Sunday, May 22, 2011

A Little Less Conversation...

A little more action, please!

That little gem goes out to Me, Myself, & I.

(And you too if you want it. I'm not that stingy.)
(A little tho... I am an only child, after all.)

I blog and blog of the changes I want to make and then I get home and do the same damn thing. Broken Record much? I at least need and nice and Sheeny new record to play that agrees with all of me. Because I assure my ass and my eyes are feuding right now. Along with various other parts of my body... it's war you guys. War.

I'm not set up for success. My messy and lonely so lone-LEEEEEEEEEE I have no bod-EEEEEEEEE for my-*ahem* My lonely and messy environment really isn't helping the good-get up jump the boogie to the the rhythm of the boogity beat and do a little dance and make a little love and get down and get up get up and get down in my black chevrolet. No wait. I don't have a black chevy. Scratch that last part.

In my Land of Ideals that I skip off to in my dreams I was going to be done with school and embrace summer with newness, and freshness, and fabulousness! And champagnes, of course. Yeah... you know where this is going, we've been here too many times, I know. The path is well worn and each time I travel it I hope it is the last time, this time is no different.

I'm working on coming up with a plan. A plan that will work. I have goals people. Bikini Goals....okay, more like "Anti-Moo Moo" Goals. In one week is Memorial Day. I doubt I will be doing anything but JUST IN CASE! I still would like to be in a non-hippopotamus state if any enticing invites come my way! Also, this Memorial Day will be a week momentum for the Balloon and Wine Festival! And some gorgeous Son of a Winery may whisk me away in a hot air balloon (hopefully one with red, red is my favorite color) and propose marriage. Or ask me on a date. Either way, must be ready!

But in those 2 weeks to Wine Time Dreamery... what to do? Work? Absolutely. I'm starting to work full time come Monday! Officially, anyhow. I'm working this weekend. Girls got to pay off the Noms and the service I need done to my car. And I'll continue to try and rack up the hours and watch my bank account grow again, pick up the fat that my body loses? A solid plan for sure.

But there again... what to do about food. My arch nemisis. I don't know how to choose food. I need my brain to function and so I want to nourish my body; and yet, starve it at the same time? What a quandary.  When it comes to eating I don't know what to do, I don't know what to eat. When I get home I NomVom out of habit. I don't want to, I just do... I don't know what else to do...

I don't know how to not be a bulimic. It has become me; I, it. An exorcism is in order. Y'know, since the end of the world got post-poned and all.

Tuesday, May 17, 2011

Knock Knock Knocking on Summer's Door

I didn't even want to NomVom today. But I did. And it was Mad Dirty. I just had to do it. Like a normal person would feel the need to have to do laundry. (Which I still got to get to, now that I mention it!) I'm done with school. (Not to be confused with school being over.) So I didn't go to classes today, I nomvommed and loathed all NomVommy and Self-Loathey-like. Punishment. I wanted to vom. I needed it. How sick am I? (Don't answer that; it's rhetorical.)

I feel  a sense of relief. Guilt for quitting but mostly relief that I decided to quit and I did. As I said in the last post, I just can't do it anymore. I couldn't tap into that part of me that chooses to swim rather than sink. Actually, that piece of me has been missing for weeks now.

With the closing of one door, another opens? I thinks so. (Let's fly on over to the Land of Ideals, shall we?) (We shall. That was another rhetorical.) (I'M ON FY-YA!) And this is what needs to be on the other side of this door I shall call Summer.

  • Tennis
  • Reading
  • Yoga
  • Friends
  • Swimming/Jaccuzi-ing
  • Long Walks
  • Gym
  • Photoshop (I'm a geek)
  • Novellas (Spanish Learning Exercise)
  • Room Decorating
Of course, I want tons more to happen. Like going to the beach and Fun Things (and Fun Things involving Champagne), the items on this list, though, are what I'm hoping to distract myself with instead of Nomming and vomming. Diverting Attention y'all, that's the goal! (Does anybody wonder how this Mexican Girl, this Mexican Girl right here get's all Alabama when I get gung ho? I'm a weirdo. Possibly a weirdo Mexican with Hillbilly roots.)

