Disap...Wait for It...Pointing: HIMYM's Final Send-Off

As if I should have to say this, but obviously...
WARNING--SPOILERS ABOUNDING


Last night was the series finale of CBS's How I Met Your Mother. I've been a casual fan since the start--not watching it regularly, but definitely enjoying any episode I saw.

Two years ago, I caught a new episode as it was airing. I, for some reason, was instantly hooked. I watched what I could find, and watched any new releases. I even tried to watch all previous episodes before last year's Mother reveal (failed mainly due to lack of access to Internet the few days before). I did finally watch all the episodes ever, so I had caught up before this season started.

I'll be honest, I was worried when I heard their plan to extend one long weekend over an entire, full-length season. And while I wasn't completed disappointed, some of those earlier episodes (looking at you, "Bedtime Stories"), it definitely had some well-hit high points. "How Your Mother Met Me" was one of the best episodes I've seen and definitely helped us as viewers to see her more as a person rather than a goal.

And last night? I liked a lot of it. BUT! Here's what I didn't like:

1. Barney and Robin's divorce--I've heard valid arguments that it couldn't have lasted, and I agree to a point. My main issue was the fact that we just spend an entire season on their wedding weekend! It's like the Kim Kardashian/Kris Humphries ordeal--you put a whole lot of effort into the hullaboo, and seriously, it's over like *snap*. If it had been a two to three episode arc, that would have been okay, but it wasn't.
2. Teaser information--what was the deal with Barney's baby sitch? Does he have custody? Just super duper supportive? What the hell?
   And Marshall/Lily's third child--how can you drop that on us, and then be like, Nope, no information about that child.
3. Timeline run-through--Let's literally go through 25 years of time in the span of 40 minutes. (Fall '05 flashback as earliest, 2030 as latest). All that happened in that time-span? A whole lot. And while, Penny & Luke, you're cool with your dad dating again after your mom's death six years ago, we're not. We literally just learned her name and not yet okay with her death.
4. The last two minutes, pretty much--so, I could have been okay if they had cut off everything at Ted/Tracy's wedding. Tracy could have died still (I would have managed), and we learn that we're learning all this because she's just died. Maybe he wants the kids to know as much as possible, so they feel they have more time with her. I don't know. All I know is that the Return of the French Horn? Not cool, guys.
5. The Pilot replay--I get it. Sometimes, after a few years, you do rekindle an old flame. I've seen the news stories about people finding one another again after an extended amount of time. And it's entirely plausible, if vomit-inducingly cliché, that Ted and Robin do get back together in their later years. It's one of the lessons from HIMYM that we loved--life doesn't always turn out with a bow on top.
   But another lesson of the show was how we change and grow as time passes. How we learn from our experiences and mistakes. And the Blue French Horn scene remake? Well...shows that all those lessons that led him to Tracy McConnell? Irrelevant, 'cause that former Canadian pop star turned worldwide news sensation was the one in the end all along.
6. The Ending wasn't fit for the length of time we invested--Bays & Thomas have said all along that the ending was set from the beginning. And if the original Mother choice of Victoria (back when the show thought it wasn't going to be renewed) had been that? Well, I would have been cool with this ending. But we been following  Ted's journey to Tracy for NINE. LONG. YEARS. And this is the payoff? 

I just, I'm going to pretend that this all is one long April Fool's Joke.

So, Yeah...

Obviously the "500 Words a Day" thing didn't work out.

But alas! I have been inspired lately! So I should be blogging more.

Part of the reason I haven't been blogging for the past (almost) 2 months is because of the overwhelming dread of not meeting that goal

I realized something though. I did try. And I failed. So what? It's really not the end of the world.
It was an arbitrary goal, and I didn't accomplish it. I'll live.

So be on the lookout, 'cause this space is gonna liven up again soon :)

Day 22 (+12): But We're Not Supposed To Talk About That

(Why, that second number just keeps getting bigger, doesn't it? Fartknocker. Oh well. I'll catch up soon enough.)

Warning--this post is quite blunt about sexual health. I try to be as coy as possible, but I can't be for everything. No graphic descriptions are included.



Read two articles this morning, and they make me super happy as one of those "sexual health" feminist loons :P
Article 1: U.S. Abortions Declining, Study Finds
Article 2: HPV Shot Doesn't Encourage Sexual Activity in Young Girls: Study

To me, these articles show that we're moving in the right direction in sexual health education. I'm of the opinion that knowing how things work prevents more stupid mistakes based on hearsay.

I never actually got "the talk" as a kid. All I knew was that when men and women were naked together, if they were kissing and legs crossed...then came baby. It was only when I was learning about my lovely monthly visitor that I learned exactly what happened. Mainly because I was freaked out by how tampons worked and was liked, "But why would you ever want to do that to yourself?" I was quickly informed how similar to the birds and the bees it was, if you catch my drift.

And my sexual education, surprisingly, actually talked about contraception. Looking back, it's one of the things my school was actually good with. While some might not agree with the method we learned about the technical parts (girls read aloud about boy reproductive systems, and vice versa; if you laughed, you had to start your paragraph over), it worked. And our book talked about the percentages of effectiveness of all types of contraception, from abstinence's 100% all the way to using nothing of 15%, and everything in between. While not everyone that went through my school's health class remembered this information (as evidenced by some of the unintended pregnancies), you can only lead a horse to water, you know?

The area of being informed about one's sexual health is one I think both sides of the spectrum on the issue of abortion can come together on. Mainly because knowing what causes pregnancy helps to prevent it, therefore lowering unintended pregnancies and less abortions. And a lot of people I know who are pro-choice push sexual education and access, as that would give women more involvement in their sexual health.

The second article is important, because it shows that talking about your reproductive system doesn't turn on a switch in teenage brains to make them have sex.

If one wants to abstain from sex, that's their choice. Being informed about what happens does not taint someone or make them animals. Hell, it helps when they do decide to have sex, whether that be within the marriage bed or not. It also helps outside of the making babies part, and knowing when there might be something wrong with your body.

I know that this post was quite soapbox-y. But honestly, I really do believe that reproductive knowledge would help across the board. There's always room for less ignorance in the world, am I right?

Day 21 (+8): Fat is as Fat Thinks

Last night, my sister Facetimed me, to talk about the snow hitting Charlotte, NC (where she lives) and shoot the breeze. We were cooking while talking, so when our respective meals were ready, it was time to hang up. I had just finished making my awesomely deliciously beef & deer burger and displayed it on screen. The way I cook (sear then steam), the burgers end up looking more like sliders.

