I May be Becoming a Maple Bar

Today I had a maple bar for breakfast. Actually that is a lie. I had a maple bar for my second breakfast. I had smart start cereal with soy milk and a cup of tea with no sugar for breakfast. I started out with such good intentions. Usually my good intentions wear off at the same rate the bottle of wine I have for dinner kicks in. That’s fine because wine is relatively low in calories and before I do too much damage I’m engulfed in a hazy sleep. But today I had no such luck. Today A**** at work brought donuts. Let me put this in perspective for you. A**** is 19. She is our “Administrative Assistant” She Drives a nicer car than I do, lives with her parents, has really cute clothes, a soft voice, sweet demeanor, and would have no difficulty whatsoever using one of her donuts as a hula hoop.
She floated up to me (she does not actually weigh enough for gravity to effect her) and softly said “I brought donuts (insert annoyingly perfect large smile here) they are in the kitchen in you want one.” WANT one? So I went back to my desk. I drank water. I typed up a letter where I was perfectly justified in using strong language and creating a general tone of sternness. But the whole time there was this conversation going on in my head where my grown up self told my much younger and more immature self that it was too early for all that sugar and I didn’t need it anyway. But my younger self reminded my older self of when it was younger. I would go to a birthday party and eat candy and cake and ice cream until I was sick. There would be 2 bites of cake and a big glob of frosting I had been saving for last left on my plate and WHAM! I would feel too ill to finish. Latter that night, when I was at home trying to sleep, the vision of the last bites of cake would haunt me. Why couldn’t I just have eaten it? Would it have been so hard? I would lay there and think that I would give anything to have that cake now. I would swear that next time I would not be so foolish and I would finish it all. But next time I would have the same problem all over again. My younger self asked my older self “when you go home tonight and are lying in bed, will you want that donut?” and I had to admit that I would so we compromised. I would eat a donut while I took my vitamins. About halfway through the maple bar I begin to feel overwhelmingly guilty. Being a stress eater, I still finished the donut (maybe even a bit faster) but I did feel that I needed help. I decided to call on my friends.
I wrote an e-mail all of them. I admitted what I had done and full of hopelessness, asked them if they would come shopping with me for a fat dress to wear to all these weddings I have to attend soon. I go these responses (these are direct quotes)
“you're probably going to turn into a maple bar”
“Yesterday I had a gigantic plate of indian food and two pieces of bread, if it makes you feel better”
“those starbucks sandwiches we like so much... 450 calories are fat and 300 of them saturated”
So now I know that even when I try to be healthy (like the Starbucks sandwich) I mess it up so I will eventually turn into a goop covered pastry but hey, at least all my friend will be there with me right? As scary as the “you are what you eat” thing may be I have a friend who has a much more frightening take on it. Thinking of her mouth as the Mexican border, she thinks of her weight problems the way America thinks of Immigration problems. She will say things like “Awesome! Artichoke dip! That’s going straight to my spare tire!” I asked her about it today and this is what she said (another direct quote)
“it is similar to crossing the border at Mexico. Fish generally swims as far upstream as possible (finally settling down around the thighs), Ethnic foods go straight for the spare tire (as it is a transitional area, almost like a tent city that has just shown up without any sort of authority or jurisdiction, but is growing at an alarming rate), then there are the illegal border crossers such as maple bars that immigration won't let through, but for some reason seem to find themselves inside anyway - those my friends generally begin the downward spiral toward a double chin, settling right along the border, and soon you start to see signs along the freeway depicting mommy and child maple bars running to the freedom that is Southern California (my double chin), and worst of all is the grease pit burger with extra cheese, bacon, french fries, and fat (for good measure) those babies head for the homeland, you know what I'm talking about, that thing that follows you around catching the eyes of black men of all ages spurring nicknames such as shelf-booty - the ass.”

In the end, I still need a fat dress and I think I will spend this beautiful day working overtime at the gym but if I take the leftover chocolate sprinkle donut in the kitchen and stuff the whole thing up A****’s nose I know I will feel better about myself.

