(In process)
Me: "Dad, what kind of beer would you like?"
Dad: "Do you have vodka?"
Mom (to me): "I work with criminals and cops and you swear more than any of them."
Dad: "Do you have bread?"
Me: "No."
Dad: "Do you have chips?"
Me: "No."
Dad: "Do you have popcorn?"
Me: "NO!"
Dad (irritated): "What the hell did you have planned for us to eat this weekend?"
Me: "I don't fucking know! I don't know what normal people eat anymore. I eat sardines and egg whites for fucks sake. Tell me what the fuck you want to eat and I'll buy the god damn groceries and make it. Just get it the hell out of my house by Saturday because I can't eat that garbage when you leave!"
Thursday, November 22, 2012
The day my boyfriend thought I was on drugs
I’m weird. I know this, I embrace it, I encourage it in others. If tomorrow my back broke and I could no longer CrossFit I would be proud of the fact that I hear several women exclaim “BALLS” when they drop the bar in a workout; that’s a little piece of me that has been instilled in some pretty awesome women. I don't really know how to not be weird and even if I knew I'm not sure I would try to be normal. I get really excited over silly things and I jump around and skip and talk really loudly like a 5 year old. My behavior tends to annoy a lot of people and I'm ok with that.
I have a TON of energy; I love caffeine but I’m pretty good without it, especially when you put me on a schedule. If I go to bed, workout, and eat at the same time every day, I can kick some serious ass on about 4 hours of sleep each night. I did just that when I was an analyst in San Diego; I got up every day at 4am, ate breakfast, drove to work, went to the gym, showered, was dressed and ready for work at 6:30am, ate lunch at 11:30am, worked until 5pm, went for a jog, drove home, ate dinner around 7:30pm, stayed up until midnight and was back awake at 4am the next morning. Seriously, I was a fucking machine. I didn’t even need an alarm clock.
I didn’t have a boyfriend at this time and all my close friends were in college so I had nobody that was close enough to me to tell me that I had voluntarily put myself on the schedule of a crazy person in need of serious medication. I had copious amounts of energy and I never drank coffee. I would drink diet Cokes later in the day to the point where it would make my heart feel like it was about to explode and I would have to leave the office at 5pm to go run and burn off all the extra energy. I left that job after a year to move to Chicago and go to law school. I found a roommate who would eventually be my husband who would eventually be my ex-husband. We moved in together and started dating soon after or the other way around, whatever. Prior to my moving in, however, he was unaware of my psychotic schedule. I moved in with him in July 2005 and wasted no time in freaking him out (it’s a part of my charm, or whatever you call it). It was my first real break from school or a job in 4 years so he would hear me wake up at 5am to go for a 2-3 hour run, come back with more energy than when I left, go walk around town for 4 hours, then I would organize his CDs alphabetically or sort his change or whatever other OCD behavior I could possibly exhibit with my free time, go out drinking with him when he came back from work and then go to bed late with him and then start all over again. I had no idea but he was totally spooked. This went on for a few weeks, I believe, until one day I came home from a run and he had this funny look on his face, it was almost guilt but not exactly. I asked him what was up and he told me the following:
"I have a confession to make, I checked your vitamins for drugs, I tested them and everything."
And we all know how that lovely decision turned out.
Monday, November 19, 2012
My first date – a sign of things to come.
As I previously mentioned, my father made sure that I was a gigantic dork and social outcast to prevent me from dating and so he didn’t have to go far to find a sports watching buddy. It was inevitable, however, that even I was going to find someone to date, though it didn’t happen until college.
The day before I left for Pepperdine my father told me just how proud he was of all that I’d accomplished but “who’s going to watch baseball with me?” I said something quick and had to leave the room to cry for about 20 minutes as my father is and was my best friend. I stepped on to campus with all my college shit in boxes and bags and moved my crap in. I moved in the middle of the school year (I’ll explain why in another post – it has something to do with being a total fucking asshole) and I was the only one in my dorm for a week or so; it was a little bit like living in a ghost town. After that first week I sauntered back to my dorm room and heard some shuffling noises and realized that one of my suitemates was back! Yay! I skipped over to meet her and she introduced herself and we chit chatted a bit. One of her very first questions to me was, “Do you have a boyfriend?” “No,” I replied. “Well you won’t find one here.” Awesome, I learned very quickly that I had just entered a campus that was generally full of closeted gay Christian men and immature assholes (As an aside I know a lot of guys from Pepperdine that are very nice straight mature assholes so I apologize for the generalization). Obviously I was very excited to have a solid platform to start dating men as I love dating gay men and immature assholes. (Fact: I actually do really love dating immature assholes; it’s a hobby of mine and I mean that in the best way possible.) However, I actually had a decent bit of success dating immature assholes at Pepperdine because of two things: 1. I too am an immature asshole and 2. I have really cheap taste. Number two was extremely important at Pepperdine because dinner at a Malibu restaurant can run you upwards of something close to your tuition if you aren't careful. Lucky for me I like burgers and nachos.
