Tuesday, August 28, 2012

Day 2

I wonder what it is about being on a diet that makes you crave things you haven’t eaten in while.  Yesterday I thought about cake, a lot. Mind you I am not a cake eater per se, but there I was thinking about cake. Oh the brain of a compulsive food addict is something to behold. 

My day yesterday was pretty good. I stayed on the plan, ate what I was supposed to etc…until last night at around 9 pm I had a spoonful of peanut butter. FUCK!  It’s the weirdest thing. I don’t have any “bad” foods at home. I got rid of everything. But last night, I found myself wandering around the kitchen, opening the freezer, fridge and cabinets just looking for something to nosh on.  I don’t think I was hungry I was…I don’t know…something. But I had the peanut butter. I’m annoyed at myself but I’m back at it today. I’ve had my cheerios, blueberries and milk. My lunch—salad with 3oz of tuna is ready for me. Dinner will be salmon, left over quinoa (I swear that stuff explodes) from last night, and either fresh spinach or zucchini.  I’ll have to become better at prepping stuff when school starts again next week.   

The third week of September, I’m going away for work.  I’m really nervous about that as far as food goes. I don’t think I’ll have as much control over what I eat that week, which sucks. I wouldn’t have been on the plan long enough to make my way through the battlefield of conference food. Which if you’ve ever been to conferences like this, it usually consists of a continental breakfast (carbs and sugar on carbs), lunch (processed deli meats and cheese, chips and cookie/brownie) dinner is on my own so I can make that work no problem. No cause to get worked up over it right now. I’ll face it head on when the moment comes.
I feel good about being in this challenge and on this plan. I have high hopes and higher expectations of myself. There is no reason why I can’t do this and be successful at it.

Monday, August 27, 2012


Last week I was better about food than I had been in a while. Little big things I call them. I did not buy the wonderful fresh bread and dip it in olive oil to have with my dinner. I drank more water. It’s a little thing, but duh, kind of a big thing.  In spite of feeling better about the way I’ve been eating, I know that I haven’t been doing as well as I could be. I’m still feeling loosey AND goosey. 

Just in the nick of time, I read Christine’s post ---which again didn’t say anything new, but said it all. Keep it simple. Right after her post I read Allan’s post, which proposed a challenge!  Woo Hoo! This is what I need for sure. I signed up and got the plan.  I’m not going to lie, it looks pretty challenging.  Like what? We’re supposed to eat within an hour of waking up. Few things about that, I wake up at 6 am. The truth is that I am not only am I not hungry at 6 am, the very thought of eating that early makes my stomach churn. Further more, if I eat at 6 won’t I be hungry at 9?  The plan suggests mayonnaise on sandwiches—I loathe mayonnaise (So sorry Allan, I’m not eating that). I don’t think that I can even discuss my feelings surrounding fat free cheese.

All the being said, I am going to do the best I can and just dive in. I've already given in to the old bad  habits if I'm starting to figure out a way to manipulate the plan that I've been given. I don't want to do that, as the point of this whole thing is to change.  I started this morning with my cherries, blueberries and milk. Set a side my mid morning snack of string cheese and an apple. Lunch today is 3 oz of grilled chicken with salad greens. Lots of water in between. Dinner is either chicken or fish with quinoa and vegetables.

 I’m looking forward to eating clean and eating simple.  Will keep you all posted at my progress. 

Saturday, August 25, 2012

Secret keeper...

