Besides getting an injury and being unable to work my body into exhaustion, thus not having time to have an emotional breakdown, what could possibly be the cause of this horrible feeling I am having lately? I was doing so well, after all. I finally felt like the journey I began in January had gotten me to a good place. And then it hit me. That was just it. I started in January. I have't experienced the brunt, full-force slap of the onset of winter since I started rearranging my whole life to revolve around handfuls of raw spinach and being a physical BAMF. Seasonal affective disorder is hitting me hard right now. And I fully and completely wish to place the blame on something other than my own mental weakness, which we all know does not actually exist since I am an all-powerful badass. So I have no choice than to accuse none other than the wicked, vicious, and cruel-hearted daylight savings time. 

I live in Southern California. We have not had any particular influx of cloudy, overcast days since "fall" began and the temperature has only dropped to the mere low 50s during the evening. It still hits the 80s most days. It's not really winter here. It never will be. But the days sure as hell are shorter. I type this at not even 5PM and my entire apartment is shrouded in darkness. I know I am the odd average 20-something out by getting up at 7AM most days, sure. But empathize with me for a moment. 7 AM used to be sunrise. Now it is 6 AM. I have lost that precious, beautiful one hour of daylight time and it has made all the difference. I am not pleased. Not one bit. 

The days are shorter during the winter in any case, and daylight savings time only takes what little we are left with from us. This "daylight savings time," benefits no one, as far as I can see. I stand here, on the edges of mental sickness, beholding the abyss of melodrama, pretentious artistic breakdowns, and S.A.D. out of the corner of my eye, in hope-- in fear driven desperation-- and urge you, the trustworthy and reliable people of the internet, to take hold of the future, to make a stand, to tell daylight savings time to go home! 

This is how I would protest on the streets. If I went outside. I'd be topless because that is the only way to protest. At least that is what the internet tells me. 

Who, WHO I ask you, benefits from daylight savings?? Only the crazy fringes of society, the tiny fraction of the population that is crazy enough to get up at the preposterous hour of 5AM, a time so shameful it really shouldn't even exist. Forget them! Their minds are already so sick and twisted that we should have given up all hope on them a long time ago. The truth of the matter is that it is an old, outdated practice. Daylight savings was invented in the stone age to help farmers who had to milk cows and sow crops or sacrifice their first born child or whatever the hell it is 'farmers' do. We all know that  our food now is exclusively produced in oversea factories by Asian toddlers experimenting with test tubes and year-old rejected halloween candy anyway. (That is all fact. You can check me on it.) It is the 21st century now and we don't need daylight savings time anymore. It is nothing but a terrible burden our nation is forced to endure because of things like gun control and women's rights. Put this world on the pill! Let's get a daylight savings time abortion! Death penalty! War in the middle east! Democrats! Republicans! GAY MARRIAGE! 

As a single white female still living mostly off her parents income, I clearly speak for the average american. I wish to be the voice of the common man and woman, the hard working class of our nation, who desperately need our help. Somewhere out there is a little girl asking her poppa why the sun stopped loving her, a tear forming in the corner of her eye as her father has to corrupt her beautiful and naive childhood innocence by explaining to her that no one loves her, I told you not to talk to me while I am watching Sunday football. Go play with this box of cigarettes or something. But she can't. Because it's  4PM and the sun is setting and her mother will beat her if she comes home after dark. America, I ask you, do you want to let this little girl down? I know I don't. She, like every other child, deserves to play with her box of cigarettes in the great outdoors, in the beauty of American nature with bald eagles and domesticated cats whose pictures enthrall the masses on the internet, the flora and fauna that have made this country what it is! Children are the hope of the future. Think of the children, if nothing else! Think of the children getting mauled by bears. Or terrorists. Or terrorist bears! That is the doom that awaits us, if we don't do anything about this daylight savings thing. 

We need to rally against daylight savings time. The hope of our nation and our entire planet depends on it. Maybe even the nine planets. Oh I am sorry. Eight planets. We have already lost one. Daylight savings has already taken its first victim! (You can check me on these facts that are so fact-filled and legitimate. Yes, they are.) We mourn Pluto. It was a great loss to our country. Do you want that to happen to another planet? What about your beloved Saturn, huh? Could you accept the responsibility for that loss as well? I assure you daylight savings time is in cahoots with global warming. Our intel tells us that they were responsible for 9/11 and ruining the economy. Imagine me wearing a blue tie right now because that will convince you I am a better American and you will believe every word I say.  No one wrote this speech for me. Never mind that I am typing this on a laptop and not actually talking at all. I am speaking from the heart. 

So I ask you, people of the internet that may or may not be a part of America but it doesn't really matter because daylight savings time is an international thing anyway, do you want to move forward, to seek not quite full on change, but slight adjustment in our society, or do you want to stay and the past and go down with the ship that is our society today? Are you ship rats or are you glorious, shiny human beings? Are you cheap Microsoft copy-cats or are you appealingly designed, overpriced Apple products that secretly rule the world in conjunction with Facebook? Are you low fat imitation butter or are you THE REAL THING?? Don't you want 4% more of your day, of MY day, to be sunny and glorious, to ironically taunt you with the thought of warmth even though it is winter and it is actually quite chilly outside? You wouldn't know anyway, no one actually goes outside anymore! Don't you care about me and my abysmal black hole that I am Loony-Toon hovering over? If you have made it to this point, it means you read this entire ridiculous blog I wrote. You must care. So show me, Americans/Other internetees, show me that you care. Vote for me, your sexless and cynical queen! 

Or don't. Because I am not actually running for anything. Also elections are over. This post came a little late. I'm sorry. It's daylight savings time's fault. Although you have to give me some kudos for fulfilling your ridiculous speech making needs. Can you tell I did my research on electoral campaign speeches for this? Well I will tell you something, I did not. That's right. I decided to wing it. Just like a real campaign. 