After my first semester at school I finally was asked out on a date. It was kinda sorta my first real date ever so I was nervous and didn't really know how to behave. To give you some perspective, I still don't know how to behave on a date and it's been 10 years. In addition to having no dating skills, I was on a very different eating schedule from most people in college because my parents work schedule was never 9-5. When my parents were both full time officers, one worked during the day and the other at night. To keep my parents sane, we were on a very strict schedule; I was usually up around 6am, ate lunch around 10:30/11am and had dinner around 4pm, like all the really old people. I have grown out of this schedule but when I was in college I still got hungry on that schedule. I also was training for a marathon and had done a 10 mile training run a few hours before my date. I wanted to eat a ginormous meal at 4pm but I was encouraged by my girlfriends to not spoil my dinner date. For people that don't eat the way I do, this is probably reasonable advice. Telling someone like me not to eat when I'm hungry is ALWAYS BAD ADVICE. I listened to my girlfriends and let them dress me and do my hair because I'm absolutely hopeless at trying to look pretty.
For my date we went to go see The Ring and have dinner at Red Robin. At this point it's got to be at least 8pm and I am FUCKING STARVING. When I'm hungry I can't hear; I can't think; I turn into a total caveman. We get a table and I glance through the menu and I'm pretty sure I ordered a bacon guacamole burger. I can't remember what he ordered, all I remember is thinking that I need that fucking burger to arrive 10 minutes ago. I'm doing my best to act like I'd imagine a normal person would act and be chit chatty and polite to my date but I'm sure I failed miserably at that. Finally the burgers arrived...and if my date had any remaining thoughts that I was a well behaved lady I can assure you in the next few minutes I immediately removed any doubt from his mind that I was, in fact, NOT. I INHALED the burger. It's sort of a blur, I just remember staring at the 1/4 of my burger that was left and thinking, "OH NO, I TOTALLY FUCKED THIS UP SO BADLY." I mustered up the nerve to look at my date - his jaw dropped and I could see that he had taken maybe a few bites out of his burger. I looked up at him and then dropped my head in my hands and said, "OH MY GOODNESS, I'M SO BAD AT THIS!" He looked up and a huge grin ran across his face. He chuckled and said, "That's NEVER happened before! I think I need to order a second round of fries to feel like a man!" I apologized for being a total fuckup and the funniest thing happened, he told me it was one of the coolest things that he'd ever seen. We ended up dating for over two years.
And that's the extent of my charm.
I'm going to go adopt some cats now.
The day before I left for Pepperdine my father told me just how proud he was of all that I’d accomplished but “who’s going to watch baseball with me?” I said something quick and had to leave the room to cry for about 20 minutes as my father is and was my best friend. I stepped on to campus with all my college shit in boxes and bags and moved my crap in. I moved in the middle of the school year (I’ll explain why in another post – it has something to do with being a total fucking asshole) and I was the only one in my dorm for a week or so; it was a little bit like living in a ghost town. After that first week I sauntered back to my dorm room and heard some shuffling noises and realized that one of my suitemates was back! Yay! I skipped over to meet her and she introduced herself and we chit chatted a bit. One of her very first questions to me was, “Do you have a boyfriend?” “No,” I replied. “Well you won’t find one here.” Awesome, I learned very quickly that I had just entered a campus that was generally full of closeted gay Christian men and immature assholes (As an aside I know a lot of guys from Pepperdine that are very nice straight mature assholes so I apologize for the generalization). Obviously I was very excited to have a solid platform to start dating men as I love dating gay men and immature assholes. (Fact: I actually do really love dating immature assholes; it’s a hobby of mine and I mean that in the best way possible.) However, I actually had a decent bit of success dating immature assholes at Pepperdine because of two things: 1. I too am an immature asshole and 2. I have really cheap taste. Number two was extremely important at Pepperdine because dinner at a Malibu restaurant can run you upwards of something close to your tuition if you aren't careful. Lucky for me I like burgers and nachos.