Anyway, she said that they looked weird, "short and fat". I ducked down into the screen and said, "Just like me!" without thinking. It turned awkward, fast. Because, you see...I'm smaller than my sister at the moment. I'm thinking, Oh, shit, oh shit, I really didn't mean to make her feel bad. It's something I worry about, mainly because we haven't always been so congenial.
She responded with, "You're not fat."
I should have shut up right there. But that wouldn't be me, now would it?
I replied with, "Tell that to the BMI Index." Hoping, praying that would end it.
Nope. "You're not as fat as me," she replied.
Crap, crap, crap, what do I say? "I used to be."

And basically, that's how we ended our really nice conversation. Us talking about weight, and referencing how much she's gained/I've lost.

It got me thinking though.

1. I now know the other side of the coin, comparatively. I've mentioned it before, about how it bothered me back in high school when the skinnier girls would say how fat they were, and I would roll my eyes Liz Lemon style in response. But I get it a little bit better. There will be people that envy where we are, whether that's for the number on the scale or for the confidence in themselves. It's human nature. We should focus on ourselves alone, rather than comparing our size with the girl's size next to us. 
2. People who have known me for a long time see me as successful in weight loss, and I don't see myself as that. I'll get, "Oh, you've lost more weight!" And I'm thinking exactly how many lbs difference, if any, there is between our last meeting and that moment. Because I know. That's the thing about my weight loss--I know exactly what I weighed at what time of the year, when my ups and downs were. Sometimes I have to remind myself of where I was, to make myself feel better.
3. I still see myself as fat. Even though I know the BMI is crap, and I know that I am better, I'm still not where I want to be. I see my stomach and hips protruding in a muffin top. I see my huge thighs. 

Basically, it's all about perspective. We compare ourselves to whoever's around, whether they're on the TV screen or are the person sitting next to us on the bus.  We just need to think about it more in terms of what feels good for me. It we don't like what we see, take action, or find something you like about your body. For me, I look and feel how strong my muscles are, even beneath the flab. That helps me feel better, because it reminds me how strong I am and reinforces that I can do this. Because I can

Day 20 (+8): I'm Sorry You Feel That Way

There's an article that's been making it rounds lately. I Look Down On Young Women With Husbands And Kids And I’m Not Sorry by Amy Glass. And, it has infuriated me. So today's post will be about deconstructing my response, section by section. So you don't have to click that link unless you want to, because I have copy and pasted her article word for word.

Every time I hear someone say that feminism is about validating every choice a woman makes I have to fight back vomit.

If you start an article like this, you're rabble-rousing. I know you are. But I'll bite.

Do people really think that a stay at home mom is really on equal footing with a woman who works and takes care of herself? There’s no way those two things are the same. 

 No, they're not, but not for the reason you're thinking. An independent single woman takes care of herself. A stay-at-home mom (SAHM) takes care of the household and all those in it, which can range from 3 (herself, partner, and baby) to infinity.

It’s hard for me to believe it’s not just verbally placating these people so they don’t get in trouble with the mommy bloggers.
Having kids and getting married are considered life milestones. We have baby showers and wedding parties as if it’s a huge accomplishment and cause for celebration to be able to get knocked up or find someone to walk down the aisle with. These aren’t accomplishments, they are actually super easy tasks, literally anyone can do them. They are the most common thing, ever, in the history of the world. They are, by definition, average. And here’s the thing, why on earth are we settling for average?

Technically, you're right--with all the right paperwork and meeting all the requirements, anyone can get married (except for same-sex partners in a lot of places, of course). Same goes for babies. They're not the same type of accomplishment as graduating from college or getting that dream job, true. That doesn't make them any less valid. Celebrating marriages and having babies is more about celebrating joy in life--about finding love and that person you want to share your life with, or creating/adopting a new person in life. By recognizing these life achievements, we're celebrating that they are happy. I don't see a problem with that.

If women can do anything, why are we still content with applauding them for doing nothing?
I want to have a shower for a woman when she backpacks on her own through Asia, gets a promotion, or lands a dream job not when she stays inside the box and does the house and kids thing which is the path of least resistance.

There are people who do throw showers when they get a new job (teacher showers, anyone?), or go out for a lavish night with friends. I've had friends (like the lovely Karen Hall) who share their world traveling experiences, and people have responded with awesome support, through verbal and financial ways. Trust me when I say that these achievements are celebrated as well.
I wouldn't say that choosing a house and kids is the "path of least resistance". In fact, depending on who you are, some face more resistance when they do. I've also had tons of friends get married young and have kids, and I've heard people say (including myself), "But they're so young! They have so much to do first!"
I had to stop myself by asking what I was doing, condemning these women for choosing something that I didn't. Sure, I want the whole marriage and kids package one day, but I don't want it right now. Some people choose that road earlier. Neither they nor I are wrong. We're different, and that's not bad.

The dominate cultural voice will tell you these are things you can do with a husband and kids, but as I’ve written before, that’s a lie. It’s just not reality. You will never have the time, energy, freedom or mobility to be exceptional if you have a husband and kids.

I can't hear you over the sound of Beyoncé proving you wrong.

All joking aside, this is ridiculous, as is the other article you link to. People define success in different ways. I would say my mother was successful in life. Amy Glass probably wouldn't though, because my mother doesn't make a lot of money (anyone who tells you working for the government is an automatic ticket to wealth is a liar). But the reason my mom took her job so many years ago? To help pay for our school tuition. Our graduations were the result of that, which I would argue make her successful. She achieved her goal, after all.

The problem is comes from what she calls being exceptional. By definition, not everyone will be exceptional. We shouldn't strive for "exceptional", but for "happiness" and "doing what we want". Whether that be setting off for Africa or staying in the house, we have to make the best choice for us. And if that choice happens to inspire someone else, added benefit.

I hear women talk about how “hard” it is to raise kids and manage a household all the time. I never hear men talk about this. It’s because women secretly like to talk about how hard managing a household is so they don’t have to explain their lack of real accomplishments. Men don’t care to “manage a household.” They aren’t conditioned to think stupid things like that are “important.”

What? Dudes complain about this all the time. They just don't complain about it in the same way as women. There are plenty of dad blogs that talk about the demands of being a parent, how hard it is to raise children. How their work keeps them away from spending time with their kids. Tons of movies touch on the struggle that dads, especially those with outside jobs face.
Also, taking care of the household chores is important. It gives the partner who works outside the home less to take care of when they come back. I know that it helped incredibly when my dad (who worked from home when I was growing up) did the dishes and laundry and all that, so my mom had less on her plate.

Women will be equal with men when we stop demanding that it be considered equally important to do housework and real work. They are not equal. Doing laundry will never be as important as being a doctor or an engineer or building a business. This word play is holding us back. 