Remember when I said todays NomVom was Mad Dirty? I meant that literally and figuratively. And I literally gotta clean up! Dishes and Laundry await.

Sunday, May 15, 2011

Views from Stress Mountain

I have about a week of school left. Give up? Yes Please. Oh wass that? I already put in my order for that? Well then. I'm pretty much failing all of my classes. I should be doing homework right now but like a bulimic puppet I'm NomVoms away. Plus, is it even worth doing? I don't know. My stress point is at it's apex. Adding stress is like pushing my body further onto this bed of nails that I've made for myself but for some reason I just won't get off the bed. I've climbed to the top of my proverbial Stress Mountain. I can't brain anymore, so here I sit on my mountain waiting for... something magical to happen? I'm pretty sure that's what mountain climbing is about.


Newp. No magic. (Yea_I_donewannahearItoldyouso) Just me atop a mountain of stress. All sadpants and vommery. It just doesn't feel right to climb down the mountain until schools over... even though I've completely stopped trying. But then...why am I still hanging onto all the stress? Why am I still going through the motions of a stressed out girl worried about finals? I'm hanging onto the stress because it is all I know. What is it like to just do things without the drama?

That's what stress and worry is, I think; drama. I can not wash the dishes and gross out and procrastinate because I don't wanna get my hands wet and I can give myself shit each minute that goes by with the nagging thought of "do the dishes." At the end of the day, all that drama is (1) not getting the dishes done and (2) not changing anything about the dishes; there is no magic that happens when I stress and worry; where a Stress Fairy waves her magic wand and makes the dishes less dirty or less there. (I may need red glittery heels like Dorothy, that may be key) So I just torture myself with the nagging. Same thing with school (and everything else in my life). I add the drama of stress and worry. But the shitty part is... I don't know how to be otherwise. 

I don't know how to not stress. It feels... wrong. I have this weird feeling of guilt if I am not stressing over something. I'm selective in my stress, I choose work, school, finances, and, of course, weight. I leave little to absolute zero room for things outside this realm. I don't know what to do with myself. I can be taking steps to help with some of these stressors but the thought of tackling any of the tasks is daunting. And so I do nothing. I shut my brain off. Gaze with blind eyes at the television, clicking my way to random articles on the internet and skimming with half interest. I'm going through the motions but nothing sinks in. Another day wasted. But it's not just another day, really. It's my life that I am wasting. But I don't know how to live. I'm afraid to.

And this crazy belief that I need to be stressed about something and everything is utterly ridiculous and annoying. Because I'm a thinker and I've thunk this thought. Trying to trace back to the root cause. And where does it go, you ask? Mommy issues. Sonnuva!! Always blaming my mom. It's the only break I get! If I'm not stressing about something than she assumes everything is gravy. I have to add the drama of stress so that she won't push me, so that she won't nag me. It's lame really, I stress myself out (consequently poking my Lupus Monster in the ribs whilst it tries to sleep) and when she tries to come at me with anything, I play the stress and Lupus card. It's my excuse. It's weaksauce.

It's like if I were to call in sick to work without the sickness, I would end up getting sick because of the guilt. I'm calling in Stress and Lupus to life and ending up more and more Stressed and Lupey. The mind is powerful, y'all! It can do things! From arithmetic to sickness. It's the guvna or something and I need that bitch to change direction. Just gotta figure out how...

Tuesday, May 10, 2011

You know you're a bulimic when...

  • You almost spit into the toilet after brushing your teeth.
  • You calculate calories for the entire package rather than for a serving.
  • You  choose foods by taste up and down.
  • You judge food by how easily they return to your lips.
  • You eat in order of "good" to "bad" just in case of digestion.
I wish I could say that reading a book flipped a switch of no return. Switches were indeed flipped but when it comes to permanent changes a book cannot undo all the psychological damage done over the years. Emotions are still there. Emotions are still overwhelming.