Campaign poster: totally original idea by me

Sunday, October 28, 2012

Come to the Pretentiously Healthy Side, Luke. We Have Kale and Gu-Gels

I think I've been brainwashed.

That's MY pod!

Rather than spending my free time writing super fun blogs in the past few weeks, I have instead been training my butt off. Literally. All my skirts are getting too big. Oh my god, it's soooo annoying. Do I sound pretentious? Good, that is totally what I was going for.

I guess I have also been doing that "school" thing 30 hours a week and attempting to complete mounds of homework in the rest of the time as well, but let's just ignore that because we all know that is ingrained into my genes and is never going to go away. I will always strive to be a straight-A student--even though I probably never will be again, thanks to art school--because I will have an aneurysm if I take a test and can't answer any of the questions, so I try anyway. But I have never found myself in the position of striving to be...

...wait for it...

... an athlete.

Dun dun dun.

How have I always defined myself? Super ironically-awesome fake red head chick that can't do a push-up for shit and really likes pasta and draws and writes stupid stuff because I get bored and want to passive aggressively complain about my life? That is who I am, man! That is who I have always been. Now I am finding myself in a very awkward position where I have become the person that I have always made fun of, the person I never ever expected myself to be, and I have been focusing all my excess time and energy on getting further down that path. Obviously because someone has started drugging my water. Oh excuse me, I meant drugging my fancy energy gels that I finally know the real purpose of and actually use for their intended application on my longer runs.

Yup, definitely brainwashed. And I'll let you in on a little secret. I've only had pasta 3 times in the past three months-- when it was being offered to me for free and already prepared no less (my kryptonite). And what is more is that when I ate it, I felt as if I really haven't been missing out on much.

...Seriously, who am I??

I have an obsessive addiction to peanut butter and consider a spoonful of plain peanut butter my dessert for most meals.

Not only have I started paying attention to all the inspiration fitness posts that show up on my tumblr dashboard, but I've started "liking" them too. Because I actually relate to them.

I went into a sporting goods store and nearly died of desire. I wanted everything.

I spend time on running forums online.

Running 3 miles has become "taking it easy" and really is an enjoyable activity. No really.

I go out to normal people places like theme parks and get upset when I can't find anywhere I can buy a roasted veggie sandwich. I have to settle for churros! Woe is me. (Society is so messed up)

Alternatively, I found a semi-fast food restaurant that was all vegetables and quinoa and kale happiness and got really excited. I proceeded to get probably the least healthy thing on the menu (sweet potato fries), but it was just the thought that I could get my portobello sandwich on a bed of kale that was so thrilling.

I actually manage to drink the recommended daily amount of water almost every day. I need to pee every 5 minutes, but apparently now I am functioning normally.

Instructors, for the first time in my life, tell me that I have the strength for the move I am trying in classes, it is just something else in the way, like my shitty-ass balance or fear of commitment... I wonder what that says about me as a person? 

I can touch my toes to my head in a variety of positions, particularly where back flexibility is involved. People have called me "bendy." To my face. And it wasn't even a joke.

When I get new running accessories, I get really excited to go running and try them out and start wishing I could go right away instead of doing all the other stuff I am supposed to like, such as art. Pft.

I went into a Whole Foods and even though I was still disgusted by the excess of blonde yuppie moms with their peach-shaped butts pushing carts around in yoga pants I still wanted to buy everything I saw. Coconut sugar? What's that? I don't know, but it sounds pretentiously healthy, so I want to try it!

When I go to new classes, people are surprised at what I am capable of. I am not extrapolating this from one of my fanciful ego trips. I know this because they actually tell me. I have even finally been dubbed as an "upper level girl" at my pole studio.

I don't struggle with tricks and spins like I used to, and I don't struggle to pick the simpler ones up, either. I'm not the "battler" anymore. People in class ask me for advice sometimes, as if I actually had wisdom to impart or something. Weird.

I have real running clothes now. And running water bottles. And look totally super legit when I go running. Seeing myself in the mirror is surreal.

My life long fear of heights all but disappears when I am 15 feet in the air, suspended only by my own strength, and spinning faster than I can make myself go on any ordinary office chair. You think it would only get worse, but I kind of feel a thrill from it. (The dizziness/nausea is another story unfortunately)

I actually genuinely enjoy doing yoga. Not with the frilly soft voices of skinny middle aged women taking me on a journey through a beautiful imaginary meadow, but stretching on my own at home, at my own pace with a little indie rock going in the background. I see and feel it's purpose and it is good.

I wake up before 8 AM most days to have more time for longer workouts. And it doesn't bother me a bit.

I can finally see a marathon as a conceivable accomplishment for myself, considering I've already run half of one for "fun."

I found my heaven the other day in putting ice packs on my knees and eating peanut butter toast after a long run. It was legitimately one of the most beautiful moments of my life until I realized how lame I had become.

90% of my Facebook posts have become about exercise. I am boring the crap out of my friends, I am sure, but I don't care.

And about a week ago, I considered voluntarily getting frozen yogurt over ice cream...The ultimate sin...

Fortunately that time I came to my senses and got real ice cream. Totally worth it too. I have fallen into the annual autumn marketing trap of pumpkin flavored treats and Coldstone had this new pumpkin flavor that was was a close one though. Who knows what could happen in the future. Frozen yogurt is the devil trying to ruin the good name of ice cream. (Fat is not necessarily a bad thing, people!) Don't let it corrupt you, kids.

But let's think about it. Who could think that I, Meri Moose Gooey Boogers, would ever become this kind of person? I have been one of the least in shape and least athletic people I have ever met in my entire life. It is a part of my identity to fail at physical exertion. What do you think Red Face Syndrome is all about? It is God's physical stamp to mark you as one of the chosen few to legitimately suck at exercise for all time! Sports in school never made me give a damn and while I never wanted to be as limp as the noodles I so worshipped, I never really cared enough to change that about myself. That just wasn't who I was. And yet here I am. Being called an athlete fitness girl. Not just by myself either, but by others.

