The Liebster Award! a.k.a. Cube Cat, Aliens, and Grammatically Correct Memes

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I am embarrassingly late in responding to this generous nomination from Chris at Surviving the Specter.  Which is actually OK, as I am never on time for anything.  If I’m ever on time, or early, please assume what you are seeing is an alien apparition of me, and blast me to confetti with lasers.  For the planet.

Anyhoo….the award.  Chris was kind enough to link to some history behind this, so I’m stealing that to share, too.  GO TO HERE FOR HISTORY KTHX

liebsterpicSo, like all awards, this one has some rules, too:

liebsterpic_001OK, if we’ve met…that is too many rules.  And I get to the middle of #2 before I suddenly remember it’s been a REALLY long time since I made pie, and speaking of pie, my cat is so fat that he’s no longer round…he’s…a box.  I know cats like to SIT in boxes, but…WHOA MY CAT IS MAGICAL AND MORPHED INTO A SIZE 14 NIKE AIR BOX

OllieboxAdmittedly, without the swoosh.  Seriously, though, the dude needs backup lights.  I’m a terrible cat momma.

<slap> Focus.  RULES!

OK…did #1 already.  Here are Chris’s questions for me:

1.   In what state and/or country do you live (if outside the U.S.)?  I commute daily between the state of Confusion and the state of Denial.  Geographically, I grew up in PA, but nine years ago, moved here:

stay-for-the-car

 AND EVERY JANUARY I QUESTION MY SANITY.  <sigh>

2.   What is your favorite genre of music and THE band that goes with it?
OK, there is NO WAY I can pick just one.  What I like depends on the barometric pressure, the moon phase, and how much I weigh today. 

When I sing (did I mention I’m in a band?) I love ballads and good, throaty jazz.  On the radio I love P!nk and Ed Sheeran – I totally want to fix up my daughter with him, so they can have a flock of adorable redheaded baby girls and start a traveling quintet.  (She’s seventeen; it’s almost legal.  I just want what’s best for me her, ya know?)

3.   What is a life quote of yours?  I posted about this before – it’s also my favorite shirt:

shirtfront4.   Where do you find solace?  Like that corny Johnny Lee song, I look for it in all the wrong places – at the bottom of a giant bag of popcorn, inside a cereal box, in the arms of Ben and Jerry.  I don’t ever FIND it there (you’d think I’d learn to look somewhere else first….)

Where I actually FIND it varies.  In nature, it’s around water, or around giant rocks.  Sometimes it’s at the end of a run, hike, or a bike ride.  Sometimes it’s on the clearance rack at the shoe store.  Oh – and in butterflies.  Seeing a butterfly makes me feel peaceful.  I have convinced myself that butterflies are spirits coming to check on me to make sure I’m doing OK. (Sorry, Grandma, for bouncing you off my windshield the other day.  Love you.)

5.   What are three triggers you have?  Well, if I’m in *that* mood, I can make anything a trigger.  But through therapy (and wild guesses) I have identified some common triggers that make me feel fat AND give me an insatiable desire for ice cream, popcorn, and an entire jar of peanut butter:

  • Feeling irrelevant among my loved ones (especially the kids when they don’t “need” me.) 
  • Feeling self-conscious or un-confident. 
  • Any of HALT:  Getting too hungry, angry, lonely, or tired.  Or hormonal.  But that ruins the cool acronym.  THALH?  HALT-H? (uh, no, that sounds like a hemorrhoid cream.  Let’s just stick to HALT and assume hormones are in the mix.)

6.   Insert your favorite meme in the space below- Well, it’s NOT the one above.  That one just makes me sad.  And cold.  I like this one better:

helltoupee(Note that I got the little booger thing over the E there.  I keep it classy, yo.)

7.   What is a coping mechanism you use to combat your mental situation? I do my best to take care of myself – getting regular exercise and adequate sleep (or trying; some nights it’s more like “well, just lie here and rest….SHUT UP, BRAIN, your ONLY JOB for the next seven hours is to BREATHE.”  Suffice it to say it doesn’t always work.  OK, it hardly ever works.) 

I also try to remind myself that it’s cyclical; I know Sunday nights will be bad, as will every 4th or 5th week.  I just keep repeating to myself, “In a few days, this will be better….” over and over again.  I really should write myself some Post-It notes or something, right?

Oh, and I swear.  A lot.  Violently, rapidly, and voraciously.  F#@% YEAH!

8.   When you sit down to write a blog post, where does your inspiration come from?  Alien probes, subliminal messages from the government, pesticides, and high fructose corn syrup.  Or the hubs, my Facebook feed, funky shoes, and my cats.  (I’m not anywhere near as deep as a Pennsylvania pothole.)

9.   Right here, right now, say something to the person who has hurt you the most, beginning with, “I promise to…”  I promise to not junk-punch you if I ever see you again.  Mentally (as I mentioned elsewhere today) I’ll be dumping week-old clam chowder on your head, but I promise to appear to be cordial.  You KNOW that’s generous; I suggest you take it and back away slowly.

10. What one regret do you hold onto that you wish you could let go of?  I sincerely wish I had been kinder to my college boyfriend. 

He was my first relationship after a badly broken heart, and I used the relationship with him to play out all my anger, anxieties, and frustrations of the prior one.  I relentlessly messed with his head and repeatedly broke his heart – simply because my former boyfriend had broken mine.  Essentially, I used the poor guy to get my revenge on my prior love.  I know it was a crappy thing to do, but I was far too broken myself to recognize it. 

So Dean, if you’re out there, I’m sorry – you were a decent fellow who always deserved so much better. 

11. What’s the most valuable piece of advice someone has given to you?  “You miss all the shots you don’t take.”  Apply for that job, ask that guy out, bid on the shoes!  The answer is always NO unless and until you ask!  

OK, so now I have to list some folks to take on my questions list.  I’m sure you’ll find this stimulating and thought-provoking.  <snort>

  1. What is your favorite shoe?  (If you can’t answer this, we cannot be friends.)
  2. You won a million dollars.  What random gift would you send me?  (Wine is never the wrong answer)
  3. If you were going to go to a deserted island, and could only take three things, WHY WOULD YOU GO IN THE FIRST PLACE?
  4. What’s the scariest thing on your bucket list – and when are you doing it?
  5. What movie, song, or comic book hero most closely represents YOU/your life?
  6. What did you want to be when you grew up?
  7. You have to give up one of your five senses.  Which do you sacrifice and why?
  8. You have a seven-week sabbatical from work – paid time off.  Whatcha gonna do?
  9. What skill do you wish you had?
  10. What do you find most intimidating?  Most motivating?
  11. Do you believe in ghosts, spirits, the afterlife?  Why or why not?

NOMINEES:

whereshappy

tatisgalaxy

sinsandsecrets

peaceof8

8 + 3 = 11 so I think we’re all done here.  School of Close Enough gives me a B+, so…peace out, y’all.  🙂

What Your Incessant Quiz-Taking Says About You

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Unless you live under a rock – one not equipped with satellite internet – you’ve probably stumbled upon a veritable potpourri of assessments, quizzes, and tests.  My social media streams are absolutely polluted with them; trying to purge your feed of their appearance is as productive as attempting to cure Rapunzel of head lice – no matter what you pick, spray, smother, block, and hide, MORE JUST KEEP HATCHING.

Most of these are “entertainment only” (read: meaningless time suck) and have become a bit of an invasive species, subject to a quick “share” and “forward.”  (Even on LinkedIn.  Come ON, people, that’s the ONE corner of the internet that should be a save haven from “Which Kardashian Is Your Style Icon?”)

But others are actually somewhat – and surprisingly – insightful.

1.  The Glorified Horoscope.  These are the zebra mussels of the internet.  Once your social media stream gets infected, you either have to burn all the boats and set fire to the ocean, or just try to wait for it all to eventually, slowly die off.

You’ve probably experienced this:  one of your Facebook friends takes a quiz, and “shares” the results, inviting you to take the quiz, too.  By day’s end, roughly 42% of your friends have shared THEIR results, and the thing spreads like a bad stomach bug, barfing all over your NPR newsfeed and obscuring the new pictures of Pluto.  Just when you think it’s petered out for good, your mother’s results pop up on your feed, and then all of HER friends get in on the game.  Sigh.