Tell me what you want to hear, something that were like those years. I'm sick of all the insincere
So I'm gonna give all my secrets away. This time. Don't need another perfect line. Don't care if critics ever jump in line. I'm gonna give all my secrets away.
-One Republic, Secrets

Those who have been reading and paying attention might recall that my blog is, for the most part, a secret.  For the longest time I told NOONE. My goal was to keep this as private as possible so that I could be as honest as possible.  
Since I’ve become April, I’ve shared with a very small group of people, that I keep (albeit halfheartedly) a blog. I used to keep a blog on myspace (ha!) and that was public. All my friends and family knew about that one, so I kept it pretty tame.  Since the demise of myspace, some friends and family have asked me if I have thought of having one.  So I’ve told them. Yeah I do, but you can’t know about it. It’s private.  This caused a shit storm that I found pretty surprising. I never would have thought that it was so important for some people to read what I had to say. The more they pushed the more I pushed back. Here is the thing. I’m not sure how I feel about writing.  I don’t know what I think about my skill level. I don’t know if what I have to say is worth listening too.  I know for a fact, that the people who love me, and I am loved, would try and be encouraging.  I can’t help but think about all the hot messes we see in the audition process of American Idol.  I, for one, can’t watch that part.  I always ask myself. Who are these sad sorry people who don’t have people in their lives to tell them… ummm this is not for you sweet heart.  Instead they bolster them and mislead them into thinking they are better. It's an injustice and a disservice.
Again, if you have been paying attention, you know that I am also in group therapy. One day it came out in group, that I had one. So, now the group people knew. And I think that occasionally one or two of them read it. Which is actually great and I don’t mind per se; I lucked out with the group therapy. I enjoy my fellow nutters and am looking forward to seeing them again soon. (We’ve been on hiatus for the summer) A little bit at a time I’ve started telling people that I really trust, that in addition to being me, I’m also April. Each person that I’ve told, I’ve sworn to secrecy. So far so good.
Here is the not so good part.  I’ve written posts. Things that cross my mind. Things that frighten me about myself. Things that I know would shock the people who know me.  Things I’ve never told anyone about myself. Things which make me nervous about my character. I’ll never post those things. Why? Because am not ready for the people who think they know me to really truly know me. Once I say it, it’s out there. The good. The bad. The ugly. The weird. The sick. The dark and the light.   Trust me, I am a mixed bag of stuff. 

 I had this great talk with a friend of mine where we spoke about secrets. When she told me hers, I was relieved almost.  It was way more tame than I thought it might be, based on her build up to it. Lots of pacing and such. However I do get that for her, it was huge. I feel like I’ve done and thought way worse things than that. But she might not think so. It is all a matter of perception.  Obviously some shit is just bad. i.e; I killed someone and hid the body in my bosses closet and now I'm going to let him fry. Not every secret is like that. But all the things that we keep to ourselves mean something. Letting it out does something to you and for you.  This same friend told me about postsecret.com.  According to the website, it is a "community art project". That idea is that you can either email or send a post card to this guy about whatever your secret is.  He has complied them into books.  I am now obsessed with this. 

Say what you will, but I think that there is nothing like a judgment free confession.  Being raised catholic and going to catholic school, I went to confession.  Confession was weird for me. I hated going, but I felt like I had to go. Secretly, I think I sort of wanted to go.  I remember feeling oddly compelled to confess about some sexual exploit I had when I was about 15 or so. It was a strange feeling of both, guilt and relief.  Father Whatever likely didn’t care. I’m sure he had heard way more scandalous stuff than my feeling guilty on giving my boyfriend a blowjob. Or, and this sickens me, maybe he got off on it and jacked off in corner somewhere.  What would happen if I told someone my deepest and my darkest. Would they judge me? Shun me? Think me disgusting or evil? Or would they say, oh that’s it? Really?  That’s nothing!
I think that we all have something inside of us that we’ve never told anyone about that needs release.  How do you get that release? Do you ever? Or do you just stuff it down with food, drink, drugs, depression, sex, shopping etc?  I have no answer.
One of my friends has called me a secret keeper. She’s right, and there is a reason for it.

Wednesday, August 22, 2012

Yep, I'm talking about hair.

I know this has kind of passed, but I keep thinking about it. So here I go.