Manic-Depressive with little to no potential seeks good caterer with own linens

There is this Rilo Kiley song and I’m not entirely sure what it is about. It sounds like it is mostly about being a F***-up but it could also be in part about being manic-depressive. Either way it is totally about me right now. There is a part where she is telling hereslef how things will be in the morning and it says “You’ll fight and you will make it through. You’ll fake it if you have to and you’ll show up for work with a smile. You’ll be better, you’ll be smarter, more grown up and a better daughter or son and a real good friend.”
My parents’ wedding anniversary is next month. My whole life my mother has made a big deal out of her 25th wedding anniversary. What I mean by that is that she haws made it 100% undeniably clear that I have to plan it and it has to be good. So I was thinking that since they are having their 24th this year I should get started planning the big 25. Good plan right? Yes that would have been a fine plan if I could count. It’s just that I figured it this way, I’m 23. They were married one year and one month before I was born. That makes them 24, right? No, you can see the logical flaw here because you, reader, are not a brainless, worthless excuse for a daughter. If I turn 24 this year then they turn 25 and thus I’m screwed. This realization came to me last night by means of my boyfriend, who can do complicated math (Read “count correctly”).
Since then I have gone into panic mode. I have picked a date, planned a tentative menu, and enlisted the help of my sister (the artist) who will do invitations and decorations. I have even found a few halls that I can afford if any of them are available. Things are going as well as one could imagine. Somehow I just keep hearing that song and thinking “am I destined to never, ever have it together?”
I was reading about etiquette for this and it is the first anniversary party that is supposed to be thrown by one’s “adult children.” While technically I’m an adult I wonder sometimes. Like when I decide to have a malt for dinner or spend all my money on pretty shoes. I always think that I will make better choices tomorrow or get more work done next week or finish my novel this year but in reality I can’t even make it to the gym enough. I sit around wondering if the chicken in my freezer has freezer burn. I ponder the pros and cons of Dryel. I have been considering changing my voice mail message at work for a whole month now. After all this, I find my self wondering. . . Am I really wasting my potential?
I have thought I was spending all my time wasting these mounds and mountains of potential. Throwing it away like a beer bellied, truck driving, lottery winner on Vegas strippers. Piddling it away like an apathetic, trust-funded, college drop out trying to “find himself” in some warm, southern European place. I’m starting to question that I really have that much. What if I’m living up to my potential right now? What if this is all I have and I’m givin’ it all I got? How pathetic would I be then? Then again, its not out of the question that I’m sabotaging myself so that I can be more lazy. Being a loser is the best excuse for acting like one. Sadly I have no time for a self esteem crisis today. I have caterers to interview.

I need a massage

Have you ever had this conversation with yourself? (because I know you talk to yourself, don’t lie) You are looking at your bank statement and you ask yourself “when do you get paid?” and you say “why?” to which you reply” no reason.” But you know yourself much too well so you say “Did you go out for your friends birthday and use it as an excuse to let go yourself causing the side of you that is way to generous to take over? Are you looking at an over drafted bank account?” You weakly admit that it could have happened that way.
I have no excuse. Sometimes I just do this. I let go and the childish person that lives inside me gets to invite the whole neighborhood over for dinner (or in this case, out to drinks) I think that it is healthy to do every once in a while. I get to know that, without restrictions like not being a billionaire, I would be nice and giving but at the same time, I remind myself that I’m still poor.
I need to relax in smaller portions. I need to go back to my massage therapist. She was awesome and I would get so relaxed. Lying there drooling through a little pillow with a hole for my face, I would feel like I was going to float away and never face the consequences of telling her how it hurt to have sex every single time with my first real boyfriend or how one time on mushrooms I ran smack into a barbed wire fence. She still came to my graduation party even though I had quit coming to see her. I think that all of my over disclosure may have made her feel a responsibility to be my friend. The point is that paying for massage therapy once a week would be more cost effective.
Maybe I will just go out with cash from now on. Leave the plastic at home.

Are you as cool as I am? I doubt it.