These quizzes claim, in a matter of minutes, to offer you valuable insight and self-awareness as to

<insert mystical music and cloud of patchouli>

~WHO YOU REALLY ARE~

Yes, it’s true – in moments, you can find out which character from Friends you are – AND which one you should date, or what your taste in seashells, color patterns, or flowers indicates about what’s really going on inside your noggin.

We all know that these are nonsense, right?

Well, apparently, Monica was spot-on marrying Chandler, and lily lovers are wickedly independent and have killer shoe collections.  I mean, HELLO! <ring ring> Validation calling!

(Okay.  I took a few.  Don’t judge.  You know YOU wanted to.)  <runs to the interwebz to find out the correlation between Shredded Wheat and my penchant for backpacks>

The beauty of these things is that they’re as substantive as cotton candy, and the descriptions are written in such a way that a good hunk of them can pretty much apply to anyone.  Like daily horoscopes and fortune cookies, they’re closer to “one size fits all” than any piece of clothing can ever claim to be.

2.  I’m psychic and/or magical.  There are some other “quizzes” that claim to

<cue filmy scarves and hammered dulcimer tones>

~READ YOUR MIND~

Here’s one example:  Pick Pocket Money Trick.  Use this on your friends and you can MAGICALLY guess how old they are AND how much change they have in their pockets!

MAGIC.  I’m sure Ellen’s people will TOTALLY be begging you to be on her Tuesday show. <eyeroll>

People – this isn’t “neat” or “clever.”  IT’S MATH.  If Common Core focused on teaching THIS kind of logic, maybe we’d be raising a society of rational human beings instead of a plethora of entitled, egocentric, everyone-gets-a-trophy, forever-on-Mom’s-insurance-and-cell-phone-plan progeny.

But I digress.  Because I’m a geek (see Shredded Wheat, above) I actually convert these things into algebraic equations FOR FUN.

So here we go.  Let’s say I’m 29 (SHUT IT) and that I have 76 cents in my pocket.

  • Age (A) = 29
  • Coins (C) = 76

We also know that the answer is a four-digit number – so “the first two digits” means your age times 100 – this pushes your age into the thousands and hundreds column, and  will leave the last two digits (the tens and the ones) for coinage.  Our formula looks like this:

((2A+5)*50)-365+C+115 = 100A+C

Let’s solve the parenthetical expression on the left:

100A + 250 – 365 + C + 115 = 100A + C

Now let’s math out the numbers that don’t have A or C on them – 250-365+115.  Guess what that equals?  ZERO.

100A + C + 0 = 100A + C

See?  Wasn’t that fun?

Side note:  I was a math major for a whopping three days.  Still got it.  <strut strut>

If the above was complete gibberish to you – well, you probably have other talents.  Like maybe you can parallel park, or get past level 452 in Candy Crush.  Or maybe you’re just really pretty.  🙂

3.  Insightful Personality Assessments.  If the above just isn’t doing it for you, there really are some fairly useful tools out there on the Interwebs to help you learn more about yourself.  I swear I’m not feeding you some HR brainwashed psychobabble here – these can be extremely helpful to your own spiritual (and career) development IF you are open and receptive to understanding:

  • more about yourself and how you respond and react to others.  (Good AND bad) AND
  • how your <ahem> unique quirks and foibles are perceived by others, AND
  • how others react to YOU, and modifying your approach in the spirit of furthering communication.

In other words, everyone’s different – and different is OK.  Coexist and all that.

Most HR folks – or employees occasionally subjected to HR folks outside of annual benefits enrollment – have probably taken some form of Myers-Briggs-based assessment as part of “professional/career development.”  If you haven’t gotten your “letters” (i.e. ENTJ, INFP, etc.) yet, you can take a simplified version of this test at 16personalities.com.

Although I don’t love this methodology (because in one session, I (deservedly) was given the nickname “Steamroller,”) I took a whack at it.  It’s highly subjective, of course – but interesting all the same.

What am I?  The Debater.  What I found the most interesting (read: accurate):

ZOMG I DO THIS TO THE HUBS ALL.THE.TIME.

I also learned:

  • I rip apart arguments JUST FOR FUN (see algebra above…yeah.)
  • Arguing both sides helps me understand them better.  But I more do it because it amuses me.
  • I sometimes hurt people’s pwecious widdle peewings….and I don’t really care.  (And this can damage relationships.  Uh.  Duh.)
  • I’m not a huge fan of conformity or grunt work.  (Really – are there people who live to file?)

To be fair, this wasn’t really earth-shattering.  I’m pretty self-aware – flaws, pits, and all.  But it feels somewhat…I dunno, validating?  to see that I’m not a walking freak show.

(THERE ARE OTHERS.  BE VERY AFRAID.)

Chris from Surviving the Specter got me thinking about these assessments the other day.  His blog led me to The Enneagram Institute, where you can take the RHETI (Riso-Hudson Test.)  If you only take one quiz on this page, TAKE THIS ONE.  It’s quick,  free, and pretty thorough for the price!

What I like about this:  There’s TONS of detail in the explanation/description of your “type.”  Also, if your scores are close, there’s an entire section on “misidentifiers” – so you can see if #2 or #3 really fits you better.  I had one score just barely above three others, which were tied – and reading the misidentifiers helped validate my label.  (This seems to be my lot in life….I guess it comes from my need to argue every side of things, being The Debater and all.)

So here’s my rainbow: HybridPersonalityWhat I learned:

* I have a basic fear of being trapped, and need to sustain some freedom.  Interestingly, when I was a baby, I HATED my playpen.  Mom would plop me in there and I’d scream and cry like I was being stabbed.  But, interestingly…if she left me in the room with the playpen, with the side DOWN so I could get in and out by myself, I’d happily crawl in and sit in there and play ALL DAY. Hmm.  No metaphor THERE.  </sarcasm>

* I’m not terribly intellectual, but my brain moves really fast.  (Again, no huge enlightenment there – I’m reading Cosmo, not Tolstoy.)  Often, it won’t shut off.

*  When I’m stressed, I become critical and perfectionist-ish.  <picks up megaphone> Cue the eating disorder!

* I have chutzpah.  THE SITE SAID SO.  And “chutzpah” is one of my favorite words on the planet.  Coincidence?  I THINK NOT.

The details of my type (Type 7, The Enthusiast) are here, but don’t read about ME – go get your own test done.

I know these tests are oversimplified. I know it’s silly – bordering on ridiculous, really – to think that all of planet Earth could be categorized into eight or sixteen or even 1600 “types.”

But if you’ve ever taken the time to find out what your finger length or your wall color “says” about you – why not invest a few minutes in discovering what you “say” to others?

Rather than comparing yourself to a fictional character or a zoo animal, have a look in the mirror.

Study what you see.

Get to know YOU.

Warts and waterfalls, flowers and flaws.  All of it.

Be fabulous, just the way you were imperfectly, wonderfully made.

I mean it.  Or I will totally find you some more algebra to do.  I HAVE MATH AND I KNOW HOW TO USE IT.  Heh.

The Unproductive Habits of Food Disordered People

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We all have bad habits.  Right?

I have a lifelong habit of biting my nails.  Lest you think I’m a freak – only fingernails, and only my own.  And more specifically, I’m really just chewing off ragged cuticles and evening out chips.

But still, I know it’s kinda gross.  It’s unsanitary (dude, hands touch EVERYTHING.)  Plus, I had braces not once, but TWICE as a kid – and I’m sure the gnawing and chipping does nothing for proper tooth alignment.  And, most importantly, try as I might, I can’t seem to find nutritional information for fingernails.  (Most likely because I haven’t looked.  Because if I look, I might find out that fingernails actually HAVE calories. And if this is true, I’ll have to log it on my food tracker.  And heaven knows I don’t need one more thing to obsess over in the eating department.  I can totally see me looking at my hands at day’s end, going, “I bit off FOUR nails today!” and proceeding to run maniacally around the block and frantically doing 50 jumping jacks to burn it off.  Or saying “eff it” and diving headfirst into a bag of popcorn and hating both myself and the fat sad sack I have become.  Yeah, probably the latter, since it’s bikini season.)

