CONFESSIONS OF A FAT GIRL

I give up!

Well I realize now why it was so overcast in LA... Because the heat is in New York. All of it. If you need me, I'll be soaking in the Hudson.

I am Procratinating Packing

Coming soon...

...lots of hugs.

Mother Nature: Following Up

Yo, Mama Nature- what up?

While I appreciate the definite change in climate and I'm in no way trying to cross you here, I think you took things a little too far. I mean, I love a gray sky as much as the next girl (I really do) but the drizzle was taking it a bit too far.

Frankly, if I may be blunt, I find it a little childish. I mean, you KNOW I got my car washed this week. Pulling out the rain to spite me is just a wee bit immature.

But I'm willing to wipe the slate clean, really! You see, my trip to New York is tomorrow and I'll be gone, enjoying their lovely Spring weather (kudos for their actual SEASONS, BTW) and I think by the time I get back to LA, there is no reason why we can't meet halfway on this. I know you can do it. I believe in you.

Hugs, AJ

The Tale of Why I Hate to Fly

Oh, Italy, what a Summer.

Oh coming home, what an... adventure. Meghan, you help me out if I missed something.

So in 2000, I was lucky enough to spend some of the Summe in Florence, Italy. Not a bad gig if you can get it. NYU has a 65 acre property there and staying in a villa in the hills? Ridiculous. One of the best times I will ever have, I am sure.

At the end of the Summer, one of my roommates, Meghan, and one of my classmates, Micah, and I headed to the airport to catch our flight home, which would connect through Paris.

Pause here. See, at this time, I was not a huge fan of flying but I could survive it. My homegirl Meghan, though? Not so much a fan. And so she lovingly took some xanax prior to boarding and it mellowed her out a bit. And by a bit, I mean it made her funny and loopy and semi-conscious. (I was jealous.)

Anyway, we get on the plane and amazingly, I pass out before we even take off. I'm gone. I am blissfully unaware of the world around me. This is how I like it. This is how I like to spend a good flight if I can.

But with a tap-tap-tapping on my shoulder, I awaken. Oddly, I awaken facing in a 45 degree angle DOWNWARD. You know, like how you might be posed if your airplane was CRASHING INTO THE EARTH. And there is my tap-tap-tapping friend, Meghan, also blissfully unaware but in a drug-induced way, peacefully whisperng to me "just wanted to tell ya, nothing to worry about, minor problem... but it seems an engine has stopped working and we might, might, crash. But go back to sleep, m'k?"

Past Meghan, I can see Micah, a shell of a man, cying and praying to God in Hebrew. Nuns on our plane are praying. The flight attendants are nowhere to be seen cause they are buckled in for the big boom.

Except one stewardess who is on the P.A. telling us the news. In French. Which is fne cause Meghan actually speaks some Fren-- oh wait, Meghan is marvelling over the pretty colors. So much for that.

And about as quickly as I am typing this very sentence, engine kicks in, we level out, swing around, and head right back to Florence.

At the airport, I demanded the evil French-speaking people get me to a phone. I called my parents and asked them to buy me a rowboat. I begged them fo a cruise ticket. ANY WAY I could get my ass back to the U.S of A sans PLANE. I was striking out.

Meghan, coming down from the high, described the experience for us: "UN AVION EL CRASHED-O." This is a fabulos blend of French and Italian, I believe. Basically, she was saying "plane go boom."

And what did those Facist bastards make us do? GET BACK ON THE PLANE. You can imagine my joy at this. The drugs were gone now and the three of us were panic-stricken little guppies in a sea of evil Frenchies. We got stuck on that plane, praying for our lives, and then stuckin Paris for a night at the dumpiest motel in the history of the world. The shower was not a shower, people. It was a spout. Hanging from the ceiling. Over a drain in the floor. I've held hockey pucks softer than the bread they served us for breakfast.