I think we need to talk about hair. The hair of black people in particular.  I’m sure everyone has heard about the hoopla regarding the state of Gabby Douglas’ hair.  The black hair blogs were all in a tizzy over it and frankly some of the comments were down right nasty.  I know that many white people (and maybe a few black folks) are confused as to what the big deal is.  Sigh.  Before I explain what and why there was any deal let me say that Gabby Douglas is phenomenal. She is lithe, adorable, the finest of athletes super bendy and flip-tastic.  While watching the Olympics I thought about a lot of things, depending on the event.  I had a steady running dialogue in my brain the whole time. It went a little something like this:

Swimming:  God, he looks like a porpoise. I wonder if these men shave all their body hair. I heard swimmers can eat whole turkeys. Ugh, is he spitting?  Phelps did it! Oh wait, no he didn’t.  That is one goofy girl. She reminds me of a tranny. But good for her, bless her heart.

Track:  I need someone to explain to me why they don’t line up evenly.  That seems unfair.  Why are they wearing make up?  Hahah look at how their faces jiggle.  Those are some short shorts. Good lord Usain Bolt is fucking fast! How is that real?  Oh… is he really going to do pushups? Go Jamaica!

Diving:  That was one hell of a flop. Love how the Chinese bow.  Go Italy. (I don’t know why---she seems nice) Aww Malaysia! How cute are you?

Gymnastics: Poor guy from the Bronx…oh well.   Hey! I didn’t know the Dominican Republic had gymnasts. I wonder if Haiti will ever have gymnasts. How does one become a gymnast?  God, that looks scary. Hmmm what’s with the eyebrows on these girls? I wonder if they wax or shave?  God, she’s tiny! Look at her go. What’s with the sparkly hair spray? Russia looks pissed. What’s up with Gabby’s hair? She must live with white people. She’s awesome though, oh wait no, there’s her family.  That must be a 10 or close to it!

Ok so I’ve let you in to my brain and the steady stream of dialogue that goes on in my head. Let me just say, that it is constant. I can’t seem to turn it off, I think about a lot of things a lot of the time.  I’d like to believe that I am not alone in these thoughts. You can’t help that sort of thing.  Oh. You think I can?  You think I have a touch of the ADD?  Well whatever, it is what it is.

On to hair. Oh how to start…Hair is big deal among black people. Yes, that is a general blanket statement. I am sure that not EVERY single black person is preoccupied by hair. But, many are. Why? Frankly, I’m not sure that I can begin to describe all the reasons in an eloquent way.  But let me say this. Imagine being in place where the standard of everything, really is set by people who do not look like you. Imagine having to try as hard as you could to just fit in. That’s what most of us want correct? To fit in with whatever the standard of beauty is. For years, that standard has been Anglo.  
There is a reason why the most popular plastic surgery in Japan is eye widening surgery.  You know who buys up most of blue, green, grey colored contact lenses?  NOT white people, I’ll tell you that.

In the The ClarkExperiment , black children were shown two dolls, a black one and a white one. Both dolls had the same hair, expression etc. OVERWHELMINGLY, black children chose the white doll as the nice doll, the pretty doll etc.  This experiment was repeated in 2006, with similar results.  There was a movie in the 80’s School Daze, a Spike Lee joint.  The movie took place on the campus of a fictional HSBCU.  There is a musical number in the movie, likely one of the more popular scenes. The women sing “…talking about good and bad hair, whether you’re dark or you’re fair…” “Dontcha wish you had hair like this, than the boys would give you a kiss…” I will tell you right now, that scene resonated with black women.  At some point or another, most, if not all, black women have had angst over their hair. That feeling that your hair isn’t “nice” or “good”. Or frankly, the guilt had telling another black woman that no, it’s not a weave or no it’s not a chemical treatment, it’s natural.  And that uncomfortable feeling when she looks at you like you are liar.

So what about Gabby’s hair? Some people thought it looked bad. (I did) I know that she was busy being amazing and everything, but her hair looked bad.  A lot of people noticed and commented. We live in an age where the moment you think something you can’t get it out to millions of people.  Doesn’t matter what is, you could be full of total shit. But it’s out there for the world to see.