The hubs has noticed.  He knows better than to complain about it (Obviously, I bite.)  But one day, we were wandering through a drugstore, and he hands me something and says, “Look, honey – snack chips!”

snackchips

Har dee har har.  <eyeroll>

Part of the problem was that my nails just wouldn’t grow all that much before they made like fashion denim and ripped, chipped, and tore.  Once you have an uneven nail, or a ripped cuticle, you sort of have to address it, right?  I mean, it’s like having your slip showing, except on your hands, and it’s a ratty, tatted slip that really SHOULD have gone in the garbage, but you forgot (read: fell asleep in front of the TV) to do laundry, so….Easiest answer is to bite it off. <snap> <ptoo>

Over the years, I’ve made several attempts at ending the phalangical feast.  And I am proud to say I am doing better:

growingback See that ONE ragged cuticle there?  I DIDN’T BITE IT OFF.   yet  GO ME!

(On a side note – I had some stomach/malabsorption issues a few years ago; I was pretty low on a lot of vitamins, iron, etc.  After over a year of testing, poking, prodding, and biopsying, my doctor threw up her hands and said “Try giving up wheat.”  And after about six months of a wheat-free diet, the above pic is how much the whites of my nails have grown in about eight days.  So, while medically, I very clearly didn’t have celiac….something was glitched up in glutenville.)

As I work toward recovery for a lifetime of food issues, I have come to realize that I have a ton of really unproductive food habits.  I’m going to list them here – one, for self-awareness; two, to hold myself accountable…to some of them, anyway.  (I’m not freaking Mother Teresa – give me a C for effort here.)

1.  Eating in front of a screen.  Yes, I know what all the studies say – if you eat while you’re doing something else, you won’t “notice” your level of satiety.  But, darn it, I LIKE entertaining my mouth when my brain is pigging out on the televised version of junk food.

Plus, during the week, I eat my lunch while I’m working – I can get out of the office a little sooner that way.  Since I often have to work until 7, every minute of daylight counts.  So, in the spirit of full disclosure, I won’t be working too hard on this one.

However…when we bought our house, we actually built an addition on it to make sure we had ROOM for a dining table.  The construction loan’s paid off, so maybe I should use the space for more than storing Kohl’s coupons and scrapbooking supplies.

I don’t cook every evening, but on the evenings I DO make dinner, I’m sure it wouldn’t kill me to sit at an actual table with the hubs and eat, undistracted, and chat about our day.  Heck, it might even nourish our marriage a bit.

So how about I shoot for two dinners a week at the table?

2.  Eating out of a giant bag.  Curse you, Costco, and your ginormous sacks of salty and sweet munchable deliciousness.  Some of your snacks are packaged in such a way that one bag has- wait, lemme look….

ZOMG

TWENTY-TWO SERVINGS.

WHAT.

HOW IS THIS EVEN LEGAL.  Didn’t Obama pass something addressing this with the Affordable Care Act?  I mean these suckers are larger than most airlines allow for a carryon (and NO, I will NOT be checking my popcorn, thankyouverymuch.)

Give me a standard, grocery-store bag of popcorn, and I can EASILY chomp my way through it in a single sitting.  NOT EVEN A CHALLENGE.  Chip clips are for QUITTERS, yo! This means I can do some SERIOUS damage on Costco’s monster face-troughs that I swear I am NOT BUYING THIS TIME but somehow inexplicably make it into my house anyway.

While I haven’t plowed through an entire bag in one sitting yet, I can certainly polish it off in two sessions, and I think the only reason I HAVEN’T finished one in one swoop is because I’m mortified that I actually COULD.  (Plus, here’s what happens when I get dangerously close to doing so.)

So what I’m trying to do is not sit down with one of these things, because that’d be like sitting on the sofa next to Adam Levine and promising to look, but don’t touch.

(Adam Levine…mmmm….did I mention I bite?)

<cough> Sorry.  BUT HE’S SO PRETTY.

Anyway, I’ll measure out a reasonable portion and sit down with that.  One day, maybe I’ll just haphazardly pour out a bowl WITHOUT measuring it….but that will be after the genie grants me three wishes (a billion dollars, the ability to fly, and the ability to cancel out calories on any foods I wish.)

3.  It’s all or nothing.  Ladies?  You’ve done this, right?  Meticulously followed the diet for several days, and then dared to sample a Hershey’s Kiss or a peanut butter cup, and the entire dam broke, flooding your gut with whatever you could rapid-fire throw down your pie hole?

Why do we do this?  I mean, when I get a flat tire, the smart thing to do is call AAA.  The stupid thing to do is pull over, get out my gun, and shoot out the other three tires, the headlights, and the windshield.

BUT WE ALL DO THIS.

While I think AAA has had stranger calls, I won’t plan to bother them with my tales of unharnessed gluttony.  But I do need to find a way to interrupt the broadcast.  I can:

  • Go for a walk, a run, a bike ride.
  • Drink water (see below.)
  • Plan out the next day’s healthy food.
  • Go pull weeds.  (There’s ALWAYS something to rip out of the ground….)
  • Do my nails (hard to eat with wet nails!)
  • Whine about it here.  🙂

4.  Drink enough water.  During the week, I’m pretty good about this.  I drink two twelve-ounce glasses in the morning, adding a third if I went for a run.  I drink 20 oz of herbal tea and 20 oz of hot water (because I’m chronically freezing) while at work.  I’ll try to get 1-2 more glasses at home in the evenings.  Also, I need to keep up the fluids on weekends (besides wine.  WHY CAN’T THAT COUNT <sobs>)

It’s been said that it takes 21 days to break a habit.  Frankly, I call BS on that (and so does this article, which states it can be upwards of 245 days or more.)  And I’ve been trapped in this food funhouse since I was ten years old, so maybe it’s me, and not the habit, that needs breaking.

But if I can do just one thing a tiny bit healthier than how I did it before?  That’s progress.  Some days, I might be hanging by a fingertip from the edge of a cliff – but as long as I don’t let go – as long as I keep hanging on – I have a shot at getting two (well-manicured) fingers up there tomorrow.

I’ll get there one finger at a time.

Sanctuary on a Sunday

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Sundays are hard.

I don’t know why this is – I mean, I don’t hate my job, so it’s not a dread for Monday or anything.  Could be something as simple as a couple days off from the regular routine, I suppose – differing hours of sleep; variation in eating patterns (and more likely to be consuming things I shouldn’t be eating, like fat, sugar, salt, sugar, and sugar.  Oh, and sugar.)

So today, I was visiting the in-laws with the hubs and all of our kids.  I feel like I need to clarify something here – my in-laws freaking ROCK.  I married their only child, and they’ve totally adopted us – not only me as a daughter, but my kids as their grandchildren.  (Which means that my kids have way, way too many Christmases.  Three sets of grandparents will do that for you.  Lucky them.)

My mother-in-law is the sweetest person ever, and she spoils us rotten.  Unfortunately for me, this usually means she’s got our favorite treats prepared when we come to visit.  This weekend, for example, she had at the ready two batches of cookies, a pumpkin pie, a sheet of apple pie squares, chocolate pudding (the good kind that you have to cook, not that crappy instant pseudo-pudding that tastes like sad puppies), and vanilla ice cream AND whipped cream to top them off.  WE WERE ONLY GONNA BE THERE FOR 24 HOURS.  Sigh.  Oh, and there was wine. 

I walked into this temptation trap after a week of overeating – and yesterday, when I took a picture of my tattoo, I saw how fat and squishy my back has gotten, and…just…ugh.

Boom.  And there it goes.

It’s no surprise that I overate, right?

So today, I’ve been anxious and restless.  My mind has had more deer flies than the standing water in a swamp.

You’re so fat. 

Your thighs are HUGE. 

Look at that back fat. 

Everything squishes where your clothes touch you. 

You look pregnant in that shirt.  All the lumps show.

I tried batting them away, attempting to distract myself with something – anything.  But you can only swat so many away before you’re drained, sore, and defeated.