After my first semester at school I finally was asked out on a date. It was kinda sorta my first real date ever so I was nervous and didn't really know how to behave. To give you some perspective, I still don't know how to behave on a date and it's been 10 years. In addition to having no dating skills, I was on a very different eating schedule from most people in college because my parents work schedule was never 9-5. When my parents were both full time officers, one worked during the day and the other at night. To keep my parents sane, we were on a very strict schedule; I was usually up around 6am, ate lunch around 10:30/11am and had dinner around 4pm, like all the really old people. I have grown out of this schedule but when I was in college I still got hungry on that schedule. I also was training for a marathon and had done a 10 mile training run a few hours before my date. I wanted to eat a ginormous meal at 4pm but I was encouraged by my girlfriends to not spoil my dinner date. For people that don't eat the way I do, this is probably reasonable advice. Telling someone like me not to eat when I'm hungry is ALWAYS BAD ADVICE. I listened to my girlfriends and let them dress me and do my hair because I'm absolutely hopeless at trying to look pretty.
For my date we went to go see The Ring and have dinner at Red Robin. At this point it's got to be at least 8pm and I am FUCKING STARVING. When I'm hungry I can't hear; I can't think; I turn into a total caveman. We get a table and I glance through the menu and I'm pretty sure I ordered a bacon guacamole burger. I can't remember what he ordered, all I remember is thinking that I need that fucking burger to arrive 10 minutes ago. I'm doing my best to act like I'd imagine a normal person would act and be chit chatty and polite to my date but I'm sure I failed miserably at that. Finally the burgers arrived...and if my date had any remaining thoughts that I was a well behaved lady I can assure you in the next few minutes I immediately removed any doubt from his mind that I was, in fact, NOT. I INHALED the burger. It's sort of a blur, I just remember staring at the 1/4 of my burger that was left and thinking, "OH NO, I TOTALLY FUCKED THIS UP SO BADLY." I mustered up the nerve to look at my date - his jaw dropped and I could see that he had taken maybe a few bites out of his burger. I looked up at him and then dropped my head in my hands and said, "OH MY GOODNESS, I'M SO BAD AT THIS!" He looked up and a huge grin ran across his face. He chuckled and said, "That's NEVER happened before! I think I need to order a second round of fries to feel like a man!" I apologized for being a total fuckup and the funniest thing happened, he told me it was one of the coolest things that he'd ever seen. We ended up dating for over two years.
And that's the extent of my charm.
I'm going to go adopt some cats now.
So I'm fat now, ya, that's totally happening.
Follow your dreams, you can reach your goals, I'm living proof. Beefcake! Beefcake!
-- Cartman
Today was a very momentous occasion for me. I hit 150 pounds...on the motherfucking scale. I've never in my life weighed 150 pounds before and to be honest I'm not sure whether I should celebrate or call Jenny Craig. For now I'll drown my sorrows in chocolate milk and be all deep and shit and write something and wax egotistical instead of being productive...
I've never been the slim girl; I was always the "fat" distance runner. Being not skinny is a special kind of experience in Southern California where you are expected to have blond hair, big boobs and weigh less than 100 pounds. I had none of these things; I'm a dorky, flat chested brunette and I weighed around 130-135 pounds and wore a size 8 in high school. I didn't have a lot of upper body strength and I definitely could have weighed less but I was in no way fat. I was also totally awkward anyway so I found myself constantly running into situations that I once found insulting and now find hilarious. I ran Cross-Country in high school and one of my teammates needed a black dress so I offered one of mine and she responded with, "Oh, well, I'm reallllllly thin." I should have clocked her in the face but her comment sort of shocked me so I did my best to shrug it off and walk away so I could go eat some In-N-Out. Another time I came home from a Cross-Country meet and was eating lots of spaghetti and my grandfather looked at my plate and said, "Diana, if you keep eating like that you are going to get FAT!" Grandpa got a little bit of an earful from me that night but my family's MO for I love you usually involves hurling insults across the room rather than hugs and pleasantries so I was generally ok with it. However, with every comment that was thrown my way I tried to act like I was cool about it but they did eventually start to hurt my pride; nobody likes to have their weight be a regular topic of discussion.