I'll even admit that I harbor secret dreams of running away to join the circus. Literally. I would love to be a brilliantly dazzling cirque dancer and become the best damn pole dancer in the world. I don't even say that as a joke. I think with enough hard work, I could do those things. I watch pole videos and get excited. Not in the way that guys do when they watch pole videos, but in the way when an artist sees a painting they like. All I want to do is go try out half the things I just watched and practice and train until I can do them as gracefully. And I am ready to do whatever it takes to get to that point, even if it means handing in doughnuts and pasta for kale and peanut butter. Which I've already kind of done, so you know, it isn't that hard for me to do. But there are plenty of other totally hardcore and badass commitments I'd have to make! Like being obligated to flex or check my butt out in the mirror every time I walk by! Or buying all of the fancy, expensive fitness accessories whose function appears to be too vague for me to figure out! Yea! So hardcore!!

I realized on one of my 3 mile "easy" runs the other day that I haven't felt like this ever. I have never been so functional on a mental level. I have never so easily gotten out of bed every morning, and I have never so easily fallen asleep at night. I still have my problems (art school stress is no joke), but that stupid little stone weight that I have always felt myself lugging around inside has almost completely disappeared. Or maybe I've just gotten stronger and carrying it has become easier. Whatever. It's just a metaphor. The point is, the sadness that has also been a part of my identity has disappeared as well. Even though I always feared I wouldn't know who I would be without it, I have not had to worry because I have taken on a new role as super obnoxious fitness lady (also super badass, too, of course).  The only thing I am worried about is letting that slip away. Because if I am not here to brag about my fitness achievements and be the super-obnoxious-but-also-badass fitness lady, who will be?? Admit it, you people need me. And I need you! So that you may respond to me and tell me that I inspire you and I can feel validated. It's the circle of awesome-ness.

Anyway, the moral of the story is that I am pretty sure the bodysnatchers got me or something, because I am feeling like a completely different person, inside and out. It is weird and terrifying but ultimately kind of cool because I like to think that I am truly a part of some alien hoard trying to take over the United States with our all-natural health brands and sappy fitness blogs. The masses will bow to our superior physique and bring us offerings of running gels and dry hands! It shall be glorious I say, glorious!! Bwahahahaha!

...Perhaps I've revealed too much. Just disregard everything I've just said. Unless you want to join us on the pretentiously-healthy side. And you know you do. (We meet under DIA. Shhh, don't tell anyone, we have them fooled into thinking we are actually political-terrorist lizard people when really we are just a bunch of fitness freaks. Why do you think Boulder, Colorado is the way it is??)

Nothing ominous about that.

P.S. I didn't do any illustrations because I was too busy dancing. Oh yea and homework. I'm doing that that too. Right. 

Sunday, October 7, 2012

This Loneliness is Killing Me-- Oh Wait. No It's Not.

Pure truth.

Ah singularity. Isn't it fun?

It seems that lately it has become the season of breakups. Maybe the planets are out of alignment. Like  maybe Saturn or something. Or Uranus. And by out of alignment, I mean people have their heads up it. Heh.

But stupid jokes aside, I have recently seen serious couple after serious couple flip the kill-switch on some pretty long term relationships. They have my sympathy, for I am sure that it has got to be rough. At least, I think so. Being the jerky unemotional badass that I am, I would have no idea how it feels to have a sucky break up. The only thing I ever felt after all two breakups I have gone through is guilt for not feeling worse about it. I guess you could say I am not exactly the expert in knowing what breakups feel like. But TV says it sucks, and we all know TV is the ultimate authority on reality, so let us just decide that it sucks.

As self declared official wisdom provider of the internet, I feel it is my duty to be there for all those newly single people out there--and all the old ones too, of course. I shall be your support, your shoulder to cry on, your helping hand...whether you want me to or not. Because I can stand here, in this metaphorical room of the internet, and with a metaphorical straight face tell you that being single is awesome and I truly do enjoy a lot of things about it. If you can't picture it, here is my rendition of me telling you that I like being single:

I want to go into why I like it and why it is good, but first it is confession time. In all honesty, I have had some trouble writing this entry. I have been working on it here and there for over a month now, desperate to try and get it done so I can spread the message before it is too late and people get into more relationships that they don't actually need to be in. Oh, the horror!! Unfortunately, as I said, I have found it difficult. I was worried that it was because I didn't believe my own words; two years of singularity was taking it's toll of desperation and I was lying to myself in saying that I still enjoyed it. However recent events slash possible opportunities that have been spotted on the horizon have only helped further reveal my terror at actually being in a relationship. After some deep pondering about what it would actually be like to be "with" someone, I have realized that I am not just shy or scared of rejection, but I really just don't like or know how to deal with other people on an emotional level. It is probably because I am such a selfish jerk, but that is another story for a different time. So the problem in writing this blog has not been that I couldn't believe my own words. I have no trouble in feeling comfort in being single. So what was it?

I tried writing this fun little list of reasons why it was awesome to be single, see? I came up with lots of reasons why I like it, why it is awesome, why you should like it too, etc. The list included things like not having to text someone pointless messages all the time, not having to tell anyone what your plans were, having the freedom to look and think about other people (including imaginary ones), not having to share your food or your bed, not being obligated to deal with someone else's life problems and emotional issues, having tons of free time to pursue hobbies, not needing to shave, the constant thrill of potentially meeting someone new, dealing with one less what-the-hell-do I-get-for-your-birthday gift every year, not having to hold in your farts in bed, and so on.