No--women will be equal with men when we recognize that housework is damn hard. That no one wants to do the laundry and all the tedious chores, but someone has to. That's the thing. While they may not take as much specified skill, household matters influence other aspects of our lives. We can't eat well if there is no food from the store and no clean dishes; can't present a good face if our clothes aren't cleaned; we can't do things outside the home if the home isn't taken care of.

The major thing is women can choose to be outside the home now if they want. We aren't restricted. To be honest, Amy might have started her writing career as a man before, and I'm sure she couldn't write about how awesome the working world is.

And my feminist rant is done. Though I think I was mostly fair.

Day 19 (+8) Tick..Tick...Tick

So, yeah, I know I didn't update yesterday. But really don't give a damn. And today's post will touch on that, among other things.

• Yesterday marked 6 years of dating Brett. And did we do anything special? Not really--went to Toys'R'Us (because we can) and Target (to spend too much money on razor blade replacements) and Brett went into work for about 15 minutes and Traders Joe's (for the essentials). We hung out and played video games and just chilled, basically.
  That's just the way I like it. I like that I'm comfortable with him, that we can both relax in the same room, enjoying the closeness, without having to constantly be talking or doing stuff together. I like that enjoying each other's presence aspect of our relationship.
  Though we will be going out to eat tomorrow night to celebrate :)
  
• Because of the aforementioned anniversary, I, from time to time, get asked it there are any "major plans" in my future. (My favorite way I've been asked this is if Brett was planning any visits to jewelry stores in the near future. As if I would know.) We talk about it, sure. But honestly? Marriage is nice and I look forward to wedding planning one day, but it's expensive as hell. In today's economy, I know I'll be footing the bill for a large portion of that. And with my student loans payments and other bills, that's not exactly something I can afford. So, yeah, we've talked about our future. For now, it's pretty far off in the horizon.
  
• Fun fact--a lot of my friends are totally understanding when it comes to this and don't pester me about it. So thanks, y'all :)
  
• Sometimes I worry that because I'm not in academia or education stuff at the moment, I'm losing that part of my nerdiness.
  Then I realize that one of my long-term objectives is to categorize my 1000+ book collection by LC Call Number, and I have emailed the actual Library of Congress to ask them on how to find certain book numbers, and have researched how craft my own LC Call Numbers...and I worry a little less.
   
• Sometimes, when I think of libraries and such, I wonder if I should have gotten my master's in library sciences instead...I can tell you it probably would have been easier finding a job relevant to my degree, that's for damn sure.
  
• Yesterday, at Target, I discovered they sell Panera soups. You guys. Panera's Broccoli Cheddar is my life blood. I was entirely too excited when buying that soup yesterday.
  
• I was listening to my iTunes on shuffle the other night, and Rooney's "When Did Your Heart Go Missing?" came up, aka one of my senior year anthems. I wondered what they were up to now, and found lead singer Robert Schwartzman's Twitter (I was at the time updating my Twitter [@sallem5]). He's generally better known as Michael Moscovitz in The Princess Diaries. Gif for reference:
  
  
  I was like, alright, follow him, that's cool.
  Well, guess who requested a follow-back? That's right, that guy.
  
  So yeah, that's my life.
  
  (Btw, if you haven't figured it out yet, the title is reference a news ticker...because you're just getting whatever rolled into my head.)
  
  

Day 18 (+7): Does Not Compute

Why yes, it has been a few days since I last posted.
And yes, I am even more behind now. I will catch up eventually.

The main problem I'm having with posting every day is I have to do it at work in spare time. Usually I can write a little here, a little there, and I've got a post in about an hour or two, depending on how busy things are, how motivated I am to write the post, that sort of thing.
But when I can't write it at work, that's where I hit a brick wall lately. Because while Brett has a very lovely desktop that works awesomely, he's usually on it from the time we get home to most of the night. It's his, so I feel bad asking him to get off, you know? He also has a laptop, but the hinges are wonky, and it feels unsafe in my more-than-clumsy hands. I don't like typing on an iPad screen (also his), because it's not the same.
And my phone has the Blogger app, but typing on my phone is also less than ideal.

If you haven't noticed, I haven't mentioned my own netbook computer. That's because lately...well, it's been like this:

You might think I'm being over-dramatic about it, but I'm not really. Basically, the sucker wouldn't do anything. At all. I would turn it on, and try to open Firefox, or iTunes...and get no response. The little loading circles might come up, but after that? Nada. And it would decide that it needed to restart, and it would restart, and I'm like, wtf, mate? 

It's been pretty slow all around for a while now, but I just can't afford to get a new one. I mean, I probably could get something small, and fairly low on memory, but if I'm going to get a new computer, I want to get one that I can do other stuff on. Because lately, I've also been playing Steam.
For those not in the know, Steam is an online video gaming platform. Though obviously this little thing can't handle that overload of processes, so I've been gaming on Brett's desktop. And I hate asking him to get off so I can play. Part of my nature--I don't like making people do things they don't have to do just for my sake.

So if I were going to get a computer, it would be powerful enough to game on. And that costs a fair chunk of change.

Some of you may now be wondering, Well, Samantha, what are you typing on at this moment? By a rare stroke of luck, I managed to get my computer running again enough to actually do stuff. I really am not sure how, but I did. Deleted a few unused programs, cleared some cached memory, ended a few processes, and it started to quicken. So, for now, this will do what I need it to. While it still goes to "Not Responding" every few minutes, it fixes itself quickly, so I wait it out.

17 (+4): Let It Snow, Let It Snow, Let It Snow

I am starting this post at 8:24 am. According to last night’s forecast, it is supposed to be snowing right now. Since I used the word “supposed”, obviously it is not. Yet.

The time for the snow to start is about 9:45 am. We shall see.

Snow is still a novel thing to me. As I’ve mentioned before, I’ve lived the majority of my life in the Deep South, where snow is usually only seen on TV, in snowglobes, and in a snowcone. (Haha, see what I did there?) When there’s even a sprinkling of snow, people go nuts.

Case in point? December 2008. Baton Rouge actually got about an inch of snow, in the wee morning hours of 6-7. It was during Thursday during finals weeks, so a fair amount of students were up (because they had never gone to sleep). I had, because I was done with exams. I remember waking up, and looking outside, and feeling that sense of childlike wonder as the crystal flakes on the ground. I ending up having to go outside for something I hadn’t planned, so I did get to walk through it some. For the most part though, it was slush/watery dredge by noon.

While in England, I encountered snow, and it was nice. I mostly enjoyed the sight of it and walked around, taking in the scenery.