I suppose I was a prime candidate for an eating disorder but there's one thing that always gets in the way of that - I really fucking love to eat. If I end up skipping a meal I'm a total fucking bitch. Seriously, if you ever see me cranky, find me a cookie or a sandwich or a pizza and I'll calm the fuck down. My uncle once asked me if I was eating enough and I looked at him, laughed and said, "TRUST ME, you will NEVER have to worry about that." I also trained with a few people in high school and college who either meticulously watched what they ate or didn't eat at all. I will admit that back then I wished that I could look like them; I remember all of them being tall but that's probably because they were so slender. They all definitely looked better in the horrible butt hugging shorts we had to wear in Cross-Country. I also remember how crappy they always felt. Some of them were very susceptible to mood swings or fainting on a run and I knew there was no way I could ever have the discipline to train on a restricted Calorie diet. That kind of discipline and control was a power that I never wanted.
By college I grew tired of shorter distances and moved on to more half and full marathons. Distance running made me happier because I got to eat a lot more. I was still around the same weight but I definitely lost some body fat and gained more muscle in my legs. I was also more accustomed to the funny comments I would get when people found out I was a distance runner. When one of my college roommates found out she responded with, "I thought marathon runners were skinny." I was rather shocked by the bluntness of the comment but I was far more mentally prepared for comments like that so I calmly responded with, "Well, I like to eat." In my head I wanted to say, "Fuck You Skinny Bitch" but I knew what she meant. I didn't look like a marathon runner; marathon runners tend to look very sinewy and lean and I...do...not. As in high school I still wanted to look like the other runners, I thought that they looked so incredible and in shape and strong. I wanted to look skinny; I wanted to be the badass slender looking girl; I wanted people to look at me and think, "THAT girl is a runner." I started to diet, I limited my Calories and ate cottage cheese and salads instead of everything else that I wanted to eat. I also decided that I should get back into Cross-Country and on a legitimate training schedule so I met with Pepperdine's coach and talked about the prospect of joining the team. Five minutes after entering the coach's office I was immediately turned off on the idea; the way he talked about the female runners was completely offensive to me. He talked about doing three a days and how this girl and that girl needed to lose a bit of weight. I knew the girls that he was talking about and all I could think was, "Wow, if you have a problem with this girl's weight, you are going to have a field day with mine." To be fair, his comments were probably no different than any other coach's but I was disgusted by the whole thing. That day I stopped dieting and accepted the fact that I was just not going to be that kind of girl. I was never going to force myself to throw up; I was never going to go on a restricted Calorie diet; I was never going to be the skinny girl.
I started CrossFitting a few months after becoming an attorney; I would never have tried it but I didn't have enough time to train for marathons and I needed something quick and dirty that would fill the adrenaline void and CrossFit was of course perfect for that. While training my weight never fluctuated more than 5 pounds, I stuck around 130-135 but I gained muscle and my dress size went down to a size 4, which was pretty spiffy. I worked out 3 days a week and I was relatively satisfied with how I looked. I went on a paleo challenge and people started asking me if I was eating because I leaned up so much; I'll admit that warped my brain a little bit and I thought it was cool that I looked skinny enough for people to notice things like that. The girl that I am now would have kicked that girl's ass and given her a little piece of my mind. Even with that skinny mindset I did change my vision of the ideal body type; I wanted to look more muscular than skinny. I was CrossFitting by the time I ran my last marathon and instead of being envious of how they looked I thought so many of the runners looked emaciated, especially their upper body. I wanted to take some of them to eat and buy them a sandwich. They no longer looked strong and healthy to me; they looked like death.