Not that I'm going to give up ;) I will not accept bulimia.

Thursday, May 5, 2011

New Book, New Resolve?

I'm reading a new book. It's telling me not to diet. That's: not diet, you read correctly. I've heard of this book  before and I thought "bitch is crazy" with an afterthought of, "and probs has a muffin top." And she may very well have one (I haven't googled imaged her...YET). A blogger who is formerly a bulimic read it and it changed her and I'm drowning in the vom over hear and living in fear of the nom so I thought fuck it, if the library has it, I'll give it a go.

I've given everything to bulimia. I'm bulimia's bitch. And it's not a position I like to be in. It's a fucked up and abusive relationship and I keep trying to find my way out. But I'm a Namby Pamby and end up in the same position ready to take it in my proverbial arse. If it where an Ed with a P, I may renegotiate, but that's neither here nor there.

There are some nice little nuggets so far that I'd like to share with you ladies.

"The fourth law of the universe is that for every diet, there is an equal and opposite binge."
True story. Ask my arse and/or flusher machine. (You are use to my crassness on the NomVom topic by now, yes?) The diet rebellion seems to always retaliate and wreak havoc on scale. There is always that discipline and motivation when the diet starts the "I will!" and the "I will never again!"'s and where does that go? It's smashed by the Diet Rebellion! If you've been following this blog for a while I'm continually making and consequently breaking new rules. I try to make rules that I can follow because I do want to succeed, however, I have a tendency of pushing the envelope or simply... just giving into eating my emotions. Somehow "If I feel really overwhelmed, devour the kitchen-while shouting 'NOMVOM'S AWAAAAAYYYY!!!'" clause always seems to be written between the lines in Devil's Ink. I'm pretty sure bulimia is a thing of Satan.

Enter The Book. It's called "When You Eat at the Refrigerator, Pull Up a Chair" by Geneen Roth. How could I resist with a title like that?! That title is derived from chapter 3 where Roth suggests imagining a friend comes over and you are going to feed her the way that you feed yourself and precedes to describe a binge; eating random foods straight from the fridge and whatnot. She then tells the reader to imagine treating their self like those you love and sit in a chair as you eat. She has a point. I realized how little I care for myself. Furthermore, I realized that I eat very much the same way that my mom eats.

Enter the Mommy Issues. I'm so much like my mom, except for the fact that I realize how I am, where it comes from, how unhealthy (mind, body & soul) my ways are, and I, unlike Mommy Dearest, want to change my behavior! I don't want to live in a World of Denial! Darn this education! Once you become aware, there's just no turning back. It's either blissfully ignorant or painfully aware....OR that other thing where a person is who they choose to be AND they accept it AND are content with it. A person who recognizes what it is they are not satisfied with and actively change it so that it is no longer something that they are unsatisfied with? I get that nobody is "Happy" all the time. But there are people out there who are content and at peace more than they are not. I want to be one.

I have potential. I'm not going to lie to you guys and say that the reality of my life is horrible. My perception, however.... not so sparkly. I want so much more for myself than I am. And the part that is upsetting is that many of these wants are attainable. It's my mind that's fucking everything up! The mind is like my Right Hand Man, it has the ability to make or break me (or bend me? ...just go with it and let's hope this is leading to something...hope.), well this Right Hand Man is gettin' frisky with Bulimia and leaving me for dead to satisfy The Mistress' agenda!

Bulimia fucked up school for me. Bulimia has fucked up friendships (by way of Alienation Hibernation). Bulimia has fucked up relationships with family. Bulimia has fucked up my body. My teeth. My mind. My bank account....

Bulimia has kept me from doing so much. I'm exhausted. I'm tired of losing.

I need to be WIN-NING! Like Sheen! Minus the coke...the whores...the general fucked uppedness....