And, as bizarre as it sounds, while I’m degrading myself for taking up so much space, I simultaneously CANNOT STOP THINKING ABOUT FOOD.  I want ice cream.  Popcorn.  Pudding.  Ice cream.  Pizza.  Cookies.   Ice cream.  Peanut butter.  ICE CREAM.

I’m in the uncomfortable, illogical dichotomy of wanting to eat and wanting to be thin.

I hate the wanting.

I decided that I needed to get out of the house for a while.  Because it was sunny and bright outside, and the sun makes me feel better.  It was really warm, which meant no one else would want to tag along.

(Side note:  Midwesterners are weird.  They’re absolutely stoic in January when it’s 26 degrees below 0 – they actually SIT OUTSIDE and go ice fishing and drink beer and stuff AND THINK THIS IS FUN – but turn the heat up above 80 with just a TOUCH of humidity and they wilt like a puff of cotton candy at the State Fair. I’d like to see them survive a DC summer, where we counted 90/90 days – over 90 degrees and over 90% humidity.  Being an orchid, that’s my kind of weather.  But the locals whine and complain, and I return the favor when the temperature dips below freezing.  Or below sixty.  Like I said, I’m an orchid.)

(Additional side note:  26 below 0 is stupid cold.  I mean beyond OMG and WTF.  This is a new level of cold.  You can actually throw a pot of boiling water in the air and it freezes before it hits the ground.  And one time?  A friend of mine took a deep breath outside on one of those mornings, and his PORCELAIN TOOTH SHATTERED.  Like I said.  Stupid cold.)

Recently, the hubs installed a trailer hitch on my truck, and we invested in a really good bike rack so we could take more rides in more interesting places than around our neighborhood.  I had brought my bike along for this overnight trip thinking that I might need some exercise (because food – see above.)

I was so glad I did.

I headed out, not having any clue where I wanted to go.  The in-laws live in a very rural area; while there aren’t really many landmarks, or road signs, if you don’t turn you can’t get lost, right?

It was hot, but there was a great breeze.   There were lots of hills, but the sun warmed my skin and sweetened the bitter messages my brain had been telling me.  I pedaled faster.

And it was a gorgeous day.  Plenty of gorgeous wildflowers:

lake2I saw some bulls – with REALLY intimidating horns – chilling right next to the road.  Clouds of butterflies and flocks of ducks scattered as I rode past.  A wild turkey crossed the road a few feet ahead of me.

And there were lakes everywhere.

Lake18.6 miles later, I felt a bit better.  With that sort of scenery, how could you not?

I’m home now, and unfortunately, I’m still fat.  I really need to hunker down and focus on eating healthy amounts of food, and eliminate some bad habits (OK, destructive patterns.  I’m trying here, people.)

But my journey to seek the sun nudged the beat-myself-up-meter just a little to the left. I’m disappointed in my body, sure.  I wish I hadn’t indulged in so many treats.  And I certainly am not looking forward to this week’s weigh-in.

But despite its flaws, my body did something well today.  I rode hard and rode well, uphill (yes, both ways were uphill, you weren’t there so you don’t know) in the hot sun.

I rode my way to just a little piece of sanctuary for my soul.

Despite all the things I still need to work on, I can be thankful for the ability to do that.

Dragon’s Loyalty Award and Random Katie Factoids

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What’s better than your run-of-the-mill, everyday WordPress blogging award?  AN AWARD WITH DRAGONS.

I wanna be a dragon.  You can fly.  You can cook your food by breathing on it.  AND YOU CAN FRY MORONS BY BELCHING ON THEM. I mean WHAT is a better response to being served a heaping serving of steaming asserole than to insta-char the jerk into a silent block of carbon?  *POOF* and YOU’RE a briquette….<mic drop>

(Side note:  I actually wrote about how charcoal briquettes came to be once.  Never accuse me of not having diverse interests.)

A hearty thank you to Chelise at Caterpillar to Butterfly for the nomination!  (Chelise writes about codependency recovery – she’s a good read – plus her name is like the BEST. DRAGON. NAME. EVER.  Right?)

dragonsloyaltyaward

THE RULES:

  • DISPLAY THE AWARD CERTIFICATE ON YOUR WEBSITE
  • ANNOUNCE YOUR WIN WITH A POST AND LINK TO WHOEVER PRESENTED YOUR AWARD
  • PRESENT 15 AWARDS TO DESERVING BLOGGERS
  • DROP THEM A COMMENT TO TIP THEM OFF AFTER YOU’VE LINKED THEM IN THE POST
  • POST 7 INTERESTING THINGS ABOUT YOURSELF.

The rules, the way I’m doing them, because NO ONE TELLS A DRAGON WHAT TO DO:

THE RULES (Dragon Kate-style <roar>):

  • DISPLAY THE AWARD CERTIFICATE ON YOUR WEBSITE (I’m good with this one.  Copy, Insert, CHECK.)
  • ANNOUNCE YOUR WIN WITH A POST AND LINK TO WHOEVER PRESENTED YOUR AWARD (That makes sense. No reason to be all ninja about it, right?  Although a ninja/dragon battle would be super rad.)
  • PRESENT 15 AWARDS TO DESERVING BLOGGERS (Uh…do I even KNOW 15 people?  Maybe I’ll divide that by, like, three.  Because three’s a crowd, and when you have three people, you ALWAYS end up with two against one.  Thus, three ALWAYS divides, so I come up with five.  Because math.  It’s legit.  Common Core says so.  It’s explained at a simple fourth-grade level here.)
  • DROP THEM A COMMENT TO TIP THEM OFF AFTER YOU’VE LINKED THEM IN THE POST (That feels like cheating.  Like making the Easter eggs beep and buzz so you find them before they self-ferment into noxious holiday grenades.  If they deserve the award, they’ll find themselves mentioned here.)
  • POST 7 INTERESTING THINGS ABOUT YOURSELF.  (Um.  Well.  The odds are better that you’ll find seven more interesting things on a pack of gum, or in a toddler’s diaper.  (Hey, my kid ate crayons.)  But I’ll try.)

So here are my 15/3 nominees:

fattymccupcakes, because she is freaking hilarious, and because she told me the other day that I AM HER NEW FAVORITE.  You may commence the weeping and gnashing of teeth now.

luvbearlvx, because he actually DOES cry, plus he claims I need to up my snark game.  <thunk> GAUNTLET DOWN, BRO.

The Persistent Platypus, because she went on a diet this week and diets suck, so maybe dragons will cheer her up.

Walking After Midnight, because we are coffee soul sisters #teamDunkin

Remember the Good Stuff, because she writes a lot of feel-good warm fuzzy things that are always a pleasure to read.

And now, since I know you’re all just dying on the vine waiting for my seven fascinating personal factoids that will enrich your life and resolve global warming:

1.  My all-time favorite letter?  Q.  Q and I have a lot in common.  Loving Q means you’re never lonely, because Q is always with U!

<insert three-hour time delay while Kate pleads guilty at Bad Pun Prison>

Q is HIGHLY underutilized.  When I’m trying to mess with someone’s typing, it’s easy to approach from the side and sneak in a few random Qs when they’re typing.

Q Q Q qq QQ

See?  Immediate hilarity.  YAY Q

2.  I collect frogs.  In addition to having them all over my office, I have one on my laptop:

laptopone on my car:

FrogTruck(Shout out to Vinyl Disorder for the decals.  They rock.  Clearly.)

And one on ME! (I’ll let you guess where.  NO, it’s NOT on my butt, you sicko.)

frogtatt

I love the tropical poison dart frogs.  Cute, but deadly.  I can relate to that.  And then there’s the acronym that can be a soothing reminder to the scathing voices in my head:

  • Fully
  • Rely
  • On
  • God

We could all use more frogs.  PLUS THEY EAT BUGS.  Bugs suck.  More frogs = fewer bugs.  Winning!

3.  My fingers are double-jointed.  I can bend the tops without bending the middle joint….

freakfingersFREAAAKKKKYYYY

And so is my thumb.  The top of my thumb bends back 90 degrees.

weirdthumbIt also “clicks” when I bend it back to a normal position.  Over and over and over again.  It’s super fun when you have people around you who hate, with the fire of a thousand suns, the sound of knuckles cracking.  <click click click> They cringe, cower, and eventually cover their ears and hide under the table, curled up in the fetal position shuddering and weeping silently.