However, as I was writing I realized that most people probably like all of this stuff. There are likely many people who love to constantly tell other people about the mundane details of their life, or who like to spend all their time taking care of other people, or people who like to shave their legs all the time! People would simply not be able to relate to my list. Even I couldn't fully relate to it! I love shaving my legs. I will shave my legs warm or cold weather, shorts or pants, getting laid or not laid, because I cannot for the life of me stand that prickly cactus feeling down on my pale, flabby calves. I was the girl at summer camp who would take out a razor, a water bottle, and a washcloth and sit in the tent doorway during nap time and attempt to shave because it was a week since we last got to shower and the agony of my monster legs was too much to bear. So, as you can see, my list had problems. Hell, there are even probably women who like to hold in their farts in bed, who see each and every strange, discomforting pressure in their bowel as a new joyful challenge to try and suppress, as an act of love and loyalty to their significant other. Not that guys ever do the same for us, but you can only ask for so much.

So what could I do? My list was no good, but I still wanted to get the word out, to tell people it's ok to be single! Nay--it's great! Because I am definitely important and they will definitely listen to me. Or maybe not. Maybe I am just a weirdo who holds the unpopular opinion and it doesn't matter what I will say, because TV--who as stated before is the true ultimate authority on reality--tells us that we should always, always end up with our love interest in the end and that no matter how important or badass our mission and goals in life are, there must always be a romance on the side to help fulfill us and make our lives complete. Because without it, our ratings will suck.

Maybe it was all the conditioning for loneliness I received in high school-- eating lunch alone in the hallways, spending my weekends alone teaching myself new skills like how to sew or snowboard, going to almost every school dance without a date-- that taught me to like singularity. Or maybe it is more innate than that. After all, I did spend most of my time as a child running around the playground on my own refusing to talk to other kids who wanted to play and instead neighing or whinnying in their face and then "galloping" away, or sometimes "fly-galloping" away, if it was a pegasus kind of day (mondays). Perhaps I just could not convince people that it is a good thing to be alone. If they don't already have that innate desire and comfort of being alone, they won't ever have it.

But no, I didn't want to give up that easily. I truly believe that anyone can find joy without needing someone else to give it to them, that you can find joy in yourself! And I don't just mean the kind you find in yourself with a fancy toy from the shady adult store downtown, either. Sure, there are a lot of little perks to not having to deal with someone else laying heavily into your life. Maybe some things you will miss, maybe some things you are glad to be free of. But at the end of the day, it is about the bigger picture. Whenever I see people jump from one relationship to the next without taking some time off, I feel sad. I cannot understand why the population is so terrified of being single. It is like giving a baby a cane to get them to learn to walk and then they grow to be reliant on that cane and never learn how to balance properly and walk on their own. As soon as they outgrow one cane they have to get a new one and suddenly you have all these weird senior citizen-babies hobbling around. Soon they'll be calling everyone whippersnappers and complaining about their bad hips and buying nothing but cigarettes and cottage cheese and it will be so weird and all that tilted food consumption will probably take a huge toll on the economy insofar as the food industry is concerned and next thing you know it is a major campaign issue for the 2016 election. Hey, you never know.

This could very well be reality in 2016 unless we all spend some time with a relationship status that says "single." Beware. 

...What was I talking about again?

Ah right, standing on our own. What I mean to say is that is important that we learn how to grow on our own. You can grow in a relationship too, but that is a different pony all together and it does not quite give you the same results. Sometimes we need those special results that come from standing on our own. Learning how to deal with life independently is crucial to becoming a functional human being (whatever that is). There are just some things you are going to need to be capable of dealing with by yourself, from fixing toilets to deciding what your next career move is to finally realizing how stupid romantic comedies are. Plus, I never liked the idea that we are incomplete until we find our "other half." I call bullshit on that idea. Who the hell has the right to call me half a person, give me half the value I deserve? Who the hell thought it was healthy for us to start thinking of ourselves that way? It is really kind of fucked up, if you ask me. There is a lot of awesomeness within ourselves, and we need the chance to spend some quality time and get to know it better. If you cannot enjoy your own company, how can you expect others to?

We get this idea that being in a relationship will fix all our problems (ahem, probably from TV), when really, getting in a relationship is just a the first hurdle, which like any track and field relay, will be followed by many more. So why even bother with the first one? Just stick on the other side of the hurdle and you don't have to deal with all that shit and can enjoy life. In theory, if you wait long enough, someone will eventually come along that makes all that hurdle jumping business actually appear to be worth it. I have my doubts about that theory, however. Apparently you have to wait a really long time. I just don't have the patience for that. I'd rather wander out of the track and field stadium and find something better to do. Like pole dancing! Because track and field is fucking boring. Or maybe I am gonna go out of that stadium and let out a nice big fat fart, just because I can. And there will be no man I have to worry about impressing, no one I have to hold it in for in an unspoken devotion of love. I can be free in the best kind of way (the farting way of course!) and if any man choses to join me in my pole and fart filled path, then good for him. He is obviously making an awesome choice. But I am not going to worry about it in the meantime.

Me and my future soulmate, relishing in our fart heats...our fearts. This is the true image of love.

I can only hope these words may inspire at least a few lonely hearts out there. It's hard to put it into writing, this importance of learning to be on your own, and sometimes you just don't get something until you live it. It's painful to be alone sometimes, I of all people would know, but pushing past that and seeing the silver lining is an invaluable gift that I believe our society does not appreciate nearly enough. Being single is certainly not a permanent state of existence (unless you happen to be me, apparently) so there is no need to fret if it happens to you. Just sit back and enjoy it! I promise it will make your life so much easier. Besides, it is not like you can't have friends and family to support you in the ways that you cannot manage on your own, if you want them to. So I want you all to look deep down inside yourself and find your selfish, egotistical center that just wants you to do whatever you want to do for yourself, and connect with that. Trust me, you will become a much better person.

I have high hopes you will take my wisdom to heart, but then again, maybe all the fart jokes were too off-putting for you to take me seriously. I am sorry for my crudest blog yet. Next time I'll try to be more classy. Until then, go have some happy poots.

(Poots are fart-poop hybrids. It can be either or, really) 


Oh, one last thing. If you are part of that sliver of the population that happens to be like me, that is, you are someone who is so stuck in your single ways that the idea of being in a relationship completely baffles and/or terrifies you, well, first of all, good for you for already knowing all this. You can just disregard the entire above blog post. And second of all, I hate to inform you, but we have some serious problems we need to work through. Bleh. Problems. Gross.