At the risk of sounding like separatist or a racist, here is what bugs me about this media shit storm. In general, I don’t think that white media “gets it”. So when I see articles labeling this issue as “ridiculous” it pisses me off.  What do you know about this? This is cultural issue that you don’t understand.  Which is fine, there are things about many cultures that I don’t understand. It doesn’t make me bad or stupid, I just don’t get it. 

Labeling this issue “ridiculous” is the wrong way to go. It’s not. It is a small part of a bigger picture that you aren’t able to see clearly.   

Wednesday, August 15, 2012

Stuffing my sorries in sack...

Got a package full of wishes, a time machine, a magic wand. A globe made out of gold. No instructions or commandments, laws of gravity or indecisions to uphold . Printed on the box I see. A.C.M.E.'s Build-a-World-to-be. Take a chance - grab a piece, help me to believe it. What kind of world do you want? Think anything. Let's start at the start. Build a masterpiece. Be careful what you wish for. History starts now...  – Five for Fighting, World

Holy shit balls. I’ve gained 5lbs. @#$%^&*()!  Here is the sad tragic truth about that.  I know exactly how I did it. No surprises here. I simply have stopped trying. I have put in zero effort. Because of my complete and total lack of effort, those 5lbs came back with a vengeance.
I’ve stopped thinking about what it is that I am doing. I’ve been eating whatever I want, in whatever quantity I want and hoping for miracles. Like what? Like really good fresh bread dipped in olive oil. Who does that?  In what world does that foster weight loss? Somehow I thought if my dinner consisted of a salad, I could get away with that sort of irresponsible behavior. This past weekend I polished off nearly an entire box  of Entenmann's Glazed Donut Holes Pop'ems. I knew I was doing it while I was doing it, but I did it anyway. There was also lot of other miscellaneous bad shit that I happily shoveled into my mouth. Bagels, French Fries WITH melted mozzarella cheese. Overall, I have allowed myself, over the last few weeks, to get really loosey gooesy and sloppy with my shit.  Dumbass. 
We all have a cross to bear. My cross is that I am a food obsessed and food addicted person. When in doubt about how or what I am feeling, I turn to food. In fact, I’m sitting here NOT hungry but thinking about my next meal.  I don’t know why this is the way I am, and I’m not sure that it matters. What does matter is that I am well aware of it, and frankly I know that I posses the tools to turn this around. The million dollar question is will I?
I have yet to start exercising, why?  Well, mostly because at my core I am as lazy as they come. It is much easier, after all, to sit and be comfortable. But how comfortable am I really?  I’m not. My feet hurt. My back hurts. I’m out of breath and tired all the time. I have to change stuff today. Not tomorrow or “Monday”.  Here is the thing, and trust me I know this part by heart.  I know without a shadow of a doubt, that if I want to be healthier, attractive and more energetic, I have make the effort to stop being this person this sad, fat person. I have to try and try really hard. It won’t happen magically. I have to put in the hours.  I have to think and plan and be methodical.   I am determined to make this change.  
Every morning I check my blogger dashboard, not only to check my numbers, but also see what everyone else has been up to. Christine posted something that is right in line with what I have been thinking.  Check her out: http://chrislivessimple.blogspot.com/2012/08/the-number-one-way-to-avoid-regret.html What she says is beyond the truth. The worst type of disappointment is the kind you have in yourself.  You can take a good long hard look in the mirror. Do some introspection and ask yourself.  Why are you here?  Why are you in this same exact place that you were (insert years, months or weeks here) ago.  What has changed? Are you better? Did you even try? No, did you REALLY try? Not the usual half assed bullshit?   My answer is no. I have not. Shame on me for just sitting and wishing instead of going out and making something change.   Regrets, I’ve had a ton!  I have to push. I’ve said it before I’m going to…and then zero.  Every year I look ahead to the next year and I say next summer I’m going to be…and you know what? Next summer I suck just as bad as I did the summer before.
Starting at the beginning again. If I want to stop being sorry, I have to stop acting and living sorry. Time to start working on becoming my masterpiece. 