Heh.  <click click click>

4.  I can’t pronounce the work “coagulate.” When I say it, it sounds like “co laj a gate”.  It’s a sickness.  I can’t fix it.  I don’t even try any more. 

5. I have two birthmarks.   One is a strawberry hemangioma on my upper right arm. I was quite self-conscious about it when I was a kid – I mean, it looked like a moose had randomly given me a huge hickey.

The good news is that the doctors have reassured my parents that it will TOTALLY go away by the time I’m twelve or so.  (Seeing as how I’ve turned twelve three times, and am edging uncomfortably close to Twelve Number Four….I’m less optimistic.)  

The other is a flat, brown mole on my left ring finger.  If there’s a dermatologist in the room, it usually catches her eye, because apparently, it looks a lot like cancer.  But it’s been there all my life.

chocfingerWhen I was a kid, I fondly called it my chocolate mark – I told people that was born with the label that, like, REQUIRED me to eat chocolate ALL DAY LONG.  (This had the effect of distracting them from the moose hickey, which, while interesting, will never be chocolate.)

6.  I am allergic to cockroaches.  This seems to be pretty unusual, given the odd looks I get when this comes up in conversation.  Which happens more often than you’d think. 

How did I discover this?  In college, I got a summer job cleaning dorm rooms.  (High glam here, folks.)  I started breaking out in horrifically disfiguring hives periodically.  It’s a unique look that the world wasn’t quite ready for – understand this was 30 years before Lady Gaga, and we’re not quite ready for her, either.  Think having your entire lip swell up is chic gorgeous?  Try HALF YOUR LIP.  Stunning.

So off I went to the allergist, where they performed a scratch test.  Essentially, they draw a grid on your back, and put a drop of allergen in each box.  Then all the allergists come over and play Hive Reaction Bingo: They randomly select different allergens, and when the square is called, they take a needle <shudder> and just barely scratch your skin so the drop seeps in and the aforementioned allergen infects you.  Whoever’s square flares up the most wins a prize – probably a tongue depressor and a lollipop.  And, of course, bragging rights. Obvs.

So it turns out I’m allergic to dust mites, birch trees, and cockroaches.  It’s quite the icebreaker.

7.  I’m deathly afraid of canned biscuits. 

biscuitsofdeathBECAUSE THEY EXPLODE.  You gently tap them on the counter, and JUST when you’re starting to feel the beat, BOOM!  Biscuit blams out of the container and scares the ever-loving shiz out of you, causing you to scream like an evil clown with an ax just popped out from the broom closet.  Out of sheer terror, you drop the can and it crashes to the floor, taking with it your ruined dreams of dinner and world peace.

I don’t eat canned biscuits anymore.  (Because gluten, and because chemicals.  Delicious, toasty chemicals.)  But, when I used to, there was only one way I could possibly get the dough out of the can:

  1. Gently, slowly peel label back JUST A LITTLE BIT.  Gently.  Slowly.  STOP when you start to see brown paper.
  2. Hold can in right hand.  Stand next to countertop, minion, little brother’s head, or other hard surface.
  3. Use left finger to plug left ear.  Shrug right shoulder up to plug right ear.
  4. Squinch eyes shut as tightly as you can.
  5. Begin chant of “LALALALALALALA” to cancel out surrounding biscuit explosion noise.
  6. While chanting and holding position above, whack can firmly on counter 3-4 times.
  7. STOP.  Peek cautiously out of one eye. If can is open, relax and access biscuits.  If can is still intact, IMMEDIATELY return to Step 1.  Repeat steps 1-6 until you see biscuits.

So there you have it – the seven most interesting things about Kate.

Dragon-approved.

Really.  Go ask one.

And bring marshmallows, just in case she doesn’t feel like chatting.

The Road to Recovery Has Potholes and Pitfalls

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I haven’t written anything about food issues in a while.  This wasn’t intentional, nor was it any sort of avoidance.

I just haven’t had anything dramatic to write about.

It’s been nearly three weeks since I wrote about food – at the time, I had a pretty typical binge, followed by a couple days of pretty hardcore restricting (for the uninitiated, that’s where you really don’t eat….anything.)

But since then?  It’s been…fairly quiet.  While I recognize that this isn’t exactly “recovery,” it’s still progress.  There are a lot of things I’ve done right these last couple of weeks:

1.  I’ve been eating a fairly healthy 1200 calories a day.  I do want to drop a couple of pounds, so yes, I’ve been tracking and measuring my food…BUT I’ve been doing it in a way that I’m sure the Weight Watchers Wizards would approve:

  • I’ve started most days with a smoothie – made with REAL food, thankyouverymuch, no Frankenfood or lab-created powders.
  • Mid-day, I’ve had a healthy lunch AND a snack
  • In the evening, I prepared a sensible dinner followed by a SMALL treat (vs. an entire bag of treats.  Do NOT underestimate how big this is.)

2.  I have been running 3-4 times a week.   Regular exercise helps me burn off all that extra angst/cortisol so I can think, focus, and eventually sleep.

Side note:  If you don’t know what cortisol is, CLEARLY you don’t read the same magazines I do, because it’s the Cristiano Ronaldo of hormones these days. 

Wait…you don’t know who that is, either?  HE ONLY HAS LIKE A HUNDRED MILLION FACEBOOK FRIENDS YO. 

Sigh.  Cristiano Ronaldo’s boring page about sports and why you should care.  (Go directly to #4.  YOU’RE WELCOME)

<snaps fingers>  Focus?  FOCUS.

Back to cortisol.  Essentially, it’s the fight-or-flight hormone.  Your body makes it as a response to stress; it prepares the body physically to handle running from (or stabbing) a rabid bear, or a tough jungle swing over the swamp to avoid alligators or whatever.

Nowadays, we don’t have too many legit physical stressors.  Instead, we valiantly fight things like rush hour, IT issues, or Facebook drama.  So our bodies pump out all this cortisol, prepping us for battle…and we don’t burn it off.  Confused, our bodies make us crave sugar, build abdominal fat, and give us a lot of stomachaches.  YAY.  (Read more about cortisol here.)

3.  I was BEING KIND TO MYSELF.  I bought a couple of new dresses that, if I may say so, make me look fabulous.  And I FEEL fabulous in them.  <struts runway-style in front of picture window and checks self out>

In all the above, I wasn’t getting crazy sauce all over the walls DOING any of this.  I actually didn’t measure out my lettuce for my salads.  (Yes, people with eating disorders do this.  Because lettuce DOES HAVE CALORIES and THEY ADD UP.  OK, I’m still measuring mustard, BUT THIS IS STILL PROGRESS SO SHUT IT)  And on a couple of days, I actually went OVER 1200 calories by a few, and I – miracle of miracles – just shrugged and figured it’d all even out.

Whoa.  Who is this goddess of zen?

I was feeling pretty victorious at this point. CHAMPION WARRIOR MODE

catunicornwarriorToday I was PLANNING TO WRITE about how great I was doing – and last night – LAST NIGHT – this happened:

badguysposter

<sigh>

The frustrating thing is that I don’t know what triggered this.  I wasn’t hurting.  I wasn’t angry.   The hubs and I haven’t fought – nor have I fought with him in my head instead of out loud – in several days.  I was a little tired, sure, but show me any woman in her 40s with teenagers and a full-time job who isn’t, right?

I suppose I may have simply just been too hungry.  Hmm…actually, the more I think about it, the more this makes sense.  I was playing a variety of sport-like games outside with my son – Wiffle ball, kickball, basketball –  and I remember feeling completely out of gas.  I mean, I’m not normally channeling Michael Jordan or anything – remember, I’m no athlete – but I could NOT make a SINGLE basket yesterday.

When we came inside, I thought maybe I needed a snack.  And that’s precisely where the dam broke.

It started with the popcorn – yes, the king-sized pillow bag from Costco; WHY DO I LET THESE INTO MY HOUSE – and half a bag and a Concrete Mixer later, I was filled to the brim with junk food and regret.