There was another time it snowed in Baton Rouge, in December of 2009. There wasn’t much, but it was fun enough to run around in.

Last year though. Last year, in the beginning of March, there are a large snowstorm that left feet of the stuff on the ground. FEET. Brett and I went outside and played around in it some. Here are pictures for proof:

Outside the house

Brett

I feel this picture sums me up pretty well.

I’m glad that I still find snow new and exciting, each time it falls. It makes me feel like a kid, which I something I sorely need.

Ever since I’ve moved to Virginia, and tried to find a good “big person” job, I feel that I’m aging faster than usual. I see my life as running by, and I freak out internally, because I know there’s so many things I want to do and need to get better at and try and accomplish and my brain goes off into paranoia mode and…unless I distract myself? It’ll continue until doomsday.

When I get those moments where I lose all sense of what has been and what will or might be, and just focus on the now, like a child, I cherish them. I grab tight and hold on, hoping that spark will keep me ignited enough to where the dark cloud of “being an adult” doesn’t seem so bleak. While I know that there are good things that come with growing older, I’m at that point where I want to hit pause on aging and just be for a while. But I can’t.

It’s the moments like a good snow that light that spark inside, that remind me of the bright-eyed child still active inside. Like a ridiculously goofy joke that doesn’t make sense at all, but gets me crying by the end. Like going on a long memory laden story with minute details that I haven’t thought about in a while but still can remember precisely. Like a weekend morning with nothing planned, and those first few moments of having the entire day before me.

So I’ll hold on to my snow days and such, because they bring a little brightness into my life.

It’s currently 9:42, and it’s been light snowing for about 20 minutes or so now. Bring on the precipitation!

Day 16 (+4): Anything You Can Do, I Can Do Better, but Only If I Feel Like It.

(Yes, yes, I got even more behind. I’ll catch up though. Eventually.)

My inspiration today is this article. I thought it quite interesting. The article’s theory is that girls are taught from an early age that intelligence/cleverness is an innate ability that one does or doesn’t possess, while boys are taught that intelligence/cleverness can be improved upon through focus and hard work. Because of this, the article supposes that girls (specifically at the 5^th grade level) give up more easily when they come to an obstacle than boys do.

I, of course, had to think back to my 5^th grade experience. Most of my 5^th grade memories aren’t academic—after all, it was 1999 to 2000, so I mostly remember being worried that the end of times was nigh. (Seriously, kid you not, the only thing that managed to quell my fear was on New Year’s Eve when the year changed over in Asia and Australia, and I thought, If it made it to 2000 there…) I also have other memories from the year, also not related to my studies, like the weight related one I touched on in this post.

The one thing that really stands out from what I learned was this poetry contest. Basically, my teacher had us each write a poem, and the ones chosen would be entered into this anthology.
And I was just so confident about it. I remember thinking, I’ve got this in the bag. Yeah, I know—I was such a huge turd-nugget. Anyway, turns out I was right; my poem along with two others in my class were chosen to be put in the book [here’s the Amazon link of the edition I was in]. The book is somewhere at my parents’ house, because I’m pretty sure I didn’t bring it with me.

How does that anecdote tie in with the article? Well, I thought I had an innate ability to write well, when to be honest, I knew how to play the system. Rhyming? Check. Ridiculous premise? Check. Set stanza form to make it sound more lyrical? Check. 5^th Grade Samantha didn’t play no games, yo. And part of me purposefully knew that I was writing something that would appeal to whoever was choosing the winners. But mostly, I just had been kind of catered to believe I was an awesome writer.

I know now that there has to be an internal desire to be a writer, but it does take hard work. I’m sure that if I had applied myself, I could have focused more on the hard sciences or math, and went to college in those areas. But I had always been told that reading/writing was my thing.

So was it because I was a girl? I don’t think so. Having an older sister who had been praised more for the sciences and math areas, I think it was more of a comparative things. At that same age, Heather struggled more with getting the context behind the reading, while I usually made mistakes on math (I would add when I needed to multiply, stuff like that). It was the way my parents (and teachers) saw what we were actually good at. It was one of the good things that came out of having a sibling so close to my age that —adults could compare us and actually say, Sibling 1 is good at one thing while Sibling 2 is good at another.

I do think the theory holds some water. After all, I remember in high school, getting so frustrated in my math classes, and just plain becoming pissy about it. Granted, I still did well, but I was so used to knowing how to do things almost immediately, or with very little thinking, that any obstacle just bothered me. I quickly learned in college that sometimes things take time.
I don’t think that was fully a girl thing either. It was more based on my own inflated ego about schoolwork. (What can I say? I know I was full of myself.)

My point is, while I can see why the article comes to that conclusion, I wonder how much is situational and based on that particular girl’s experience in the classroom.

Day 15 (+2): Bless Yer Heart

For all the uninitiated, I currently live in the Old Dominion State, also known as Virginia. My family's Cajun, born and bred, so my Louisiana roots are rampant. I grew up in the middle of the MS Delta, the birthplace of the blues, so that influenced my bringing up. Save for Jan. to mid-May of 2009 when I lived in England, I've always lived in the South

Because of this, I always feel like the apologist to people I know from elsewhere in the States and world. So, here's my explanation list.

• Yeah, Robert E. Lee's birthday (and Stonewall Jackson's too, apparently, according to VA) is often celebrated on the same day as Martin Luther King, Jr.'s. But their birthdays are right beside each other.
• Yes, there are still lots of private schools in the South that have a very small minority population. But for the most part, the students nowadays are more accepting. And it's more about how many minority students can't afford the tuition. 
• Yes, the Rebel Man and Confederate Flag and the song "Dixieland" are still in heavy rotation. And it really does mean Southern pride for a lot. They grew up seeing these symbols as something to be proud of. 
• Yes, my dad is a Civil War buff. No, he doesn't dress in recreation regalia and reenact battles. He doesn't believe "the South will rise again", so to speak. 
• Yes, we do have weird outside hobbies--mud-riding, frog gigging, etc. While I feel the need to remind you that not all Southerners are outdoorsmen (take, for example, me), I'll just say you find fun where and how you can.  
• Yes, there were horrible things that happened to black people in the South. No, you as a black person are not in danger 24/7 in the South (this is based on a true sentiment expressed to me). 

Those are just a few of the things that grind my gears. 

Though I know things aren't rosy. I know plenty of prejudiced people. I had family members that didn't approve when one of my cousins dated a black girl. It's still weird for me when I hear/see evidence of racism from the 60's, those hateful slurs and phrases on posters and yelled into the air. Mainly because I wonder what some of my more conservative family thinks when they see. About how fervent they might see. 