Thursday, August 2, 2012

Eleanor Rigby is bored and lonely...

I'm bored. I'm the chairman of the bored. I'm a lengthy monologue. I’m livin' like a dog. I'm bored. I bore myself to sleep at night. I bore myself in broad daylight coz. I'm bored. Just another slimy bore I'm free to bore my well-bought friends. And spend my cash until the end coz. I'm bored I'm bored. I'm the chairman of the board. –Iggy Pop, I’m bored.
Ah, look at all the lonely people. Ah, look at all the lonely people. Eleanor Rigby picks up the rice in the church where a wedding has been. Lives in a dream. Waits at the window, wearing the face that she keeps in a jar by the door. Who is it for? All the lonely people. Where do they all come from? All the lonely people. Where do they all belong?- The Beatles, Eleanor Rigby

The other day I wondered if it was possible to die of boredom and/or loneliness. I still don't know but I have to tell you that I hope not, because if so my days are numbered.

I’ve never been someone who hangs out hard or parties in any significant way.  It is one of my regrets. When I hear people talk about their crazy college days or how great their 20's were I get a little jelly. There is a significant amount of fun missing from my past.  I’ve never played beer pong. It seems silly that this would bother me, but it does for some reason. Maybe I would hate beer pong. But I wouldn’t know.  I don’t mean to make it seem as though I don’t have friends, because I do.  April turned 40 in April. (I know people who talk about themselves in the third person are creepy. Sorry, I couldn’t help it.)  Anyway, for my 40th my girls came from near and far to celebrate me. I was beyond moved. We had a great time and I enjoyed myself tremendously, and I felt loved. I really did. It means something I think, when people are willing to drop whatever they have going on in their lives to spend time with you.  

I'm talking about dealing with abject boredom or loneliness, which feels dire.  I deal with the week at hand, with an eye towards Friday.  I love Friday, it is my most favorite day of the week. I find that Fridays are full of hope and promise. Anything can happen during the weekend, anything at all.  It is likely that nothing all that different or special will happen, but something could.  My problem is that most often nothing happens. There is something sort of…tragic about getting through the week and knowing that I am going to spend my weekend alone.  I spend an inordinate amount of my time alone, and it sucks. 

The day to day loneliness can be almost overwhelming.  What do you with your day when it is looming ahead of you with no end in sight?  My friends have husbands and kids and other responsibilities that don't include entertaining me. Shrinker dude suggested I do things that I like alone. Like movies shows museum etc.  All that is fine, I've done that sort of thing and I really I don't mind. I just feel as though it is one thing to go to the movies alone on a Tuesday night, it one thing to go to the museum on Thursday morning.  It is quite another thing to hit a museum or a movie on a prime date night.  Movies alone on a Saturday night? No thanks.  Museum on a Sunday afternoon?  Yeah no.  I cannot muster up the energy or the balls, to do those things during prime time.  Weekend days and nights are for friends and couples. Not for lonely women.  It just seems...pathetic.   My biggest fear is that when faced with hours of nothingness looming ahead of me, I will turn and go running in to the arms of my nemesis. My faithful companion. My frienemy. Mangia.  This weekend was a prime example of just that. I ate a lot of ice cream.  A lot of it.  It doesn’t take much for 30lbs to come running back.  It’s not just loneliness, which stinks, but it is also the little practical matters of life.  Let’s say you purchased an IKEA Expedit TV shelving unit. Who helps you put that together?

I feel like I want to be clear and say that this is not about not having a man in my life. It is much, much more than that. The very last thing I want is count on my boyfriend or husband as my sole source of entertainment. I imagine that would get old pretty fast, for both of us. 

It is hard to come up with a solution or answer.  “Go out and meet people” is hard to do and frankly is so counter to my personality. I need to figure it out though, because that putting together that IKEA Expedit TV shelving unit, is a two person job!