This morning, I feel pretty sick (well, DUH, what exactly were your expectations after eating half a silo of cheese popcorn, Princess?)  It’s a veritable food hangover.  I’m bloated and headachy; my stomach is rebelling like a cat who’s been trapped in a closet for fourteen hours and recently got out and promptly shredded the curtains.

It’s my own fault, I know.

But instead of hanging my soul on a hook in the basement and using it as a punching bag, let me see if I can learn from this.

What can I do differently next time?

When I get past the point of being hungry, I should start with a small, measured snack (measured simply so I don’t finish the entire package of whatever) to see if that alleviates the feeling.

I need to accept that some days I’ll be hungrier than others, and I need to trust my body to TELL me that it needs food.

Right now, my body’s so accustomed to being ignored, it only whispers, so I’ll need to pay really close attention.  That’s the hard part; I’ve spent so much of my life telling myself to shut up and denying the basic need for food that I truly have little idea what genuine hunger feels like.

This morning, I’m determined.  I had a couple of really, really good weeks running on the road to recovery.  But sometimes, you get distracted by the scenery and forget to watch for potholes.  So I tripped and fell.

Today, I’m brushing the dust off.  Taking a couple of tentative steps.  Hmm.  Nothing’s broken. It stings a little, but it’s only a skinned knee and a lightly bruised ego.

It’ll heal.  I think I can keep running.

3 Days, 3 Quotes: Day 3 – Keep Swimming, Keep Treading Water…Keep Going

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LAST DAY OF THE 3 Day, 3 Quotes Challenge!

DA RULZ:  For 3 days, post a quote and express what that quote means to you.  And nominate 3 other suckers lucky bloggers to take the challenge as well.

Today’s quote kind of speaks for itself.  It’s one I started using years ago; to this day, I’m known for sharing it with my friends.

hellbrainThis quote is often attributed to Winston Churchill.  Although we aren’t entirely sure if it’s his, it may as well be.  You can read a lot of boring political and historical stuff on him, if you like – history isn’t my entertainment of choice, but it’s a pretty impressive list.  He made quite an impact for a dude of 5’6″.

Despite the historical snoozefest, he had a lot of interesting things to say:

“Success is not final, failure is not fatal: it is the courage to continue that counts.”

“You have enemies? Good. That means you’ve stood up for something, sometime in your life.”

And my fave:

“I may be drunk, Miss, but in the morning I will be sober and you will still be ugly.”

HAHAHA  HOW CAN YOU NOT LOVE THIS DUDE?

In my last post, I talked about the point in my life where I realized there was more to life, and to relationships, than emotional abuse, and had made the decision to leave my marriage.

What I didn’t fully understand when I made this decision was that the next eighteen months would be some of the most difficult days of my life.

First comes the challenge of separating yourself from an emotional abuser.  It’s a lot like trying to unscramble an egg.  You’re so used to the constant churning of the whisk that it’s tough to understand which of your muddled thoughts are yolk and which are the whites, and he’s always chucking in pieces of shell and other garbage to keep you second-, third-, and fourth-guessing yourself.

Even though you KNOW the yolk is yellow and the white is not, a champion manipulator that’s been chipping away at you for years can make you willing to accept that there’s no difference between yolk and shell, or that eggs are, in fact, blue and pink and pop out of a bloated bunny.

I threw a few additional stressors in my life, too.  For starters, I accepted a promotion and transfer at work; my new job was 60 miles away.

When I started my new role, I discovered that the plant was smack-dab in the middle of a unionization campaign.  From the Steelworkers.  In Pittsburgh.  (This is essentially fighting the enemy on their home turf; you’re battling tradition and “local values” in addition to trying to fix a broken workplace culture.  Ask an HR person how much fun this can be.  It’s not for the inexperienced, unless you relish being doused in A1 and set out for the wolves.)

And, of course, I had to relocate.  There were plenty of houses available – but the challenge was paying for one.  I was still on the mortgage at the house I shared with my ex; this significantly reduced the amount I could spend on a house.  And no, he wasn’t interested in refinancing, or actually divorcing, come to think of it, so I was stuck.

Finally, after obtaining a first – and second – mortgage on a property, I was able to move.  Then came the segregating of the household goods.  One bright spot:  my then-spouse was a bit of a hoarder, never getting rid of extra things, so I was actually able to pack up quite a few things we had never used (NEVER.  IN OVER 10 YEARS OF MARRIAGE) and other than buying silverware, I had a mostly-stocked kitchen.  But when the movers came, he refused to let me take either one of the dining room tables, even though I had purchased one set with a gift from my uncle.  Even though I was leaving all the antiques we had collected over the years.

It’s just stuff, right?  I was leaving with something far more precious – my soul.  It was bruised and battered, but still alive.

Then, as I arrived at my new house, I saw a note taped to the door.

It was a court order for alimony.  ALIMONY.  Because he hadn’t worked in years, and I had been the sole provider.  Yes, he was able-bodied; he had a master’s degree in education and COULD work…he just chose not to.  And now, I was legally obligated to support him.

There’s a “stress scale” that’s often referenced – if you have enough stressors at the same time, supposedly you’re at risk for illness.  You don’t have to be terribly good at math to know I was scoring pretty high here.

It was the tipping point.  I was ready to break.

I just couldn’t do this.

It was too much.

It was too hard.

I could go back.  I could cancel the moving truck.  I could get my old job back.

It would be easier, right?

I could give up.

No.  NO.  NO.

I could go back, but it would kill me.

I resolved to stay strong.  I stopped asking “Why me?” and instead shook my fist at the universe and said “BRING.  IT.  ON.”

I kept moving.

I closed on my house.

I negotiated a lower alimony.

I bought a keyboard instead of a kitchen table, because music makes me happy.

We defeated the Steelworkers by a two-thirds vote.

I was surrounded by flames, and chose to dance.

firedance

My divorce took nearly three years to complete – he fought me every step of the way.  Somehow, I kept going.  I kept my focus on where I wanted to be, and slowly made my way through the pricker bushes and rattlesnakes.

If you’re going through Hell….keep going.  It’s the only way out. The only way through.

There’s a new song playing these days; you might hear it on your local pop station.  The lyrics really caught my ear and reminded me how far I’ve come:

I might only have one match
But I can make an explosion

fireworks(Starting right now) I’ll be strong
I’ll play my fight song
And I don’t really care if nobody else believes
‘Cause I’ve still got a lot of fight left in me 

My final nominee:  kbailey374 at Walking After Midnight.  She’s legit in the water today so she gets to be today’s sucker.  😉

3 Days, 3 Quotes: Day 2 – Changing Direction, Heading Home

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Yeah, I know, it’s been a few days.  Nowhere in da rulz did it say three days in a row, so I’m just going with “the next three days that you blog.”  🙂

So, here’s Day 2 of the challenge:

For 3 days, post a quote and express what that quote means to you.  And nominate 3 other suckers lucky bloggers to take the challenge as well.

Today’s quote is one that I actually heard back in 2004.  I heard this quote at a conference, and I wish I could remember who the speaker was.  I suppose it doesn’t matter, really.  What’s important is that it stuck.

I was working up the courage to make a major life change – I had realized, after 10+ years of marriage, that my then-spouse was mentally abusive.  I discovered that my soul was a shriveled, dried-up fraction of what it used to be.  I was existing solely because I was constantly “in costume” – I focused all of my energy on being the person I thought I was SUPPOSED to be – the person I thought my spouse wanted me to be – not on who I actually was.

And I wasn’t sure who I REALLY was, anymore.  I didn’t know if any of the vibrant, outgoing person I had once been still existed.

I had the opportunity that year to attend a large HR conference. Now, if you’re an employer, and reading this, you should know that these conferences are a fantastic value – your HR professional will come back motivated, energized, connected, and informed.  The knowledge s/he will bring back to your organization will result in increased revenue, improved employee engagement, and capitalization of numerous efficiencies.

(If you’re an HR person, and reading this?  It’s one huge honkin’ parTAY.  Get your drink on and prepare to violate every company policy you’ve ever written.  BOOYAH)

That year’s conference was in New Orleans.  It was an opportunity for me to get away from my confused, stifled persona – a chance to shed the constricting, ill-fitting uniform I had worn for years, and step into something more comfortable…me.

For four days, I could just be myself – whatever that looked like.