Which brings me to a couple months ago, where I eschewed paleo in favor of full fat dairy products and on certain (most) days shoving as many Calories into my body as humanly possible. A few days after starting a strength training program I was in my office having already eaten two very healthy sized breakfasts and I was still so hungry I couldn't think straight until I ate a breakfast burrito. I was both proud and grossed out by my three breakfast day. It was cool though, I was getting stronger and wasn't gaining any weight and my clothes fit. My firm had an informal Halloween party and two guys were talking about losing weight and I got to tell them, while holding a plate of pizza, "That's cool, I'm trying to gain weight." One of them replied, "Let's not talk to Diana for a while." I meant it, I want to gain more muscle and if that means gaining weight I'm ok with that. However, I suppose I wasn't mentally prepared for the jump to 150 quite yet. It's cool though, because my clothes still fit...oh wait that's right THEY FUCKING DON'T! I tried to find a nice dress shirt to wear this weekend and it was quite the battle to get them around my shoulders. I gave up on fancy and grabbed a tank top and threw on some jewelry in hopes of classing it up a bit. Ok, so that part actually felt pretty awesome, but the rest of it did not. My dresses, if I can get them to even fit, look very strange on me now. And my jeans, my fucking jeans have betrayed me. I can barely fit my sexy, blotchy purple, bruised, scratched up legs into my stupid god damn jeans. That one hurts because 99% of the time that I am out and about it's in jeans. And my jeans aren't remotely close to skinny jeans. I probably can't get my calves halfway through skinny jeans, the mere attempt would make me cry. I'm going to have to find a job where I can wear sweatpants or a potato sack 24/7 because I fucking hate shopping for new clothes.
Here's the cool part. I was at the Turkey Challenge Competition this weekend and talking with one of my teammates about how I could do sprint workouts but that I preferred the long, nasty ones. He told me, "That's interesting, because normally girls that can lift heavy weight like you don't have the endurance." He's married so I didn't kiss him on the face for that comment, but it made my day. Later that day one of my dude buddies told me his goal is to keep some of his lifts 100 pounds heavier than mine and another one asked me to flex and told me I was getting ripped. I'll definitely accept 150 pounds if I can get comments like that. Hopefully in time people will look at me and think, "THAT girl is a CrossFitter" or "THAT girl could beat the shit out of someone in a dark alley." Either one is fine.
So hello 150 pounds, it's nice to meet you I guess. I'm not trading in my steak for a salad, after all, this is what I've been trying to do. I may, however, go for a long run tonight.
150 fucking pounds. Shit.
"Sprinkle some fries on those CUPCAKES"
-- Patton Oswalt
-- Cartman
Today was a very momentous occasion for me. I hit 150 pounds...on the motherfucking scale. I've never in my life weighed 150 pounds before and to be honest I'm not sure whether I should celebrate or call Jenny Craig. For now I'll drown my sorrows in chocolate milk and be all deep and shit and write something and wax egotistical instead of being productive...
I've never been the slim girl; I was always the "fat" distance runner. Being not skinny is a special kind of experience in Southern California where you are expected to have blond hair, big boobs and weigh less than 100 pounds. I had none of these things; I'm a dorky, flat chested brunette and I weighed around 130-135 pounds and wore a size 8 in high school. I didn't have a lot of upper body strength and I definitely could have weighed less but I was in no way fat. I was also totally awkward anyway so I found myself constantly running into situations that I once found insulting and now find hilarious. I ran Cross-Country in high school and one of my teammates needed a black dress so I offered one of mine and she responded with, "Oh, well, I'm reallllllly thin." I should have clocked her in the face but her comment sort of shocked me so I did my best to shrug it off and walk away so I could go eat some In-N-Out. Another time I came home from a Cross-Country meet and was eating lots of spaghetti and my grandfather looked at my plate and said, "Diana, if you keep eating like that you are going to get FAT!" Grandpa got a little bit of an earful from me that night but my family's MO for I love you usually involves hurling insults across the room rather than hugs and pleasantries so I was generally ok with it. However, with every comment that was thrown my way I tried to act like I was cool about it but they did eventually start to hurt my pride; nobody likes to have their weight be a regular topic of discussion.
I suppose I was a prime candidate for an eating disorder but there's one thing that always gets in the way of that - I really fucking love to eat. If I end up skipping a meal I'm a total fucking bitch. Seriously, if you ever see me cranky, find me a cookie or a sandwich or a pizza and I'll calm the fuck down. My uncle once asked me if I was eating enough and I looked at him, laughed and said, "TRUST ME, you will NEVER have to worry about that." I also trained with a few people in high school and college who either meticulously watched what they ate or didn't eat at all. I will admit that back then I wished that I could look like them; I remember all of them being tall but that's probably because they were so slender. They all definitely looked better in the horrible butt hugging shorts we had to wear in Cross-Country. I also remember how crappy they always felt. Some of them were very susceptible to mood swings or fainting on a run and I knew there was no way I could ever have the discipline to train on a restricted Calorie diet. That kind of discipline and control was a power that I never wanted.