I'm not worried anyone I'm related to will show up on the news for a hate crime. Nor do I think that they will do something super ridiculous. I guess it's selfish, when I think about it--if they have prejudices, what prejudices do I have that I don't see, lying beneath the surface?

And I know there are some I have, but I try and ignore anything my idiot brain says in those situations. It sounds dumb, but I listen to my heart. That's where those that say, "why do I have to keep apologizing for what my ancestors did?" get it wrong. 

Southern apologists like myself don't say sorry because we feel personal guilt. We say sorry for actions of the past because it's empathetic, to recognize someone of another race as the victim of generations of oppression and let them know how I think. 

So here's my apology:

"I am sorry your ancestors where treated like less than people. I, as a person, find that a tragic part of history and do my best to change that within myself, by treating you as the fellow human you are. Because you deserve nothing less."

Yes, I am from South. And that only makes me one thing--Southern. 

So whatever I feel about the horrid past, I can't hate the South, because it's made me me, and given me an understanding of feeling for others that I wouldn't trade for anything. 

Day 14 (+2): Book Club--I Promise, We Actually Read (Sometimes...)

[One day, I will catch up to the day. Until then, I will continue to add that plus, to remind myself).

So, yesterday's post talked about a book I read, that I normally wouldn't pick on my own. That's because, I'm in a book club!

It's kind of big for a club (about 30 people), but not everyone shows up every time. Usually about 10 people. Anyway, this post is going to talk about how I found The Cville Page Turners, joined up, and took a hold of my sanity back. And it might be gif-heavy. Because...

Alright, flash back to last April. I was in a slump of a mood, not feeling stimulated intellectually. So I did what any person would do:

I Googled it :P

Came across Meetup.com, a site I had perused before but never really did anything with. If you've never been to the site, you can find groups in your area based on a specific interest, ranging from the norm (nature hikes and such) to the very specific (like vegan women that married foreign men). Okay, that one's not actually a thing, but you get my point.
Anyway, I decided to go with my interest in reading. It would stimulate my mind in a way working in retail wasn't, make me read more, and I could meet fellow readers and gush/scorn with them. I had been in two book clubs before (one as part of a dissertation group, and one that never actually got around to meeting), so I knew the basics of what to expect. Finally found one that

• read books that I might like and read a variety
• wasn't ridiculously large. There's one book club here that has multiple meetings for each month, and you pick the one that fits with your schedule. Though once those very limited meeting spots are filled, you're screwed. And it had 100+ members according to the site, so more than likely I would never have seen someone even two months in a row.
• would meet at night. At the time, I didn't have a set schedule, but I knew that eventually I would want a normal work schedule.

Found The Cville Page Turners (for those of you that are slow, Cville is slang for Charlottesville...). So I signed up for May, checked the book out from my local library, and began to read.

When I pulled into the restaurant that night, I was nervous. Part of me wanted to turn around and leave. Would they like me? (Maybe) Would I be the only one that showed up? (Probably not) Would I be comfortable? (Not entirely, but that's to be expected)

It happened to be a month with only a few of us, so I got to talk extensively with four other people. And I had fun, so I returned the next month. Got to meet a majority of the group that meeting, and reconnect with the others. And I kept coming back.

I really enjoy my book club. We meet at restaurants, so there's no awkward factor of going to someone's house or frazzle factor of hosting it. A large number of us are not Charlottesvillians by birth, so it's nice to be able to connect with someone on that "I didn't grow up here either" level. And while I may not have all the experiences as the other members have (that's the nice way of saying that I'm the youngest in the group by a sizable amount), I get to pick their brains for advice, which is nice. In turn, I let them make fun of how young I am.

I have really liked how it's made me read so many different things. I'd always avoided Dan Brown on lit snob principle--if it sells super duper well, it must not be good. But June's selection was Inferno, the newest in the Robert Langdon series. It gave me as good of an excuse as any to read all the previous ones, which were on my list anyway (if very, very low priority). And there were parts I liked, and parts I didn't, in his works. But I was able to say to myself, Hey! Look! You're learning to look past a book's popularity and actually try it! Good for you for not being as pretentious!

And next month, we're reading A Time to Kill. I've always enjoyed the movie, but never got around to reading the book. So, yay for knocking another one off my list! (It's also the only movie where I like Matthew McConaughey.)

I also like how we talk about the book, but we definitely don't allow that to limit our conversation. We've connected with other things.

Basically, the book club has given me a way to make friends, which has helped me regain some of my sanity back :)

Group hug!

[Side note: yesterday's post was under 500, as I was typing it on my phone and couldn't check my word count, so I made sure this one was long enough to make up for it :P ]

Day 13 (+2): Arming the Sling--A Review of Malcolm Gladwell's "Davidand Goliath"

I'm not really one for non-fiction self-help. But when we had to vote on this month's Book Club selection, I was intrigued by the write-up about David and Goliath. It said it would blend history and psychology and self-help. I thought, Maybe I'll like this one.

And I wasn't completely disappointed. 

First, let's start off with the good--I like the variety of stories that Gladwell highlights. There are the "local interest" types, the ones that might get picked up by a regional new; the "I would have never known", where the person's identity is often changed and their experience is highlighted; and the "historical figures", the ones we might read about in speciality history books. And he breaks down situations really well. In the beginning, he looks at each aspect of the famous Biblical tale of the underdog facing the giant, showing how David actually had every tactical advantage. The book then goes into the various situations, and shoes why what we think of advantages (such as Goliath's size) aren't always the best thing (David's speed allowed Goliath almost no time to react to the sling attack). It also showed that disadvantages can motivate and enable us to act in ways that others would not risk. 

I had two major problems with the book. One, he seemed to place a huge emphasis on the way these people approached a situation, casting their thought processes a strategic type light. And while I know that some of these people were specifically thoughtful in their actions, a lot of them I'm sure just acted. It's the same way that when you talk to those that risk their own health and safety to save another person's life and ask why they did what they did, they often respond with a variant of "I don't know-- I just acted." I would have liked for him to acknowledge more that people sometimes unconsciously act, whether they are the underdog or the giant. 

The second thing was his writing framework style. His words were easy to understand; his train of thought was not. When focusing on the Troubles in No. Ireland, he referred to an economic report by Nathan Leites and Charles Wolf called Rebellion and Authority, which was written specifically on how to deal with insurgent situation. Gladwell argues their thoughts were wrong, using the Troubles as examples. But he brings up these few lines from the report again later, and again, and again. His ideas are consistent, but he seems repetitive and scatterbrained--it's more like I'm reading the transcript of a speech than an edited book, the way he'll pull in information and stories from the previous chapters at will-nill. 