So first, I decided I was a fabulous dresser, and bought a couple new dresses and shoes for the trip.  (OK. I was always a shopper, even then.)  The then-spouse was NOT fond of this – of the trip, of the clothes of any of the other changes I had been attempting to make.  In all honesty, my new things were very classy – but were, admittedly, brighter and shorter than anything I’d bought in the last ten years.  (He preferred to have me dress more “vintage” – if by “vintage” you mean Pilgrim.)

“Why’d you buy this dress?  Who are you wearing it for?”

Me.  I’m wearing it for me. 

“You must be meeting someone at this supposed ‘conference.’  Who is he?  Why are you doing this?”

I’m going for me.  I bought these dresses for me. 

I was excited for my trip.  Even my then-spouse, with his put-downs, frowns and scorny scowls couldn’t kill my anticipation.  I was looking forward to meeting my virtual network – a bunch of people whom I had only “met” online but had been communicating with for years.  I was eagerly awaiting the chance to wear my pretty new things at social events.

But most of all, I had a voracious longing to meet….me.  Myself.

The conference was a superior educational experience valuable networking opportunity

Dude.  It was NEW ORLEANS.  ROCKIN PARTY YO

It was amazing.  I made new friends.  I relaxed.  I had fun.  I wasn’t looking over my shoulder to ensure I was sustaining the approval of a controlling, manipulative spouse.  I laughed as loudly as I wanted; I drank more than one hurricane; I <gasp> danced until 2 AM.

My soul found water and light, and sprouted and bloomed.

I was happy.  I was ME.

Then the conference came to an end.  One more half-day of educational sessions, and we’d all be on our way back to our normal, everyday lives.

But I didn’t want to go back.  I had found my voice; I had found my light.  And she wasn’t going to quietly go back into that dark, confining shell very easily.

I had tasted freedom, and I didn’t want to stop drinking it in.

Right before I chose which final session to attend, a new friend asked me to sit with him at the session HE was attending.  I glanced at the description – something about a life coach.  Meh.  I doubted it’d be of value, but since I was, realistically, probably too exhausted to absorb anything that was actually educational, I figured I’d go along and maybe catch a nap.

The session began.  Instead of dozing off…my eyes widened.  I perked up as I realized that this session was right here, right now, at the right time, just for me.

Are you unhappy with your life?

Are you on a path that isn’t satisfying you?

If you’re alive, it’s never too late. 

turnaround

When I got on the plane, I laid out a plan.  I knew that I couldn’t go back home to the way things were when I left.  After a week of gorging on freedom and peace, my old costume no longer fit.

But I knew I was still alive.  I still had a lot of life left in me.

It wasn’t too late.

I turned around and forged a new path in a completely new direction.  What followed were the most difficult 18 months of my life…but I knew where I was headed.  The vision of peace lit the path in front of me like a promise.

The direction was clear, and I knew exactly where I was going.

Home.  Back to me.

Today’s victim nominee for this challenge:  lynneggleton at Lyma’s Life – because I love reading her stuff and just wish there was more of it.  🙂

3 Days, 3 Quotes: Day 1 – Artfully Plating an Opinion

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Earlier today, I was so VERY KINDLY nominated to participate in the 3 Days, 3 Quotes challenge by luvbearlvx.

<coughcoughjustyouwaituntiltheglittereyeshadowchallengecoughcough>

Ok, seriously, he is really quite entertaining, plus he has cats (one of whom typed his username, I think) so you should totally read his shiz.

So, the challenge:

For 3 days, post a quote and express what that quote means to you.  And nominate 3 other suckers lucky bloggers to take the challenge as well.

So…today’s quote.  I don’t actually REMEMBER a lot of quotes – once in a while, I’ll see one that’s been artfully crafted into a meme on Facebook; I’ll smile or chuckle, click “like,” and move on with my day.  The quote flits out of my life much like a butterfly tipped from its perch, quickly forgotten and sent off into the ether to make some other person’s life a bit more beautiful for a moment.

But this quote really stuck with me when I read it.  I liked it so much that I actually emailed it to myself so I wouldn’t forget it.  It spoke to me so clearly, I actually HAD IT MADE INTO A T-SHIRT YO.

“The world is changed by your example, not by your opinion.” ~ Paulo Coelho

shirtfront(Special shoutout to CustomInk for helping me create this.  Isn’t it cute?  It’s awesome and so is their customer service.  You should totally hit up their site and buy a lot of shirts with YOUR quotes on them.)

That’s not me modeling the shirt, by the way.  It’s the model on the site.  And this shirt runs small, so I had to order a <choke> MEDIUM, which would normally mean “I’m fat, I hate myself, and I fail at life,” but I like the shirt so much I DON’T EVEN CARE.  <gasp>

Until I read this quote, I had never heard of this Paulo Coelho dude.  I Googled a little bit, because I don’t want to accidentally support the quotation of, say, some puppy-kicker, or some a$$clown who chucks snow cones at senior citizens just for giggles, right?

I quickly found out that Paulo Coelho has a really, really difficult name to type.  (Seriously, try it. It’s not just me, is it?)  And he’s from Brazil, which probably means he’s pretty hot.  Beyond that, he’s a pretty interesting character, according to Wikipedia:

  • His dad was an engineer, and he was discouraged from pursuing writing.  (Really. I mean, it’s not like the kid wanted to be a wizard, or a penguin, or the Batmobile. Sheesh, let a kid dream a little.)
  • He decided to do it anyway, after researching and deciding that a writer “always wears glasses and never combs his hair” and has a “duty and an obligation never to be understood by his own generation.”   (SAID EVERY TEENAGER IN AMERICA TO HER PARENTS)
  • He escaped three mental institutions before the age of 20 (Misunderstood, yet creative and quite resourceful.)
  • He wrote a whole bunch of books that I haven’t read.  But probably should.  At least The Alchemist.  I mean, MADONNA read it.  And Will Smith.  If it’s good enough for Fresh Prince….?

So – why this quote?  Well, for one, it really explains my FAVORITE BUMPER STICKERS EVAH:

coexist

I like these so well, I put one on the back of my shirt:

shirtbackTo me, these mean something beyond “Live and let live” – they mean “seek, with love, to understand.”   Does it mean we always agree?  No, of course not.  But it DOES mean we’ll hear each other out and be respectful.

Your beliefs are as valuable as mine.

I mentioned in an earlier post that the hubs was, as of late, making some very impassioned downright hateful anti-religion statements.  I know I’ve said I find it hurtful…but even if I step outside of myself and my admittedly selfish, self-centered feelings, I still just cannot see that it’s doing anyone any good.

What’s the benefit of hate?

Does hate change minds?

Does force create converts?

I’ve never thought so.

But this works both ways.  ALL ways.  See, if you want someone to agree with you – if you want someone to listen to you, hear what you’re saying, and possibly adapt your viewpoint as their own – you have to make it appealing.

It’s like food.  You can slop a wad of mystery hash onto a plastic tray next to some cold, soggy vegetables, and bark out orders from under your hairnet to “EAT IT.”  Or, you can pull out some colorful Fiesta dishes, artfully arrange it on a plate with a grain, a bright veggie, and a playful garnish, and serve it with the airplane spoon.

No one will swallow your words if they’re not palatable.  No one will come back for seconds if what you’re saying is too difficult to chew.  Much like many a determined toddler, they’ll either refuse to eat, crossing their arms and staring you down defiantly, or they’ll shove just enough behind their cheeks to get them excused from the unpleasantness that is your dinner table.

You have to present what you’re serving with the concept that it’s a really, really good thing.  That’s the only way to get people to try what you’ve cooked up.  SHOW them that it’s wonderful.

I mean, if you’re presented a new dish, are you likely to relish tasting from a plate violently thrust at you with the command, “EAT THE DAMN SQUID ALREADY”?  I’m guessing notsomuch.  But you MIGHT be willing to dip your fork into the artfully plated broiled calamari with lemon cream sauce.

The human mind is a beautiful thing, really.  I love the incredible creativity and variety that cognitive thought has allowed us to experience.  We all have the opportunity to feed one another; let’s do so with kindness and compassion.  Let’s try to understand how poisonous words and attitudes can be, and instead work to nourish and enrich each other with a balanced, varied diet of thought, respect, and love.