It has occurred to me that perhaps I am trying too hard. My sense of self is becoming clouded by all my stuff. I don’t mean stuff as in issues I mean physical crap. In an e-mail the other day a friend and I were discussing the phenomenon that is Ikea/target culture. She said it was like wal-mart for young people. I personally boycott wal-mart and even have a bumper sticker declaring that fact but I have actually done little research as to why I should not shop at Wal-mart and I have never done any about the purchasing or Human Resources practices of Target or Ikea (unless you count the one time in college I considered applying for a seasonal job at target but didn’t because the application was too long and had to be done on a computer in the store). I mean, my trendy, self righteous decision to shun wal-mart may be based on lofty principles in theory but really all that bumper sticker is saying is “I’m NOT white trash. The fact that I drive this shitty old Subaru station wagon is a statement of my environmental sentiments (ie. dedication to reusing products and achieving good fuel economy). It is not an indication of my financial status.” The bumper sticker next to it (which reads “my border collie is smarter than your honor student”) reinforces this attitude by sending the message “I don’t have kids and have instead invested way too much emotional energy into my dog in order to avoid creating new and meaningful human relationships. I paid the money for a purebred and want everyone to know that because I am ultimately insecure about my real worth as a person.” The point is that most of my decisions are based on how best to project this image of myself as a classy, upper middle class, successful woman from a good family with high standards, non-religious based morality, no regard for the wealth I clearly have, and a love of the outdoors that comes with a ferocity in my desire to protect it. But really I know that I am stuck with who I am and everyone I really know, can tell what a farce all this is.
I mean really, this is actually who I am becoming. I actually said the following sentence yesterday “I think it was like fate or something that the coffee table I wanted at Ikea was out of stock because I remembered that they are having a sale at Cost Plus and they have one that is sooo much nicer for only $50.00 more” FATE!?! Am I serious? Who says that? Who puts that much thought into their coffee table? You want to know the worst part? I was primarily excited because I would have something from somewhere other than Ikea or Target and none of my friends would have it.
Do you feel this way? My friend T said “my house is filled to the brim with IKEA and Target things, not to mention to overflow from our families, we have so much shit we need to get rid of, yet we continue to buy more and more to fill our house with . . . so sad this capitalist frenzy we are so entrenched in.” If you think you might be a young, urban, self-righteously hip poser take this quiz and find out.
1. Do you ever stand in line at the grocery store (or better yet, whole foods market or co-op) and wonder what the checkout person will think of the type off food you are buying? Or alternately, are you proud they will see you only bought organic food, or ashamed they will see that you did not?
2. Have you ever been proud to think that your house/apartment looks like a catalogue of any type?
3. Do you drive a car that is completely impractical for your life but sends the right message about who your REALLY are? Or alternately, do you claim that the reason you don’t drive a nice car is because you think Americans are obsessed with cars but if you could afford one, you know in your heart you would buy an Escalade?
4. Did you start drinking lattes instead of plain coffee when “Friends” came on the air and then switch to Yerba Mate after your first session of Bikram Yoga?
5. Do you find yourself liking a band less once 3 people you know have heard of them? Or alternately, have you ever said a band was singed to an “indie label”?
6. Do you post searing criticisms of your life and culture on you blog with no intentions of changing your behavior? (extra points for the inclusion of sarcastic quizzes, extra extra points for snide, self deprecating jabs thinly disguised as quiz questions.)
If you have answered yes to 2 or more of these questions I would say you are, at the very least, dangerously close to being a shallow, consumer driven, hippie-chic, asshole like myself. Congrats! Just make sure you have every song ever used in an iPod commercial and you’re in.