Wednesday, September 19, 2012

Rainbow-Ass Salads and God's Glorious Shirtless-ness

When I got back to California, I made the commitment to really try hard to be healthy and stuff. You know? Healthy and stuff? Yea, I know, I have the same thoughts. Healthy and stuff...Whatever the hell that means.

Even though the idea of being healthy seems like some abstract deity sitting up in the clouds looking down upon all of us mortals and laughing it's butt off, I did want to be more conscious about my daily choices and habits. I couldn't continue the goldfish gouging or peanut butter and jelly joyrides anymore. My goal has been to tone up a lot more so I could be all muscle-y and stronger and less jiggly and stuff. Not to lose weight, just be firm and have cool lines when I flex. Like an internet picture! So I set out to track what I was eating and keep my net calories under a certain amount every day and to exercise lots and lots. Since I am back to being unemployed and yet busier than ever before, I couldn't sign up for a million classes like I did over the summer, so I resolved to start running again.

I had gone on a running hiatus over the summer because I was lazy and it was just too damn hot. I tend to get heat blisters from the ridiculous way I perspire when I run in really warm weather, and getting up before work when it was still cool out was just too much. I needed every ounce of my energy for the work day, after all. The irony is that it has gotten even hotter than it did all summer in the past few days here in SoCal. Goddammit, irony! But I digress. I had stopped running, and it could go on no longer! For I had signed up for another Mud Run that is coming up in less than a month and needed to get back into running-mode in order to not make a fool out of myself. My team this year has a slightly lower median age and might actually be able to run the course with me, so you know, I kind of need to be able to do it too. 

So running and good-nutritioning it had to be. I am not going to say dieting because that makes it sound like I am on some kind of weird plan for eating or that I am a crazy woman obsessed with being skinny, which isn't true. I am a crazy woman obsessed with being able to attain the strength to beat up anyone who might try to rape me or abduct me or accuse me of having smelly toes or say mean things about my cats. I like to call it good-nutritioning because that makes more sense to what I am trying to do. Eat good, nutritious things, and no more than I need. Not only will it help me achieve my dreams of becoming a super badass fit lady, but it makes my ego purr in that superior, pretentious sort of way. And maybe, just maybe, if I dream hard enough, it will help me live forever. And then I can take over the world and declare a worldwide end to "footsies" playing. The masses will love me. 

Since I have returned to California, I have made notable progress on many fronts involving these two things.  Let's do this the right way and start with the food. It's always best to start with the food. 

First of all, I have been eating lots and lots of salad. It has gotten to the point where my day actually feels kind of weird if I don't eat a salad. Which makes me wonder if I should start digging to see if hell has frozen over. Maybe I should attach wings to my toaster and see if it flies? Ah, who am I kidding? I can't lie to you guys--I don't actually own a toaster.

Look at that rainbow-ass salad. That is what I call a rainbow salad. 

Anyway, though it might seem strange, it is true. No, not the toaster confession, but my salad addiction. My salads have gone through somewhat of an upgrade since my early post about discovering the joy of salad. I have read about how having more colors on your plate means you are being healthier (excluding skittles), so I have been trying this new method of "rainbowing" my salads. Rainbows have kind of been my thing lately. I was all about turning my kids into rainbow colored creatures all summer long. I'm not gay--just weird. And said weirdness has translated to my food. I pile on all the good ol' standbys: spinach, tomatoes, carrots, feta cheese, blueberries... But I have also been including red bell peppers, strawberries, yellow squash, eggplant, and avocado. All have been wonderfully bland additions, just the way I like it. Except for the avocado. Don't tell salad, but I am having even more of a love affair with avocados lately. It's half the reason I want to eat salad. I was always so-so on the avocado fan scale. I don't know why it took me this long to come around to them, but boy have we had a whirlwind romance.

This rainbow method has lead to a whole new world of salad enjoyment, and I am always sure to include some sort of protein on the side, whether it be tofu, a big hunk of chicken, or at least a low-fat mozzarella cheese stick. I want to keep all my muscly muscles in good shape so I can be Superman one day. I am sure Superman ate a lot of low-fat mozzarella cheese sticks.

On top of my salad euphoria I have also been doing healthy-person things like making quinoa and drinking two liters of water every day. I know, right? Quinoa! Who ever thought I would be the kind of person who grew up to eat quinoa. The first time I tried quinoa I thought "oh, what's this? Some kind of rice thing? I like rice. EW WHAT THE HELL IS THIS. THIS IS NOT RICE" and swore never again to eat it. But things have since changed. I am a new person now. Granted, I am not one of those super cool people who eats it cold. I'm still not ready for that. Nevertheless, I am sure one day I'll get there.

I have also been tracking all my foods on a fancy free app on my iPhone, because I am finally one of those people who has an iPhone. I am finally one of those assholes who is always on their phone! It's great. I wouldn't be surprised if I woke up one day to find my skin growing over my phone, only to realize it to be a new attachment of my body. The calorie counting makes me feel a bit neurotic. I cheat most of the time anyway and never count the grapes I always pick at through the day because I can't handle the red numbers of judgement when I go over my allotted calorie amount. They are too intense for me. But I am still doing pretty well. Even if I want to tear my hair out with the anxiety it causes, I am eating healthier and more carefully because of it. 

Ok, now comes the exercise part of this here blog entry. I am pretty excited about this, because not only have I been doing awesome things on the pole, but my running has pretty much only improved since I stopped. Wow. I should quit running for months at a time more often. Not that all the other conditioning I've done in the past three months has made any difference...