The next day, we boarded another plane. I don't remember this. I assume because I was so petrified by this point that I let my body. I remember landing at JFK. I remember that we literally dropped to our knees, thankful to be alive. I remember Air France lost my luggage and sentit to Denver and I remember them delivering it to me at 4am a few days later. And I remember the $100 voucher they sent me for my troubles so that I could fy their friendly skies in the future. My mother, in her innate wisdome, ripped up the voucher and mailed it back to them.

I've not been able to fly without the assistance of medication since. I panic. And not just right before and during. The panic sets in about a month before and builds painfullym slowly and gradually. About a week prior, the nightmares start. A couple days before, my stomach knots up. The night before, I am lucky to get two hours of sleep and I am an utter MESS right up unil the xanax enters my mouth and dissolves into mybloodstream. But that shit is magic. I'm usually asleep pretty soon after and unconscious until I land.

I'm not a big fan of over-medicating but dammit, God bless the makers of Xanax.

And that is my tale of the avion that went crashed-o. I've become less bitter about it over the years and now appreciate how hilarious it is. My teenagers have asked me to tell the story more than once and they lauh their asses off. So do I.

But not so muchtonight since I am now two nights away...

Quote of the Day

Read this and loved it:

"I feel sorry for people who don't drink because when they wake up, that is the best they're gonna feel all day." -Dean Martin

A Plea

Dear Mother Nature,

I realize you must have some psycopathic sense of vengeance on Los Angeles County. Oh, I know we're a problem. Our traffic polutes your lovely blue sky and fresh air; our over-crowding trashes the streets and our constant need to build more and more office and apartment buildings ruins the view ... But have a heart, sugarplum- let my people go.

First, tell me this: did I sleep through Spring? Seriously, what is UP with this Summer in April shit? Honey, I am running my air conditioner. At night. In APRIL. I am hotter than a two-dollar pistol. This is unpleasant.

My family has a house in Palm Springs. When I want to feel like I live in HELL, I will go there. At least there is a pool. With oogling old men who enjoy my cleavage and don't judge my thighs.

What worries me, is that if this is SPRING, what the hell am I gonna do in mother-effing JULY? I'll tell you what-- I'm gonna go stark raving mad, run through the sprinklers naked and possibly move to Siberia. I hear they have a nice Winter there and I've always wanted to wear a big fur without fear of PETA.

And I am not without gratitude, you know. If you could just drop the temp a mere 15 degrees, I'd totally be willing to do something for you. I'll pick up some litter. I will happily help maintain the little garden out back. I will, I swear, build a god damned SHRINE in YOUR HONOR if you'd just throw a consistent cool breeze my way.

I'm not asking for much. Let's not forget, I'm turning 30 soon. My life sucks enough right now.

Hugs and kisses, Mother Nature. I hope we can work this out cause I'm "this close" to highly offensive public nudity...

-AJ

Daily Beast

Thanks to Roxanne for sending this link. Very interesting read from a surprising (well, for me) source:

Quit Talking About My Weight, Laura Ingraham

by Meghan McCain

Meghan McCain responds to Laura Ingraham’s attack on her weight: Why is this topic still a socially accepted prejudice—and why in the world would a woman raise it?

Recently my not-size-0 body has come under fire again by the conservative pundit Laura Ingraham. On her radio show recently, she sarcastically commented that I was “too plus-sized to be a cast member on the television show The Real World” and needled me about my weight with a comment about Barbie's 50th anniversary. Instead of intellectually debating our ideological differences about the future of the Republican Party, Ingraham resorted to making fun of my age and weight, in the fashion of the mean girls in high school. I responded on Twitter by saying, “To all the curvy girls out there, don’t let anyone make you feel bad about your body. I love my curves and you should love yours too.”

But now that numerous media outlets seem to have picked up on our tiff, I believe it warrants a more thoughtful response than can be contained in 140 characters. I have been teased about my weight and body figure since I was in middle school, and I decided a very long time ago to embrace what God gave me and live my life positively, attempting to set an example for other girls who may suffer from body image issues. I have nothing to hide: I am a size 8 and fluctuated up to a size 10 during the campaign. It’s ridiculous even to have this conversation because I am not overweight in the least and have a natural body weight.