By college I grew tired of shorter distances and moved on to more half and full marathons. Distance running made me happier because I got to eat a lot more. I was still around the same weight but I definitely lost some body fat and gained more muscle in my legs. I was also more accustomed to the funny comments I would get when people found out I was a distance runner. When one of my college roommates found out she responded with, "I thought marathon runners were skinny." I was rather shocked by the bluntness of the comment but I was far more mentally prepared for comments like that so I calmly responded with, "Well, I like to eat." In my head I wanted to say, "Fuck You Skinny Bitch" but I knew what she meant. I didn't look like a marathon runner; marathon runners tend to look very sinewy and lean and I...do...not. As in high school I still wanted to look like the other runners, I thought that they looked so incredible and in shape and strong. I wanted to look skinny; I wanted to be the badass slender looking girl; I wanted people to look at me and think, "THAT girl is a runner." I started to diet, I limited my Calories and ate cottage cheese and salads instead of everything else that I wanted to eat. I also decided that I should get back into Cross-Country and on a legitimate training schedule so I met with Pepperdine's coach and talked about the prospect of joining the team. Five minutes after entering the coach's office I was immediately turned off on the idea; the way he talked about the female runners was completely offensive to me. He talked about doing three a days and how this girl and that girl needed to lose a bit of weight. I knew the girls that he was talking about and all I could think was, "Wow, if you have a problem with this girl's weight, you are going to have a field day with mine." To be fair, his comments were probably no different than any other coach's but I was disgusted by the whole thing. That day I stopped dieting and accepted the fact that I was just not going to be that kind of girl. I was never going to force myself to throw up; I was never going to go on a restricted Calorie diet; I was never going to be the skinny girl.
I started CrossFitting a few months after becoming an attorney; I would never have tried it but I didn't have enough time to train for marathons and I needed something quick and dirty that would fill the adrenaline void and CrossFit was of course perfect for that. While training my weight never fluctuated more than 5 pounds, I stuck around 130-135 but I gained muscle and my dress size went down to a size 4, which was pretty spiffy. I worked out 3 days a week and I was relatively satisfied with how I looked. I went on a paleo challenge and people started asking me if I was eating because I leaned up so much; I'll admit that warped my brain a little bit and I thought it was cool that I looked skinny enough for people to notice things like that. The girl that I am now would have kicked that girl's ass and given her a little piece of my mind. Even with that skinny mindset I did change my vision of the ideal body type; I wanted to look more muscular than skinny. I was CrossFitting by the time I ran my last marathon and instead of being envious of how they looked I thought so many of the runners looked emaciated, especially their upper body. I wanted to take some of them to eat and buy them a sandwich. They no longer looked strong and healthy to me; they looked like death.
Which brings me to a couple months ago, where I eschewed paleo in favor of full fat dairy products and on certain (most) days shoving as many Calories into my body as humanly possible. A few days after starting a strength training program I was in my office having already eaten two very healthy sized breakfasts and I was still so hungry I couldn't think straight until I ate a breakfast burrito. I was both proud and grossed out by my three breakfast day. It was cool though, I was getting stronger and wasn't gaining any weight and my clothes fit. My firm had an informal Halloween party and two guys were talking about losing weight and I got to tell them, while holding a plate of pizza, "That's cool, I'm trying to gain weight." One of them replied, "Let's not talk to Diana for a while." I meant it, I want to gain more muscle and if that means gaining weight I'm ok with that. However, I suppose I wasn't mentally prepared for the jump to 150 quite yet. It's cool though, because my clothes still fit...oh wait that's right THEY FUCKING DON'T! I tried to find a nice dress shirt to wear this weekend and it was quite the battle to get them around my shoulders. I gave up on fancy and grabbed a tank top and threw on some jewelry in hopes of classing it up a bit. Ok, so that part actually felt pretty awesome, but the rest of it did not. My dresses, if I can get them to even fit, look very strange on me now. And my jeans, my fucking jeans have betrayed me. I can barely fit my sexy, blotchy purple, bruised, scratched up legs into my stupid god damn jeans. That one hurts because 99% of the time that I am out and about it's in jeans. And my jeans aren't remotely close to skinny jeans. I probably can't get my calves halfway through skinny jeans, the mere attempt would make me cry. I'm going to have to find a job where I can wear sweatpants or a potato sack 24/7 because I fucking hate shopping for new clothes.