First of all, my hill skills are better than ever. There are a ridiculous amount of hills in Southern California. At least in the vicinity of my apartment, anyway, and I basically can't run anywhere without having to run up for at least a little bit. Unless I want to run down the scary, windy road with no sidewalk and crazy Californian drivers. To which I refuse. So upwards it must be. I was happy to find that right away I was able to run all the way up my arch-nemisis hill, the dastardly half mile 10% incline beast that it is. It took me months to conquer the first time, but now I do it several times a week. Because that is just how badass I have become. Take that, asshole hill!

This leads to my other new breakthrough: I have magically become able to run without having to take walk breaks almost 80% of the time. There are still a couple of different hills on certain routes I take that get to me, such the other side of my arch-nemesis hill...which to get to I must approach from the other way around, which takes many miles and the hill itself is even's brutal. Although quite the gluteal workout I must say. But other than that little blip, I have become quite skilled at persevering through the rough parts and keeping my feet moving. So now, none of the cars that whiz by will judge me for being a super sweaty "walker," and think I am lame and weak for being so worn out from simply walking. They will always see me as a super sweaty runner and feel guilty and ashamed for not going out running and instead sitting on their lazy butts in their fancy smancy cars. I feel bad for them.  Really I do. They need engines to get up hills. I get by on just my pure awesomeness.

Also included in my return to running has been improvements to my garb. This is another subject I have written about before, so I am pleased to tell you things have gotten even fancier for me. In the past few weeks, I bought my SECOND sports bra ever. Now I have one sports bra for pole dancing and one for running. That way, when I sweat buckets while running, I won't have to put on the same, still slightly-damp bra the next day when I want to have some pole practice and end up feeling a whole lot less than sexy when writhing around my floor in it and getting little bits of hair and other household grime latched on to my sweaty body. I know that sounds appealing in a weird, fantasy way, but trust me it isn't. Better yet, my new sports bra is reversible, so it seems like I have three bras now. I really am living the fancy life now.

Yes, they're the same your mind blown or what?

I also got entirely fed up with the heat blisters my skin-tight, water resistant 3/4 running pants were giving me. I mean, I love them to death and all, but water resistant not only keeps water out, but water in, and given how much I sweat, it just did not do. The last time I went running in the only shorts I own-- my tiny black compression shorts usually used for pole practice-- at least two cars honked at me and my crotch biscuits were rubbing all up on each other like two preteen virgins who were just making it to second base for the first time ever. This, also, just did not do. So I bought the most majestic pair of running shorts I could find on the Target clearance rack a few weeks ago. They are bright magenta and  made of that swishy material that all the legit cross country runners have. Mine are not quite that short, although they still ride up in between my thighs a whole lot, and I have to become that mean, cock-blocking parent who tells my teenage crotch biscuits to restrain themselves until marriage. Or at least college. Sheesh. Kids these days. One day, they'll hopefully grow up. Or rather, shrink, and my thighs won't be as wiggly and maybe they won't try to rub all over each other in public as much. Until then, I just have to deal with it. Fortunately my majestic magenta pants make it worth it, because they are just so darn breezy, they don't show my underwear line, and they even have a tiny little pocket for my house key. Also they only cost me $5 and their color is so obnoxious that they make me look way more legit. 

Finally, speaking of sports bras and looking like a legit runner, I hit a new milestone the other day. For the first time ever, I ran shirtless. I had never really felt the desire to run in nothing but a sports bra, even though I had seen numerous people do it all the time. Shirts always just seemed second nature to me. I had nothing to show off. Me and shirts were friends. But the other day I was running a particularly difficult route while wearing a pretty baggy shirt that weighed nearly a pound and was practically falling off of me after the third mile and the third pint of sweat I had no doubt lost. I hadn't seen anyone else out that morning, and it was cloudy anyway so I didn't have to worry about serious sun to skin damage. So when I reached the top of the hill, I stopped for a moment and cautiously removed my garment. The gloriousness was immediate. Right away I could feel a cool breeze rippling all along my torso and everything felt a million times better. It was like God had smiled down on my sweaty, pale white and slightly flabby stomach, with approving eyes of my sparkly belly button pendant, and he could see straight through my wobbly stomach to the manly abdominals beneath, and he granted me a reward for all the hard work I have put into running and my abs, even if you can't actually see them. (Yet). Why it had taken me so long to run shirtless, I have no idea. Of course, almost right away I passed my first fellow runner of the morning, but he also didn't have a shirt on, so I felt like it was acceptable. There was no judgement between us. And better yet, no one on the road on the way home honked at me. Mission accomplished! I have yet to go running shirtless again, but I am quite sure it will happen once again some day. Especially if California keeps up this heat wave business. 

So, that, my friends, is my life these days. Oh, and also ridiculous fucking amounts of homework that even I, the notoriously good at keeping up IB straight A student overachiever kid I used to be, am struggling with. Life is a bitch. So this blog may be kind of quiet for awhile, but I shall persevere, just like those hills I *must* run up to feel awesome about myself.  

Sunday, September 2, 2012

The Little Badass That Could

Lately, I feel like I have been losing grip on my badass touch. I mean, granted things have been up and down, as you have had the rare fortune of observing so on this here blog itself. But mostly things have been down, especially since I have returned back to California and re-realized just how few friends I actually have here, which in case you are curious, is approximately 3 and 1/2 ...22 million people live in Southern California, 3 million alone just in the OC, I have been here a year and I have made 3 friends. Maybe 4. Go me.

I know it's ridiculous. Who wouldn't want to be friends with a bitch-faced fake ginger who only knows how to express herself through a laptop keyboard? People are crazy!! ...Ok, admittedly it is probably my fault for not being better at allowing people the chance to actually get to know how awesome I truly am (which is a lot, by the way, in case you were on the fence about being my friend) by never ever talking or smiling or making eye contact with anyone like my life depends on it. But there are moments of realization that one occasionally has where they land in a situation that shows them how sad their lives truly are. I had one last night!