Overall, I'd give it a 3.4/5. 

Day 12 (+2): And This is Why I'm Awesome!

So, yesterday's post was about how I suck at keeping up with things. But that's in the past. Today, I'm going to focus on the good about myself! Yeah!

(Warning: some of the things I like about myself are strange. Deal with it.)

• Eyes--I like them, much more than I used to. I've always liked the shape, placement on face, all the sizing stuff. When I was younger, though, I thought that having brown eyes was boring, because it's the dominant eye color of the world (I'm also kind of a nerd about genes and how they visualize themselves with people...) I wanted to stand out, to be noticed. When I was high school and got contacts, I got green contacts. And later, I got blue green ones that looked pretty damn cool. But when I got glasses my freshman year of college, I stopped wearing my contacts as often. And I found the varying colors in my eyes, and started to realize that they were cool on their own. And while I still hold some fantasy of having a different eye color, it's more from novelty. 
• My brain's capacity to remember things--It's so weird how well I can recall certain things. And not just things that should stand out, like my brother's birth or my 13th birthday. I remember that football was one of our spelling words in 2nd grade, the very moment I decided to change my favorite color to blue in 3rd. And birthdays? I'm a fiend. I like that ability to recall the inane. By proxy, my trivia skills are quite honed. 
• My complexion--While it's currently a nice shade of pale, I do have a darker skin tone than the average white person, from generations of Cajun in my blood, I assume. It's also a source of protection, as I don't burn easily, and if I do, I usually tan and/or freckle. 
• My varied interests--I like how curious I can be about a variety of subjects. Almost anything, I can find something I find interesting about it. And this shows up in my hobbies and things I like to do. Sure, I like to read and write, but I've always been a fan of video games, I enjoy going on nature walks, I like finding out how science has evolved.
• My optimism--seriously. Sometimes I sicken myself with how "look on the bright side" I can be. But because I have dealt with disappointment in many ways, I can find the good fairly quickly. And that helps me move on and learn quicker. 

So while there are other things, these are the first ones that came to mind. And it's nice to remind myself how cool I can be and what is good about myself. It motivates me to add more to the list. 

(Note: I'm going to check later to make sure, but I think I reached 500. My computer frazzled out on me, so I typed out most of this post on my phone. And who said learning to text was useless? ;) )

Day 11 (+2): And This is Why I Suck

Hi, my name is Samantha, and I have a procrastination problem that affects the rest of my life in horrible ways.
Hi Samantha

So I'm not going to make excuses for not writing this weekend. I just didn't. On Saturday, I told myself I would, after my workout, like I have been. But when you doze off, and don't work out until 12:30 in the morning...yeah, you're not going to write after that.

And yesterday? I vidya gamed for like, 3 hours before I went to bed. I didn't even workout. Which, because my boy is oh so good at being the Jillian Michaels in my life, I'm working out extra today. Ergo, gotta try and catch up for the two days I missed.

I really do let time get away from me. It's my worst habit of all time. And I know it will cause me stress later--either hating on myself, or letting that self-anger out on others, or just becoming a whirlwind of emotions...but I do it anyway.

Why? For starters, I really don't think I have this whole "make good decisions" thing down. Sure, I do something good here and there. But forming habits over time is not my strong suit. And I tell myself, yeah, I'll do it later. But then I don't. And things just settle into the way they were before.

It's why I'm still trying to lose weight, 5 years from starting on my journey. It's why I ended up having to donate my car to charity, because it was too far gone to feasibly get fixed (I'm sure that I could have, but the cost had by then exceeded what I could afford). It's why I often start journals and never finish them.

I suck at forming habits.

I know I'm not alone in this. There are people who make a living helping ne'er-do-wells like myself, who can't seem to get their ducks all in a row.

The sad thing is sometimes, I don't want to change. Even though I know I would be less stressed, and my life would be easier, sometimes I think, Well, I know how to play the 'Woe is me' card. I know this life. It's the "Better the enemy you know than the enemy you don't" sort-of problem.

Which, really, is kinda screwed up, that I would sometimes rather be miserable in the long run than happy.

In a weird way, I think it's misguided appropriation. I assume if I'm happy now, I will be happy later, and I give in to the instant gratification of (more often than not) being a bum. But when I see the over-loaded sink full of dishes, I realized how I picked the wrong decision. Again.

Of course, this causes problems with others, of which my boyfriend bears the brunt of. This weekend, we fought about my being too passive. I had gotten upset for no real reason (seriously), and I just became mopey. I wanted to play a game I have on the desktop, to make myself feel better/forget about the mopey-ness, but I didn't want to intrude on his own downtime by kicking him off [it's his computer, after all]. It got to a point to where we were yelling, and it basically came out that we don't want to bother the other one, or do something that may be seen as an inconvenience--mine being asking him to get off, his being preventing me from playing a game I wanted to.

My first instinct is always, don't rock the boat. If people are content, let them be. And while that's sometimes good advice, it can have the cost of suppressing your own wants and needs.

I often choose the easy way, to not rock the boat. But making a wave is how I grow and learn. Changing is how I get better.

So, I'll try to keep up with my blog better. I might be able to catch up today. Maybe.

At least I'll be working towards doing better.

Day 10: Let the Creativity Begin!

(This next bit is actually the beginning of a story idea I came up with. Whether it turns out to be anything, we shall see, but I'll tag anything related to this storyline as "story1". And I know it's technically Jan. 11, but meh--my brain's still in Jan. 10 mode. So, enjoy!)

     They say that you should never start a story with the beginning of the day, they being the almighty writers of pieces past. However, Helen Saunders’s particular tale begins precisely then. At least, the part of her life where things became interesting enough to write down. So that’s when you and I, reader, will begin. Who am I, you ask? I can’t tell you that at this moment, but you will discover in time. I promise.

    What I can tell you is more about Helen's life before that morning. To be fair, there really isn't much to tell. She was an only child of Greta and Edwin Saunders, a couple that met later in life who lived in a small, western Virginia town. Both were quiet and kept to themselves often, translating to Helen becoming the same way. She had acquaintances more often than friends, though they all lost touch eventually. Helen did well in school, but not enough to really stand out. She got into Sweet Briar, her mother’s alma mater, and majored in history. She applied for and got a job working in a local history museum near Charlotte, North Carolina—it was the most adventurous thing she’d ever done. After that, the highlights of her life include working her way up to running the museum, her father passing away from lung cancer, and adopting Thomas, a black-and-white cat from the local shelter.