Bon Appetit!

Whoops.  Forgot to select my next victim nominee.  I’d love to hear from Cass at Indisposed and Undiagnosed. I know she’s taking a break at the moment, but I miss her.

The Sisterhood of the World Bloggers Award (and All About My Cats)

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SisterhoodAwardThanks so much to Nikki at Undiagnosed Warrior for this nomination!  If you, or someone you know, struggles with chronic illness – one that frustrates the medical community in the diagnosis and/or treatment – this is one of the many blogs you should be reading, because you’ll find someone who understands.  (You should follow all the blogs on the nominations list, too.  Because I only read awesome stuff.)

The Rules:  Answer 10 questions, and then nominate 7 other bloggers for this award (asking them to complete these 10 questions, too.) 

First, the questions:

Why do you have a blog? 

My first post goes into more detail on why I started writing, but here’s a summary:

I started this blog a few months ago as a “brain dump.”  I was in a pretty dark place with my “food issues” (let’s be real here – it’s an eating disorder, even if I’m not hooked up to an IV at the moment, right?); I was suffering some spiritual attacks from my spouse; and then my dad nearly died and I was quickly sucked into a whirlpool of self-destruction and I couldn’t keep my head above water anymore.

So I committed to getting well.  As part of that, I needed a safe place to let my brain work out what was really bothering me – after all, it’s never really TRULY about the food.  And now, a few months later, I’m not entirely sure what “well” will look like – but things look markedly less bleak from this end.  And when the shadows do come, they don’t stay for quite as long.

I think that’s progress.

What inspires you the most? 

Wow, great question.  I think, sadly, I’m often inspired (or, rather, motivated) by success – or by the ability to stay in control.  (Hello, part of the problem, maybe?)

But I’m also inspired by the incredible beauty in nature.

DSC03099

lillies

Favorite animal and why?

I’m two cats shy of Crazy Cat Lady status.  I have three.  In true CCL form, let me talk about them a little too much:

This is Carrot.  (Because how cool is it to have an orange cat named Carrot?) Carrot (Yes, I know.  I don’t make my bed.  Judge if you must.  Just not gonna happen.)

I got him in 2005; he was two or three at the time and his past four owners had…died.  I was newly divorced, had relocated for a job, and wanted a “forever friend” – so we rescued each other.  (Aw.  Barf.)

He’s my intuitive cat; he comes to me when I need emotional support.  This one seems to be a thinker.  The hubs tells me “there’s a lot going on in that cat’s head.”   You can see it when you look at him, ya know?  He’s also the only cat in the house without an eating disorder.

Then we have Eileen – Lena for short.  BECAUSE SHE ONLY HAS THREE LEGS.  (I kill me.)  LenaLena is sometimes referred to as “the fat sack of basement hate.”  She HATES, with a fiery passion, our other cats.  She’s always hissing at our 3rd cat (to be fair, he is quite literally sniffing up her butt much of the time; I’d hiss too.) She loves people, though, and will snuggle and purr for weeks at a time.

In addition to being obese, she’s also bulimic.  She binge-eats when she can get away with it, and on many a morning, I wander into the basement and stumble upon the aftereffects of Barfageddon.  (Note – Baby wipes do a nice job spot-cleaning carpet. You’re welcome.)

Oh, and I’d say she’s as dumb as a post….but no post ever insulted ME, so I won’t go there.  Sweet purring ball of fur….nobody home when the doorbell rings.  Complete and total mental vacancy.  Intellectual abyss.

And then we have….Oliver.

OliverOliver is also obese.  Of no help to his appearance is that he has a disproportionately small head.  But he’s totally adorable.

He’s kind of…special.  On one hand, he’s the only cat that I was able to teach tricks to – he can sit up and beg for treats.  But then on the other hand, simple devices like doors completely baffle him.  In his mind, doors are push, not pull.  ALWAYS.  He’s locked himself into many a bathroom when the door was open….<push> <click>

Oh, and on more than one occasion, we’ve come home to find that he literally could NOT find his way out of a paper bag – he’d have his legs stuck in the handles, flying around the room with the bag flapping and crackling like a has-been super hero cape.

Oh, and (TMI WARNING:  If you’re easily grossed out, and/or you don’t think puke is funny, skip ahead.)  He thinks Lena is a vending machine.  He hears her starting to gag (which sounds like “bluck, bluck, bluck, bluckbluckblubulck <splat>) and he comes running like an overzealous janitor to perform Cleanup in Aisle 5.  WARM MOIST TREAT TIME!  YUMMO.  It’s disgusting…and hilarious.

(OK, squeamish delicate types can resume reading now.)

What is your favorite color?

Orange – no question.  (I’ll bet you intuitive types have figured that out.)  I’m told that this is unusual….but I love the bright, optimistic energy of a rich orange.  Fall leaves and orange lilies are my favorites!  (Which explains my profile picture.  We went out on a sunny day with a camera seeking the perfect shade of orange and came back with over 100 shots of trees and leaves!)

Do you prefer the ocean or mountains?

That’s a tough one.  I don’t like to be cold and I don’t care for sand.  But both are truly soothing to the soul, and I always feel refreshed and re-energized when I go.

Sunset1Honestly, I think I just like really big rocks.  (That sounds dirty, but trust me, I mean it in a nature-y way.  Which still sounds dirty.  Never mind.  NEXT QUESTION.)

Tea or coffee?

HOW IS THIS EVEN A QUESTION.  COFFEECOFFEECOFFEECOFFEE

Actually, to be fair, I HAVE cut back considerably. I only have ONE cup of coffee a day now.  (Yes, it holds 24 ounces.  It STILL COUNTS AS ONE CUP.  SHUT UP.  I NEED IT.)

I drink it black, because anything else isn’t coffee, it’s dessert.  Plus, I don’t want the metabolism of sugar and cream to slow down the slap-yo-momma-HELLO jolt I get from my morning cup of personality.   (And OK, yeah, calories are an issue, obviously.  So I drink it black and look like a badass.)

After my AM coffee, I do switch to herbal decaf tea, and I do like it.  Sleep is often elusive, so I cut out the caffeine after noon.

How many languages can you speak?

Before coffee?  Caveman.  After?  Much closer to English.

What made you happy today?

This year, the hubs and I bought some Adirondack chairs for the yard – for the sole purpose of sitting outside and reading.

I spent some time today doing just that.  How can this view make you feel anything but joy and peace?  I mean – look at that sky:

OutsideWhat is your dream?

Usually, it’s one where I’m not prepared for something.  Like, college starts tomorrow, and I haven’t registered for classes, nor found a place to live.  Or I have my senior recital tomorrow, and I haven’t finalized the songs, OR the program, and don’t have an accompanist yet.

Wait.  What?

Oh. You mean my personal wish-for dream.  Okay.  I want to win Powerball. The first thing I would do?  Take my alarm clock out to the driveway and back over it repeatedly with my truck.  Then I’d learn how to play guitar and I’d perform in coffeehouses singing folk songs and ballads and donate the money to charity.  Would I quit my job?  Not actively, but after a few days, I bet they figure it out.  😉

What is your favorite food?

Pizza is the shiz-bomb-dealio. END OF DISCUSSION.

Oh, and to be PERFECTLY CLEAR – it has to be “real” pizza.   None of this arugula, water chestnut, pineapple, and broccoli crap.  That is NOT pizza.  That is disappointment pie, and we are NOT having any of THAT in THIS HOUSE.

Red sauce (or white, I’m all about diversity!), cheese (do not even THINK of messing with this) and a host of other toppings will work.  But don’t be going freak show on my pizza.  I will get REAL ugly up in your oven, yo.

Aaaaand my seven nominations:

karmasarma (love her drawings!)

Mermaid in a Mudslide (love the variety)

Remember the Good Stuff (very uplifting)

The Persistent Platypus (I keep saying this – contagious energy)

Living with Confidence (great messages, makes me think)

Fixed on the Son (I love her look and her energy)

Living to Thrive (Positivity with chronic illness)

Thank you all for being an inspiration in so many ways!  Hugs, love, glitter. Barf.  🙂