But even if I were overweight, it would be ridiculous. I expected substantive criticism from conservative pundits for my views, particularly my recent criticism of Ann Coulter. That is the nature of political discourse, and my intent was to generate discussion about the current problems facing the Republican Party. Unfortunately, even though Ingraham is more than 20 years older than I and has been a political pundit for longer, almost, than I have been alive, she responded in a form that was embarrassing to herself and to any woman listening to her radio program who was not a size 0.

In today’s society this is, unfortunately, predictable. Everyone from Jessica Simpson to Tyra Banks, Oprah Winfrey, and Hillary Clinton has fallen victim to this type of image-oriented bullying. Recent pictures of Pierce Brosnan’s wife, Keely Shaye Smith, on the beach in her bikini raised criticism about her weight and choice of bathing suit—as if the woman should be wearing a giant muumuu to swim in the ocean. After Kelly Clarkson’s recent appearance on American Idol, the first commentary I read on the Internet was about her weight gain instead of her singing.

My weight was consistently criticized throughout the campaign. Once someone even suggested I go to a plastic surgeon for liposuction. Afterward, I blogged about loving my body and suggested critics focus their insecurities about women’s bodies elsewhere. On the other side, my mother was constantly slammed for being too skinny, so the weight obsession of the media and our culture goes both ways. It also goes to both parties. Hillary Clinton has consistently received criticism for her pantsuits and figure. Whatever someone’s party, these criticisms are quite obviously both wrong and distracting from the larger issues at play.

The question remains: Why, after all this time and all the progress feminists have made, is weight still such an issue? And in Laura’s case, why in the world would a woman raise it? Today, taking shots at a woman’s weight has become one of the last frontiers in socially accepted prejudice.

I also thought the media outlets that reported on Laura’s comments about me were out of line. I don’t listen to Laura’s show, so if journalists hadn’t picked up on it and reported on it, I never would have known what she said. I wonder how Laura would feel if at some point someone were to criticize her daughter’s weight and broadcast it nationally on the radio.

At this point, I have more respect for Ann Coulter than I do for Laura Ingraham because at least Coulter didn’t come back at me with heartless, substance-less attacks about my weight. All I can do is try to be a positive role model for women of my generation and, I hope, help show that no matter what industry you are in, what size you are has nothing to do with your worth.

Meghan McCain is originally from Phoenix. She graduated from Columbia University in 2007. She previously wrote for Newsweek magazine and created the website mccainblogette.com.

source: http://www.thedailybeast.com/blogs-and-stories/2009-03-14/the-politics-of-size/

Rejuvenated

Last night, for dinner, I had a steamed artichoke. After, I had a mini green apple.

I was considering eating something else but I did the dishes instead. By the time I was done, I realized I was actually full anyway so no need.

In the last couple of weeks, I've been especially attentive to what I am eating though I've never deprived myself of something I REALLY wanted. I haven't been exercising as much as I could be but I definitely got some in where I might not have a few weeks ago. And the big news? I've nearly given up soda. I don't know if I'll ever be able to totally give it up but in the last week? I've only had one. ONE! That's the biggest miracle - you have no idea.

The results have been really fulfilling. For starters, I've lost 6 pounds in two weeks. I feel great and I've been sleeping a little bit better. Not perfectly, but better. I'm far less lazy and have been much more inclined to get shit done like cleaning my room, getting my car washed, running errands, etc. I FEEL good both physically and mentally. And, of course, my mother has been really proud of me and that's a helluva lot easier to deal with than the norm!

I'm taking a trip back east this Friday and if I am not able to blog from there, I promise a full report when I return. And I promise to update more often in the coming months. I think it will benefit me to report on things-- I have to hold myself accountable somehow.

On Saturday, I had lunch with friends at an organic, vegetarian Japanese restaurant where I ate tempeh and drank caffeine-free, organic green tea that was REALLY green... it was the funkest meal I've ever had and admittedly, delicious. Would I have tried something like this a few weeks ago? I don't know...

Baby steps!