            By the time she was 43, Helen had resigned herself to a life spent mostly alone. She would call her mother once a week—every Sunday afternoon at 4 o’clock—to a call that rarely lasted more than 20 minutes. She would then take her weekly grocery store trip, with a list in hand, though she didn’t restrict herself to it. The Sunday night before her story began, her main concern was her considering on getting a second cat as a playmate for Thomas (her mother was equally for and against the idea). She turned on the kettle, made herself a cup of Earl Grey, and curled up under an afghan, reading The Tenant of Wildfell Hall. After finishing at least 20 pages, she made her way to her bedroom, changed into her pajamas, and put herself to bed at roughly 9:30 p.m.

            Now, loyal reader, we have returned to the true beginning of the story. It was a Monday morning, one that turned out to be much better than your average Monday. Helen’s story begins here, because as her alarm rang that morning at 5:45 a.m., it interrupted the most vivid dream of Helen’s life. She awoke with a start, and was confused by her dream’s contents. It was so strange, that she decided to write them down. She found a journal on the bookshelf in her room, one of many gifts from family and colleagues that she had never had use for.

 Dream—April 26^th

Was 24 years old again. Was at parents’ house, visiting, when a car drove up. Nathan (from high school?) got out. Was excited about seeing him, and ran down the front steps. He lifted me up and twirled me around. We kissed(?) and hugged. We went inside and talked with my parents about Nathan working for the Navy (I think I remember Mother mentioning he was military). He stated he had gotten a permanent position working for the base in Norfolk. I was excited (apparently he had been stationed on the Pacific side before, though I don’t know how I knew that). He turned and said that now “everything was perfect”. He then knelt down and proposed, right there in the living room. I said yes (?) and we kissed and hugged again. As we were hugging my parents, alarm woke me up.

Helen laid the journal on her night stand, and began her morning routine, as usual. But on this morning, her mind was fully focused on what had happened during her dream.

 

Day 9: What the Cuss?

WARNING: This post may have curse words. Obviously. It's a post about cursing.

If you've met me in a professional/semi-professional setting, you probably know me as loud but genuinely well-meaning. I'm talkative, for sure, but I try to be polite.

However, one I know the "coast is clear" (in a manner of speaking), I have the mouth of a sailor and the humor of a 16-year-old boy. Usually, if I feel my audience is more conservative, I curb my tongue and word choice.

Cursing (or as we in the South more often refer to as "cussing") has always intrigued me. When I was 10 and worked on my dad's turtle pond [I'll explain later], we girls started a "Cuss Club". Seriously--that's what we called it. Basically, it was an agreement that whenever we were to side speaking to ourselves, we could say whatever we wanted word-wise, and no one would go and tell one of the bosses. This was less of a deal for some of the other girls, who were in their mid-teens and so my dad and uncle didn't care. For me and my sister, this meant we could say those words we were prohibited from saying at home, and the others wouldn't tell our dad. Thinking back, it's dumb in a way. But another part of me is kind of proud, giving myself the place to experiment with word usage without fear of retribution and learning how to code switch at an easy age.

I really shouldn't have been too worried though about much judgement. In 1998, my cousin Ethan introduced my sister and I to South Park. I can still remember the first episode I watched--"Mr. Hanky the Christmas Poo". I have a vivid memory of being in my aunt and uncle's driveway on New Year's Eve in the back of someone's truck, singing "Kyle's Mom is a Stupid Bitch". Soon after, we introduced South Park to my dad, the same guy who gave me the sense of humor of a 16 year old boy. We didn't get Comedy Central at the house at home, but my uncle's trailer at the pond did. So on Monday nights when my mom went bowling, my dad would take us three kids to the trailer and do work in the shed, taking a break when SP came on. (We also watched WWF and WCW with my dad. Thinking back, it's strange to think I at one time liked wrestling.) For the most part, it was fine, but I do remember when we realized the repercussions of my little brother, 3 or 4 then, repeated Officer Barbrady after he said in the Barbra Streisand episode, "What a bitch!"

When I got to be in junior high, I definitely continued with code-switching and using curse words. I started to use the word "crap" around my parents,something I wasn't allowed to say before. Cody, ever the goody-two-shoes at that age, would gasp when he heard me and tell me I wasn't supposed to say that. I responded snarkily with, "You get a license to crap at 13." My attitude wasn't overlooked though; people apparently reported to my sister how I was talking. I remember her asking me what I was trying to prove.

That's the question that often comes up when people are arguing against curse words: what are you gaining by using these words? While I feel that there is an appropriate time and place for such language, I see no problem in using it, obviously. It's an expression of self that some have wrongly stigmatized.
Now, let me make this clear--I don't go throwing around God's name with all this. Some curse words are still off limits in my book.

I'm going to end this post with my favorite phrases to use in those professional situations as substitutes for curse words:

• fartknocker
• shootamonkey (said really fast)

Feel free to use them as well.

Day 8: You Don't Sound Like It...

Back in November (and once again in the last week of the year), I listened to Terry Gross's interview with Keegan Michael Key and Jordan Peele. While touching on his experience growing up not really knowing his dad, he delved into how his voice has influenced his work:

"...the world has wanted me to speak differently than I speak. You know, I speak like my mom; I speak like, you know, like the whitest white dude; I speak like a Def Comedy Jam comedian doing an impression of a white guy. (laughter) That's how I've, you know, sort of grown up. And I even remember, you know, when I was a kid that, you know, there was a, you know, every now and then you'd come upon somebody who would sort of question how I spoke, whether or not, you know, I was trying to be something I wasn't. It cannot be a coincidence that I decided to go into this career where my whole purpose is sort of altering the way I speak and experiencing these different characters, and I think maybe sort of proving in my soul that the way someone speaks has, you know, nothing to do with who they are. People have, you know, everybody has different accents, everyone has different affectations, everyone is still human." (Here's the link to the whole interview.) 

It was a part of the interview that struck home for me.

When I introduce myself to people, I get asked about my Louisiana and Mississippi roots. Such questions like, "Is that where you grew up?", "Where's your family from?", "Where were you originally from?", and the like. Very similar to questions that minorities often get, based on their race [Disclaimer: not claiming to understand the minority experience, just drawing a correlation].
I get these questions usually after I have spoken for at least a few sentences. And I have a rehearsed little speech, depending on which tier of question it is. How I read a lot as a child, watched a fair amount of TV, didn't have a tee-ton of friends.

This is so very practiced, because I know exactly why I get asked this--because I don't sound like what people expect a Cajun or Bible Belt import to sound like. And I don't sound like a hybrid of the two cultures either. Sure, I elongate my e's and i's when talking quickly, and less often I have a more Louisiana inflection to my words, but mostly? Pretty neutral.