Out With the New, In With the Old

Today I was faced with a dilemma of staggering proportions. I sat on the top of my dresser staring at my bed, pondering the solution for a whole 5 minutes which accounts for about ¼ of the time I gave myself to get ready this morning. I sat there and wondered “how could this happen to me?” Really it’s not much of a mystery now that I think about it. I should have known. The laws of the universe would never let my hard work and dedication result in a well earned pay off without adding some kind of random taxation. So this morning’s tragedy should have been expected.
Really I could be looking at this from another angle but it is raining like no other this morning and, just to be assholes, NPR was going on and on about global warming this morning. IT’S RAINING DUMBASS. I know that they don’t live here and I know that they produce those portions of the show before they know what the weather is going to be like but I crabby.
Right, so back to my problem. About 2 weeks ago I bought some Rock and Republic Jeans. I got them on e-bay for an amazing price. They retail for about $200.00 and I got them for $72.00. That’s a good deal, or so I keep telling myself because lets face it, I paid $72 dollars for a pair of jeans. You can get jeans at Ross for like 15 bucks. Anyway, they came to my house and they were awesome! I have never been happier with a pair of jeans. They fit well, a little on the big side but they would shrink when washed. They made my butt look great and I really liked the pocket stitching. My R&Rs and I were getting along swimmingly.
Cut to this morning. It’s Friday and everyone knows that means casual day. In my office casual day you wear something adorable, very in fashion and slightly unprofessional. We basically look like all the people you see in advertisements for Happy Hour at a swank, downtown martini bar. I was all hyped up to wear my new jeans. I Imagined wearing them with this cute, emerald lingerie style tank and my black pinstripe blazer. I was going to add stilettos and a small lime colored Kenneth Cole bag I have been in love with lately. I was so excited. It was going to be HAWT!
Then I got on the scale like I do every morning I can take it and discovered that I have lost 5 lbs. This is major cause for celebration. But my moment of happiness was short lived because when I went to get dressed I discovered that my wonderful new pants not longer fit me. They looked kind of baggy where by “kind of baggy” I mean that my brother wore this exact same look when he went through his “I am a upper-middle-class white boy thug” stage in the 9th grade. The beautiful stitching on the rear pockets hung centered between my butt and my knees. The waist was held up by my ass alone showing off my fun colored but granny styled overpriced underwear. I cried. At first I cried tears of sorrow for the loss of my new jeans but then I cried tears of joy once it occurred to me that maybe I had lost enough weight to fit into “THE JEANS.”
Every woman has a pair. They are a goal, a friend, an enemy, something to aspire to and despise. They represent all you want to be and all you cannot achieve in one (usually little) piece of clothing.
My goal jeans were purchased in Prague right before I came home after spending an entire summer walking everywhere and starving myself to stay on a budget while studying in Europe. In short, I will never be that skinny again. . . ever. I do not have the self control to eat that little and I sure as hell don’t have the time to walk that much. Still, this morning I put them on and they fit. They did not fit as well as they once did and the button digs into my stomach a bit but they fit.
So I put them on the bed next to the new jeans and sat in the aforementioned underwear wondering weather I should be happy or sad. In the end I wore my skinny jeans and I am sitting in them now still marveling at the fact that they fit. If I had only known that all I had to do was buy horrifically expensive jeans to lose weight I would have done it along time ago, and I would have bought them a size too small.

My Battle with Ikea

Yesterday I went shopping for furniture with my sister. We went to Ikea, always a team favorite, so a couple of my friends came with us. Usually I go to Ikea with only some vague Idea of what I want and I end up buying a wardrobe or a bed and trying to cram it into my mother’s station wagon. This time I vowed, would be different. I borrowed my boyfriend’s truck, I shopped online first, and I left my mother at home. That last one is a risky move for several reasons. First, she will usually buy me something while we are there because she can’t let a good deal go. Second, she asked if she could tag along and I told here there would not be enough room. This was not a lie exactly. I really did not have enough room but I could have cleaned out the truck if I tried. Lastly, she is always the driver when we go. It was that last reason that would be the beginning of the end for this trip to Ikea.
We set off in a Mazda truck from the early nineties affectionately named “the teal mobile” because the truck, the canopy, and the rims are all the same, stock teal color. In other words, some misguided victim of the early nineties ordered it that way on purpose and now my boyfriend is paying the price. It was in this vehicle that I proceeded to drive right past the exit to Ikea and not notice until I was in . . . (dramatic pause) BELLEVUE! For those of you who are unfamiliar with the Seattle metropolitan area, Bellevue is about 10 miles north of Renton (where Ikea is) but I rush hour traffic, that is about one-hudred-million-bajillion hours. We eventually made it to Ikea after enlisting the help of a friend who works in the area and took us on surface streets to avoid the Nightmare that is Seattle freeways at rush hour. Score: Us-0 Ikea-1
Once we arrived we were dazed from all the car time. It was hard to focus even with my game plan. The things I needed were not the things I wanted. They did not have the coffee table I wanted in stock. We forgot to measure our windows and had to guess when buying the blinds. In the end I got some armchairs, nightstands and blinds. I had intended to get armchairs, nightstands, blinds, a wall clock, shelves for my room, a bookcase, and a coffee table. Score: Us-3 Ikea-5
I called the boyfriend on my way home. We had plans to go out with his friends to a local bar but my experience at Ikea had left me drained of all energy and a bit on the crabby side. I convinced him that the best course of action was for me to stop and buy a 6-pack and for him to come over and assemble my furniture. Once we get the truck unloaded, I set the boyfriend to work on the nightstands upstairs in my room and as I’m about to go get us some beers from the fridge I hear a chilling scream from the living room. As I round the corner from the stairs to the living room I see my sister has been totally defeated. She is leaning into a large cardboard box and moaning “I have no legs, I have no legs!” One of the 2 matching armchairs had come sans legs. Score: Us-2 Ikea-6
I have learned some valuable lessons from all of this and I am going to share them with you in the hopes that my story will keep others from the same fate. When you are decorating, always bring your mother and never, ever, attempt to plan a shopping trip to any type of warehouse store.