Saturday night on a holiday weekend, first week back in California, and where did I find myself? Michaels at 7:30pm picking up art supplies so I could get all my work for my Thursday class out of the way that very night.  I had found the supplies I needed, and my next stop was Fedex print center to pick up some things I needed to be printed out. (Side note: it is cheaper for me to get someone else to print color pictures on regular paper at Fedex than it is for me to do at home with store bought ink...that is how pathetic printer technology is these days. Doesn't that make you depressed? It makes me depressed) However the prints weren't due to be ready by 8pm and I found myself with a little time to kill. So I ended up staring at all the different colors of glitter and variety of sequin shapes, and then trying on child sized foam hats shaped like dogs, cows, and sharks. I really liked the shark one, but it didn't fit very well. Also it didn't match very many things in my wardrobe.

I didn't actually find this too pathetic at the time. I thought it was kind of funny actually, me being a fully grown adult weirdo in a craft store, so I posted a Facebook status update about it. It wasn't until someone replied to it with a very serious comment about how things would get better and I should keep my chin up that I started to think about how it really was kind of sad. Maybe I am reading too far into things, maybe my sense of humor was just overlooked, but also I happened to pass someone that I do not have much respect for on the way out of the store. And when you realize that you are living the same life as someone you really don't like much, that is when you start to feel a little uncomfortable. I pondered all this once I got home and started/finished my project five days in advance, as usual.


You know, I climbed a massive mountain about a week and a half ago. A friend of mine asked if I wanted to climb a fourteener with her and I said yes. In case you aren't lucky enough to have ever lived in the best state ever, Colorado is famous for it's enormous peaks, many which surpass 14,000 feet and quite a chunk of which are some of the highest in the entire country. Neither of us had ever done it, and feeling as if I was missing out of one of the great sacred Colorado pastimes, I was pretty excited to finally be a part of the secret mountain climbing club with all their special mountain climbing rituals. Little did I know these rituals were not happy, fun after school club rituals, but secret brotherhood cult rituals of pain and suffering.

At this point in my badass fit lady journey, I consider myself in fairly good shape. I exercise six or seven days a week, often poling for two hours at a time. I have taken several strength building classes on a weekly basis. I have spent the past three months running around mountains with children for eight hours a day. Heck, I even haven't lost my running skills! I can still easily run three to five miles, and I am proud to say I found out yesterday that I can still run all the way up the death hill by my apartment, which is pretty darn steep and long. All of this I could not and did not do when I started this blog, but now I am stronger and better and can. But I was still not prepared enough for this hike.

You know, I don't think I can even use the word hike. This was not a hike. A hike is a nice, pleasant experience where you see pretty trees and bushes and little woodland creatures running about gathering nuts or whatever. I like hikes. I go on hikes all the time. It's my only excuse to get out of my apartment in California besides school. But this was not a hike. It was a mother-fucking climb.

It didn't start out so bad. The first mile was almost completely flat. There were little bridges built over the muddy parts. We had a very pleasant river crossing. The 6am morning air kept us nice and cool. That first mile blew by. Then suddenly things started going up. Ok, no problem, I thought. You can't expect to climb a fourteen thousand foot peak and not expect to go up a little bit. Our guide-- an old high school acquaintance of mine and friend of my friend who recruited him in order to prevent us from killing ourselves-- was going a bit fast, but hey, I was in good shape, right? Not a problem. Shed a few layers and keep on going. There was another group not far behind us. My inner-competitive asshole wanted to beat them to the top no matter what. They passed us within the first 20 minutes, with the news that we had just missed a moose down by the parking lot. Dammit! I missed a moose sighting again. (Fun fact: I have never seen a moose in the wild. Hooray irony). It only made me resent them more. But I didn't have time to fixate on it much longer because...

That is when the trail started to go really up. By no coincidence, that is when I started to wonder what I had gotten myself into. But I reassured myself that this hike was expected to have a certain level of difficulty. I mean, it was supposed to be one of the easiest fourteeners in Colorado, but that is for a fourteener. These mountains wouldn't be famous if they were easy to climb. However, those thoughts did not make it any easier, though I still refused to be the one who asked for a water break. I stubbornly kept my mouth shut and my body burning in wait of someone else to need a break. I wonder what I would have done if everyone else had that ridiculously stupid mindset? Kept on hiking til I passed out? The world may never know. I never want to find out.

So the hike kept on going up. The up never ended after that first bit, actually. That is the funny thing about mountains. They kind of just keep on going upwards until you reach the top. That is what makes them mountains. But I think by that point the altitude was starting to get to my brain and I kept on wondering stupidly why it just kept going up. It was also starting to get colder, another factor that my addled brain just couldn't seem to handle. The sun was rising, why would it get colder? Maybe because we were ascending a fourteen thousand foot peak and we started above treeline? What? What is treeline? What are trees? I hadn't seen a tree in so long... I also discovered that there is this thing called wind, and it can make you very cold, especially when you are standing on a rocky mountain face at 7am and it is kind of cloudy to begin with. I was starting to regret earlier that morning when I arrived to pick up my friend at 4am and she asked me if I needed gloves and I just gave her this funny look and said "why would I need gloves?" It was August, after all. Oh what a fool I'd been. For I had enough jackets and a warm hat and my toes were doing alright, but it was my fingers that were suffering the most from this wind thing.

I think we all were starting to feel it about halfway in. Ok, well, not our guide since he was doing this for the third time. And that was just this mountain particular. But me and my friend, we were not doing so well. I still refused to ask for breaks. Instead I just powered through and kept ahead of everyone so that I could hike for a minute, and then wait a minute for people to catch up, and then hike, and then wait, and, well, you get it. It was kind of a stupid strategy. You think pacing myself would have been a better plan, but it helped me avoid admitting weakness and that is the important part. The trail was relentless. Why so much up?? I still didn't understand the basic physical properties of mountainsides. The wind got worse. My fingers were frozen, even though I kept them stuffed up in my jacket sleeves and blew on them in a feeble attempt to get them warm every few minutes. There was nothing to see on the trail but rocks and moss at this point. I had not seen a single living creature the entire way except for all the happy, experienced hikers who were coming back down. They had already reached the summit an hour ago. Those bastards. One of them had nothing but a sword. What the hell? Was I imagining that; is there really that little oxygen in my brain? It's my job coming back to haunt me. I really haven't gotten past this have I? No, I think my co-hikers saw it too. It's always good to know I am not going completely crazy.