Here's the cool part. I was at the Turkey Challenge Competition this weekend and talking with one of my teammates about how I could do sprint workouts but that I preferred the long, nasty ones. He told me, "That's interesting, because normally girls that can lift heavy weight like you don't have the endurance." He's married so I didn't kiss him on the face for that comment, but it made my day. Later that day one of my dude buddies told me his goal is to keep some of his lifts 100 pounds heavier than mine and another one asked me to flex and told me I was getting ripped. I'll definitely accept 150 pounds if I can get comments like that. Hopefully in time people will look at me and think, "THAT girl is a CrossFitter" or "THAT girl could beat the shit out of someone in a dark alley." Either one is fine.
So hello 150 pounds, it's nice to meet you I guess. I'm not trading in my steak for a salad, after all, this is what I've been trying to do. I may, however, go for a long run tonight.
150 fucking pounds. Shit.
"Sprinkle some fries on those CUPCAKES"
-- Patton Oswalt
Thursday, November 8, 2012
Sardines and Chocolate Milk
Ten minutes after working out I jump into my car and chug pastuerized organic egg whites from the carton. I drive home and eat a splendid meal of sardines and hot sauce and wash it down with chocolate whole milk. I give my cat a piece of the sardines and a little dish of whole milk (not chocolate). This is not exactly how I thought my life would be like and it’s moments like these where I wonder, “why haven’t I met that special man in my life” and then I continue to plan my move to the suburbs and subsequent purchase of a rocking chair, thick ugly sweatpants and adoption of 50 cats from the local pound. My poor mother keeps trying to get me to date more, “go for older guys, they will appreciate you”, “maybe stop spending time at the gym so much”, “it must be hard for you to date being an attorney, men are intimidated by you”, “do what the sex and the city girl does and pretend you are a flight attendant”, “please be nice to him”, “please don’t swear a lot”, “please act like a lady,” “please brush your hair,” “please get a pedicure,” “please don’t mention to him that you lift weights.” God bless her, she tries. I’m pretty sure she keeps thinking to herself, “Damnit, this is NOT what I had in mind when I raised girls.” My father, I’m sure he’d like to see me dating and married again but he’s pretty happy with me so long as I’m not a Yankees fan and so long as I can fix the computer and the television when something goes wrong. Regardless, it’s their fault that I am who I am and I love them for it. I was born to two cheap ass, profanity laced LA County Sheriff officers. My parents bought a house in Huntington Beach, California a few years before they had me. We lived in a very nice neighborhood but my parents were lower middle class; they could afford the house because they were the ultimate savers. I grew up in an environment where material things weren’t important because we couldn’t afford nice things. Being “girly”, especially in Orange County, requires a huge emphasis on material things otherwise they revoke your membership and so I did not fit in with the girls in school or in most of the other social situations in my life until...well I suppose forever. My father was also really fucking smart about raising me, much smarter than I originally thought. He has a son from a previous marriage and didn’t get to see him as much as I’m sure he wanted to and when I came around I was doomed to be a tomboy. When I was really young I loved everything pink and girly and Barbie dolls and My Little Pony and She-Ra and Gem and the Misfits and Rainbow Brite and oh my world the thought of it now makes me sick to my stomach. He saw that and two things went through his mind - 1. Oh hell no; and 2. I’m going to turn this one into a socially retarded tomboy that way she’ll NEVER date when she’s young and I won’t have to worry about her. And he was right. Barbies and pink and all that crap gave way to little league baseball, the Red Sox and Angels, making nachos and getting dad a beer from the fridge (the first Spanish phrase I ever learned was “Cerveza, por favor” from my white ass father), learning how to fix the cable and the computer so Dad didn’t have to learn, profanity and insensitive jokes. Beating the boys at athletics or in school was highly preferred to dating boys. When my friends started dating boys I didn’t understand the point, it took me a few years to get on board with the whole liking boys thing as I am and have always been a super late bloomer. Even now I have absolutely zero game; I’m a super bad date because I’m a retarded mess but also not really willing to try and be anything appealing. I was so bad at dating that in high school my father sat me down and told me that they would love me no matter what or who I ended up falling in love with. It was a thinly veiled, we love you if you are gay conversation. Now I don’t care about anyone’s sexual orientation, but when you are so bad at being straight that your parents think you are playing for the other team that’s really really sad. I sat there in the living room and processed what had just happened, sighed and held my head in my hands, laughed at my own patheticness and turned on a baseball game.
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