I Feel Much Better

Yesterday I played hooky. I called and told my office I was not coming in and then I turned off my phone. It’s not that I did not want to go to work. It’s not that I don’t get enough time off or get to spend enough time with my boyfriend or my family or my friends. In fact, it is just the opposite.
In college I had this dream that I would have more time once I had a regular job. Going to school full time and working 30 hours a week had to take up more time than a 9-5 right? Well not exactly. My “9-5” is actually a “7-4” with a mandatory unpaid lunch HOUR and a ½ hour commute on either side making it a 6:30-4:30. Then there is get ready/wind down time making my day a 6-5. Factor in my dog, which used to get attention and love multiple times a day in between classes or school and work. He extends my “non free time” hours a bit. So now I am busy 12 hours a day, for sure. I also would like to eat dinner, make it to the gym, and catch my favorite TV show once a week. In short, I would love to trade some of that for having a paper due once a week.
In addition to the 12+ hours a day I have things I have to be doing; I also try to sleep more than 6 hours, the key word here being TRY. So on a work day I have somewhere in the vicinity of 5 semi-free hours.
I have found that while I value the relationships I have with my family and friends, I sometimes feel overwhelmed by their demands. Because I am moving right now (which takes up a ton of time if you are a perfectionist like I am) and we had a death in the family recently, the demands on my time lately have become overwhelming. My mother needs me more than ever since her brother died and she had to plan all the services and things. My sister rightfully expects me to contribute to our setting up the new place. My boyfriend feels ignored and put off because I constantly invite him over and either use him for his truck or make him listen to me chatter while I alphabetize CDs or hang Chinese paper lamps. And my friends feel ignored because, well I’m ignoring them. The point is, there is no me time for me right now and I am going crazy.
So I skipped work to make some. It may seem drastic to use precious sick hours before winter is even here but I think it was justified. The day before yesterday I was attempting to move and I kept walking from room to room, meaning to do something in the first room and then remembering what I had forgotten in the last only to return to the previous room and accomplish nothing because I needed to do something else somewhere else. Dazed and confused, I continued to wander purposefully around my new place accomplishing nothing for hours. I felt the same way one does when they are a waitress at a very busy and expensive restuarant with demanding customers when you have one hell of a hangover. Not the no-bright-lights-I-have-a-splitting-headache kind of hang over but the fuzzy-headed-I-think-I-might-puke kind of hangover. The kind that taunts you with the possibility of bringing you to you knees but eventually losses interest in you, and after torturing you like a careless lover, leaves you to rehash the events of your demise alone. That is how I have felt for at least a week.
But do not fear, I am refreshed by my day of solitude. I got a lot done in my house and did some productive shopping therapy. I bought a new CD (Jackie Greene – Just buy it) and have memorized at least ½ of it already. I browsed books at borders, played with my dog, thought about touching up my roots much more seriously than I have at any time since they have needed to be done, organized my kitchen and found a fabulous shower curtain (yes, I did just describe a shower curtain as fabulous) at Target for $3.78. So I’m back. I’m back at work with my internet access and I’m going to Ikea tonight with my sister. After we get back I’m going out for a drink with my boyfriend and his friends. Tomorrow I am heading to my friends house to watch the first season of Gilmore girls from netflix. Did you see the “go to the gym” anywhere in there? Neither did I.