After about two and a half hours of never ending up (seriously what was with all the up??) we reached the now legendary "flat part," that our friend/guide had told us about earlier in the hike. We had been long awaited this 200 yard stretch of flatness, as it signified the last leg of our journey, since it was quite close to the top. We had been whispering it in our minds the entire past hour, motivating ourselves forward. Ok, more like screaming it. "Flat part! Flat part! Gotta get to the FLAT part!" That and "Bagels. Avocados. Bagels and avocados. When we get to the top. Bagels. Avocados..." over and over again. The thought of tasty food motivated me more than anything, really. There is nothing like the motivator of good food, especially when it is food I don't usually allow myself to eat (Oh bagels, precious bagels, one day we will be together again, in a bright, beautiful place where nothing I eat actually counts... and that place is called pregnancy <3) The promise of a guilt-free bagel was all I could ever dream of.

One foot in front of the other, a task I always found pretty simple, had suddenly become the most grievous task I had ever had to complete. My feet were like lead. How could anyone expect me to keep lifting them? But somehow I did. I had no need to stop and find a place to pee like my co-hikers. My body had turned off all other sensors for any unnecessary actions at this point. It was just one foot in front of the other. This included my fingers, which no longer were functioning. I struggled to perform simple motor skills like zip up my backpack or button my jacket. It was like first grade all over again. The horror. Thank god I didn't need to go to the bathroom, on second thought. Asking someone to zip up my pants for me would have been too much deja-vu for my liking.

And somehow, after resting at that infamous flat bit, huddled behind a rock to escape the wind and find some warmth, we managed to get back up, I managed to zip up my backpack somehow and we ascended the final stretch of the mountain, where there was no trail, but just rocks upon rocks upon rocks. Like real mountain climbers. And then we were there. And I wanted to die. Instead I ate a bagel with avocado and it was the best thing in the entire world. We had won. I got my guilt-free bagel as a prize. It was true triumph. And in case you don't believe me, here is a bunch of proof:

And if photos aren't good enough proof for you, here is a video which is even better proof, because while, thanks to art school, I may be good enough to photoshop a picture of myself standing on a mountain, I am definitely not good enough to fake a video of it (prior to popular belief, art school and film school are two very different things) so you can have no doubts that I really climbed one of the easiest fourteeners in Colorado. Hey, it was hard, ok??

This video should affirm everything I have recounted here. Also, note my runny nose. That was how cold I was. I had a RUNNY NOSE. Oh dear god. 

Coming down the mountain wasn't even an issue. It was just like slowly regaining my brain, as if I had left little pieces of it behind on various parts of the trail because it was too heavy to take with me. It got warmer too, and my fingers also slowly regained control. For awhile I was little afraid I might actually suffer nerve damage because they still hurt a lot, they did at last return to their completely normal state... Oh who am I kidding? These fingers are far beyond normal--they are magic! I have magic fingers! I type magical blogs with them! Yea!

So maybe I still left part of my brain on that mountain. Who knows.

The point is we didn't die or suffer any major injury. Mostly thanks to our guide, but you know, we did a little of the work ourselves too. I kept putting one foot in front of the other even though it felt like the most impossible task I could ever do. It's funny, because ever since I started this blog to keep me motivated through my quest for physical strength, I have gotten so much better at it. Physical tasks have become fun instead of work. I enjoy them and seek them out. I have found myself getting kind of good at them. And this, in turn, makes me feel stronger, and as the blog is themed, more badass. But it's the emotional strength I truly struggle with. I always thought my weakest point was my physical body, but as I have shown, I can push that to the limits and discover a whole new strength inside of me. But when pushed to emotional limits, what happens? I end up hiding in my apartment, literally cutting and pasting pictures onto presentation boards on a night when almost any normal young adult would be out, catching up and reuniting with their college friends. (I just want to redeem myself by saying that my all pictures were of half naked ladies though, so I can sound more mature and stuff)

I just don't know how to stand strong inside my own self to seek out and fight for what I want. It's a strange thing, too, because I have found so much of my physical limits are really set by my mind, not my body. The other day I ran up a hill that took me months to literally get over the first time, even though I hadn't done it in three and a half months. I realized that the only reason it took me so long before was because I didn't think I could. The same probably goes for my social life and my own mental game. I haven't made friends because I don't think I can; I don't talk out loud in public settings because I don't think I am any good at it. That may or may not be true, but I feel the question opens a whole new chapter in my badass journey. Now that I have found at least the beginning of my physical badass path, how am I going to be more adept at being a social badass and not just some awkward white girl who can't talk to anyone and goes to the beach by herself to read Lord of the Rings? ...Actually I really enjoyed doing that and totally plan on doing it again, but you know what I mean. How am I going to walk the walk and actually make people see me for what I feel I am? My track record is not the best for social interactions, so this is a whole new challenge for me to tackle. So, new goal? Publicly come out of the badass closet. Like, in the real world. Not just on the internet. I don't know how I am going to do it, but I feel like I will tear all my hair out and start running around the beach, all bald and crazy and probably sunburnt, begging for people to be my friends and singing Steve the Egg.

I guess we will have to see how it all turns out.

Now, to end things off on an extra badass note, here is a picture of me doing something really cool:

Whoops, wrong photo.

Ok, here we go.

(This whole blog was really just an excuse to show this one picture, because it is one of my favorite moves and I have been working up to it literally all summer and I am super proud and want you to be impressed and stuff)

(Also please excuse my awkward sunburn for being awkward)


(Oh my god I am going to die of skin cancer now, aren't I?)