Okay, maybe not like Sheen. I think I may already be winning like Sheen. Minus the money and the public knowledge of The Cray-Cray.

I digress.

Back to Mommy Issues. My mom has never taught, and by taught I extend that to mean shown by example to care for myself. The only way I can try to explain is how when something is a little messed up or old and outdated at her boyfriends house she will have it replaced or have him replace it. At our house, however, things are held onto until they are peg legged, coughing, and on their last breathe before  she can even consider parting with it. She holds others' standard of living higher than ours. We have to just deal and "make do." She'd rather spend money on things for other people than for us. If it's messy... "it's just us" and then as soon as somebody is about to come over she wants to just hide everything away.

It's gross and embarrassing to me. If she could just invest a little into organization so that things have a place and follow through with that organization we could be living in a nice, clean and tidy home. And I guarantee both of our moods would improve!  But she won't change. She'll complain and talk about it but she lacks follow through. She has tunnel vision and fails to see that I am not the only reason we don't live in a tidy home. Her office is evidence.

I have tried to Be The Change. It ends up with her being all happy and motivated and then it wears off and I end up being the nag, to no avail because she's The Mom and she's a stubborn mule that is set in her comfortable ways. I've given up on changing the living environment outside of my room but I can see how it still has it's negative affects on my psyche. I may have a mild case of OCD. Even typing these last paragraphs has raised my stress/anxiety level.

I've got to climb out of this hole and start succeeding at life. And by succeeding I mean 'not hating mine.' So I'll have to step away from the flusher machine & stop treating myself like shit.

If you made it this far, thank you for listening to be gripe and ramble and give yourself a thumbs up and a high five.

....Are you clapping? Awww....shucks. I didn't need an applause! That's so kind :) Hahahaaaaa

Tuesday, May 3, 2011


Trying to not suck Completely & Devastatingly at school.
Trying not to spend like the color of my credit card is Platinum.
Trying not sink further into this Cycle of Fuckery.

I feel like a damn rotten apple lately. Ideally, I'm Golden Delicious. Let's pretend that makes sense. Pretending is good. I like pretending. Reality is... Rotten Apple Status. Bloody Rotten Apples if you get my drift. And I like apples! That's the worse part! I have 3 weeks of school left, then I'm going to work full-time and everybody at the Job is super happy about it (including me, are you feeling the Workplace Love? cuz it's there!). These are good things. Like apples. Rotten is the Pain in the Lupus and Menstrual Biznazz & Stressity StressPants of School.

Work > School.

Thus, I'm taking the summer off to work. Plus, my SadPants bank account needs some fattening. That is THE ONLY thing around here that needs fattening tho. Fat bank accounts promote shoe shopping, which I'm pretty sure is a step in the right direction to world peace. And who doesn't like world peace? Hilter was even on board with that, but he wasn't as smart as I am and he didn't think that shoe shopping would be the way to do it. Idiot.

Fat Money = Good.
Fat Anything Else = Bad.

Speaking of summer. Breaks and paychecks aren't all that the season entails. Bathing Suits. Summer involves bikini's and bbq's... oh my. In fact, next weekend I'm Momma Pleasing on Mother's Day and she wants to spend time by the pool. Did I mention the NomVoms and Bloat as of late? Right.

It's only my mom, I'm stressing over wearing a bikini and it's only in front of my mom. It's not like I'm parading around on stage or around anybody I'll know. But I'm still freaking out. I can't even bear to see the HorrARRE in the mirror, let alone in front of people. How stupid is this? Don't answer that; I'm well aware.

And I'm TRYING! I'm trying to get the upper hand in the weight game. The upperhand comes, however, not when there is "trying" but when there is "DOING." I need to be a doer. I just need... something. I need fire. I need "umph." You guys! I don't have any "umph!" Without "umph" there is no fight! There is no fire! Speaking of dying fire... smoldering embers, if you will, I'm ty-yerd!