Just Breathe. . .Internet Access Is Not Everything

I have 45 min until I leave work today and for once that makes me sad. It is sunny outside and I do want to go frolic in the summerness with my dog. I swear I really do. It is just that I’m moving right now and therefore my only access to an internet connection is at work. Does anyone else find it strange that I feel utterly cut off and disconnected from humanity when I am outside interacting with others but I feel like an integral part of the world and its workings while I sit in a chair facing a screen, keyboard and phone all day?
That is the point of this frantically composed e-mail being shot off in the very last seconds of my work day.
I’m writing to quell the panic that is infesting me as we speak. Slowly, other terrors that await me come to my mind. Like, I have no cable either. No internet café is in walking distance. Somehow I will survive. I will have to distract myself with setting up my house. At least I may get something done. I suppose, if I must, I can always write. . . with pen and paper. Such a lost art these days, the thought of it is enough to make me puke (just a little) You don’t want to see my writing before spell check. (any of you who have met me know that much)
So I will bravely go out into the sun and once my eyes have adjusted to the bright, bright light, and I have shed the sweater I wear to protect me from the hyper-active air conditioner, me and my sad station wagon will go home to pick up my dog and go to the dog park. But I might end up at the internet café so don’t postpone your responses. If you do I might be forced to call my real-life friends, and they would like that too much.

You can never move home again; but you can move in next door.

This weekend I moved into my new/old place. New in that it will be the most recent but old in that it is the building in which I grew up. I am moving back to the old hood with my little sister. We grew up in a duplex and have rented the other ½ of it. It is a mirror image of our childhood home. I am fulfilling a lifelong goal here. I remember lying on the top bunk in the room my sister and I shared thinking that someday I would live here with no parents to tell me what to do. I would eat Fruit-Loops with Whipped Cream for breakfast and go to bed at midnight. I would get a dog, have my own room, and watch cartoons all day. That is pretty close to my plan now. Of course the idea of Fruit-Loops and whipped cream makes me want to die and I am worthless at work if I don’t get to bed before 10:30. I don’t watch much TV and when I do it is Law and Order or Gilmore Girls not cartoons. But I do have a dog and my own room.
The point is that this is not about a regression to my youth. Although I often feel that the flighty thoughts running through my head on a frequent basis contribute to my sometimes less than adult outlook more than I would like to admit. I feel that this move represents a need for comfort. Quite bluntly. . . things had gotten out of hand. I needed something to ground myself.
The 180 turnaround that I preformed last year was a mighty hard trick, one of stunning proportions. Making the transformation from high functioning alcoholic and hardcore party girl to self respecting business woman was one of the most difficult things I have ever done. I have lost “friends” in process and even those true friends who have stuck by me often give me a hard time about my sudden life changes. I have become closer to those who are making these choices along with me and grown further from those who are not. I think that this choice to move home is a declaration to myself that I have not changed that much. I am still fundamentally myself and I am proud of that.
There are funny things about moving into the house you grew up in as an independent adult and most of these things are even funnier when everything is a mirror image. I think I know where the light switches and outlets are but they are all opposite. I walk around running into things, turning sleepily into walls rather than the kitchen. I expect to see my parents’ furniture as I walk from room to room and am shocked to find their antiques replaced with Ikea everything. I feel like I’m getting away with something if I drink a glass of wine. There my not be a moral to this story but there is a point. The point is that you can always bounce back. You may have sold your soul to the devil 1,000 times but God will always help you buy it from him when you really want to. But bouncing back means going back and really facing everything you have lost or rejected along the way.

Evil Little Barista's

My good friend and I have been addicted to fancy, surgery coffee since before we were 15. So when we decided to get into shape we made a pact that we would abstain from such drinks on the weekdays. For a while I was stronger than her and had only given into temptation once and it was on a hot day while we walked our dogs. The frappachinos were a necessity. The other day however I cheated; but again, I had a good reason. After staying the night at my parents' house, I awoke to find they had no fruit! NONE! Keeping my wits about me in the face of this tragedy I cut the dog walk short and decided to stop at the Fred Meyer on River Rd. and pick up some Naked Juice or something. When I got there, there were several frightening looking men standing around the doorway. They looked like garbage men or meat packers, and everyone knows how unfriendly meat packers are. So I decided to avoid them and go around to the other door which took me an extra 2 min because I'm was wearing dangerously high stilettos that day. Once I got there I discovered that the Fred Meyer does not open until 7:00 am. Are you kidding me!?! I was mad and frustrated and had to take another 2 min. to get back to my car during which time I though about it. I came to the conclusion that, contrary to popular sentiment, drinking is the answer to all your troubles and since I could not get a hold of a decent Margarita on the rocks to go this early, coffee would make a worthy substitute. Not to mention the drive thru was in the parking lot of the Fred Meyer and it was the only thing open for miles. I at least needed some human contact to comfort me after my ordeal. You will be happy to know that I was already punished for my transgression. When I got there I realized I had gone to one of THOSE coffee shops. You know what I'm talking about. Its the kind of place you want to sue for false advertisement because all of their baristas are young, microscopic girls with shining hair and a naturally cheerful attitude about their pathetic lives. I thought maybe if I gave her a tip she might just hand over the coffee and we would be done with it but no. My $1.36 tip caused an undue amount of gratefulness and now I have apunch card! I don't know how this happened to me but after everything was said and done and I was driving down Meridian towards the office I was so conflicted I almost threw the coffee out the window of the car and then jumped after it. I was mad at my self for getting the stupid double tall soy sugar free 1/2 the syrup vanilla latte in the first place. I will never look like one of the baristas in that place if I keep consuming their product! But the more upset and depressed about the situation I became, the more I needed the silent villain I held in my hand. Oh, the plight of the stress eater!

The Dark Side

I have joined the dark side. I have became a dieter. I had vowed never to become one of THOSE people. You know, the kind that look at you with so much painful longing thinly veiled as self-control and superiority as you eat a scone from Starbucks. They say things like “you do know that that has about 500 calories in it, don’t you.” Yeah, that’s me. In fact a Starbucks scone ranges from 440 to 520 calories according to their website, I looked it up.
Its not that I think I’m fat. Its not that I just want something to bitch about (although that’s a big plus) its mostly just that everyone is getting married and I am gearing up for the wedding season. I am attempting to lose all the weight I have gained and memorize a monologue which describes howutterly fabulous my life is. I need to impress all those people who I was once friends with. All those people who moved away and most likely do live utterly fabulously lives will be there and they need to walkaway from the experience believing that all their efforts to be betterthan those of us who stayed in T-town are for naught. Mostly my big thing is that I did not stay in T-town either. No one with a single iota of self esteem simply stays here. I, like most of us who reside here now, left for periods of time; sometimes months sometimes a year or more. The reason I have something to prove is that I did not fly in here on a plane toting my diploma and a slew of job offers, leaving behind all the trendy sparkle makeup and clothes I loved in college. I do not drive my fancy dream car from my fancy job to my fancy condo stopping at my fancy gym on the way to work off all the fancy coffee I have to drink to keep my fancy ass moving in my fancy, fancy life! Instead I came home in a u-haul. My mother flew in, packed my broken life up, smiled sympathetically at me and my dog and drove us and all the evidence of my failure as a human being back to my parents' house. My father helped me unpack the slim leftovers of a life I had really left with my ex in some godforsaken dustbowl of a red state. In short, I came back with my tail between my legs. This unproud moment gives me something to prove. Maybe it is because I was supposed to get married first, maybe because I have always had a little less money and a little lower grades, maybe because I drink more or have slept with more men or done more drugs or crashed more cars, maybe it is because I still want everyone to like me. I'm not quite positive what the real reason is but I do know that when all the friends I had in high school clean up their boyfriends and hop on a plane back to T-town, I want to be here waiting, looking better than they do in a summer dress. Do you think that this makes me a bad person, wanting to out do everyone in at least one aspect of my life that does not actually make them think less of me? I have been able to out drink everyone foryears now. I think my real problem is that 3 of myfriends called me this week to complain about problems I dream of having (like hating the dealership you lease your Lexus from, or having the hot tub on the roof of your condo not work on the forth ofJuly or getting lost in Beverly Hills because that is where you bought your wedding dress) and my problems are more like my uncle died and I can't afford a house I would like living in.