And while that says we expect the population from specific regions of the U.S. to sound like the extremes, it also makes me question my identity, and who I can claim. If others don't see me as part of a certain culture because of my voice, can I say I am part of that culture fully?

Yes and no. Obviously, I consider myself part of these two cultures, as I was an active participant in both of them. But I also can say no. I purposely say words certain ways, to distance myself. A big one for me growing up was saying the word "bayou" as "by-you" (the more generally accepted pronunciation) rather than the same way my peers did, as "by-o". I only used the latter pronunciation when specifically referring to a school in Clarksdale called Bayou Academy. (Had to, otherwise I would have gotten corrected every time) 

It's strange. I adapted to speak a more neutral American accent to fit in with the population at large, but by doing so ostracized myself from those around me. I generalized my own identity.

Now, I think I speak more neutral than my family, but not ridiculously so. My brother, who lived in LA only 9 months before we moved to MS, chooses a word set more native to MS. My sister's word choice is influenced by her 7 years in Alabama. My mother speaks more LA than Cajun, as she's from the outskirts of Baton Rouge, but she still sounds Southern. My dad doesn't sound Cajun to me, much less so than his older brother Junior, who has lived outside LA the same amount of time as my dad but still has a clear Cajun inflection.

Speaking of my dad, when I was with the family at Christmas time, he got a business call. And his voice changed. It became more curt and jilted, more like someone who learned English as a second language. This is probably mostly to him adapting to his clientele's vocal patterns (most are Asian), but it was interesting to hear him code switch so quickly.

Last thought--my internal head voice is so much better than the one y'all hear, and I wish I could show you guys.

Day 7: Do You Wanna Build a Snowman? A Review of Disney's Frozen

Last night, I finally saw Disney's Frozen. Yes, I do realize with the current polar vortex, that my movie choice was quite appropriate. Whatever. I had to wait for the boy to get back from LA before I went and saw it; we wanted to see it together :3

My opinion? Splendid.

To be honest, I was worried when I first saw the trailer. I knew at the time that Idina was going to be in it, about I was excited. However, the trailer? Well, it highlighted the goofier side more. It was all I was hoping it wouldn't be. It looked like Tangled: Now with Ice! I knew enough about the movie to know that Elsa and Anna were sisters, and that intrigued me. And knowing the source material that inspired the movie (which, in case you didn't know, is Hans Christian Andersen's "The Snow Queen"), I wanted to know more how that translated into this adaptation.

What won me over in the end to go see it was the clip of Idina as Elsa, singing "Let It Go". It reminded me of Wicked's powerful "Defying Gravity" in so many ways--theme, style, actual singer (haha). I also remembered that I hadn't like the idea of Tangled at first, mainly because i was sad at the move to more CGI and the "boyification" to make it more marketable. Oh, and because Kristin Chenoweth was no longer in the movie. But after I saw Tangled one night when babysitting Annie? Well, I went to Wal-Mart, bought the damn thing for myself, and brought it to Brett's apartment. I then insisted he see it then. (It's kind of a thing with us--watching the new Disney films together.) And we watched it then--him for the first time, me for the second in a six hour span.

So, Frozen was pretty damn awesome. It did have some of the slapstick that the trailed had focused on, but the movie spread it out more, didn't overload it (like another movie company.... *coughcough* Dreamworks *coughcough*). The music is wonderfully done, set up more like a Broadway show than a movie. Which makes sense, since Robert Lopez, one of the musics writers, has primarily worked on Broadway before this. The score, by Christophe Beck, is splendid.

And while Elsa is awesome in her own way, I really identified with Anna, in a lot of ways. After the movie, I mentioned this to Brett, and he agreed that her mannerisms and way of speaking correlated with my own. There's also the younger sister aspect that I totally get.

Which brings me to the main reason I loved it--yes, there's funny bits, and there's romance, but it's really a story about sisters, about familial connections. I'm glad that Disney is going in that direction of relationships in general, not focusing on just the love connections, you know?

The only issue I had with it is that for the soundtrack, they had Demi Lovato do the pop cover. It's alright, I guess. I just am confused, when you have one of the greatest Broadway stars of the last 20 years on your casting roll and who sings the original movie version, why don't you just have her do a pop cover, and be done with it? It's just strange and kind of ridiculous.

All around, good movie to check out, and I highly recommend it.  Go see it if you haven't.

Day 6: Riding the Rollercoaster--My Weight-Loss Journey (Pt. 2)

[If you haven't read Pt. 1, there you go, hyperlinked and everything.]

So, after getting back to about my high school graduation weight, I wanted to keep losing. And once Fall '09 rolled around, I was fairly good about losing steadily, just by not being a complete bum and watching my food intake.Well, as much as I could with a Taco Bell open late on campus within a 5 minute walking distance. And it continued into the following spring and summer. That summer was really crazy. I was eating sandwiches from home a lot, working out at least 3 days a week. I got down to about 170 at the beginning of my senior undergrad year. It stagnated that fall, but spring rolled around, and I managed to get to 160 by graduation, a loss that was kickstarted by my first attempt at actually counting the calories going into my body and the calories I was burning.

During all this time, it was a struggle. As I talked about before, I never really knew portion control. So when I started counting my calories for the first time, and saw how much I was really eating? Well, I felt embarrassed at the number. But the inverse became true as well--when I tried to eat within my budgeted amount, I felt like I was starving myself. I had to learn how deal with hunger pains. To not eat every time I felt the slightest but hungry. After being raised in a household where my parents had taught me to clean my plate, it was hard stopping.

But somehow, I managed to do it. And I felt awesome. Brett had been weight training with me (I did both cardio and weights during my workouts), so he had gained muscle mass, which had put him above 150. It felt great being within ten pounds of someone who was always so skinny. Disclaimer: I know that our respective ideal weights will be different, and that at 160, I still had a long way to go, but the small amount between us at that moment? Well, I would be lying if I didn't say that I didn't feel splendid.

Then grad school started.

To say that grad school derailed me off the tracks would me a major understatement. I was worried about not screwing up these kids, worried about my assignments for classes, worried about work, stressed to the max by my action research project, missing my boy like whoa [long-distance relationships suck, btw], and dealing with less than ideal living situations (let’s just say that we all were bad roommates to each other, and leave it at that). The only thing that would calm me down was a good Skype conversation with Brett, babysitting my favorite little girls, hanging out and not talking about school, and eating a nice, pre-made meal.
I ate a lot of take-out over those 12 months—some choices were better than others, but most were bad. The worst choice was hardly working out at all.

After graduating and moving to VA, I finally was able to stop and weight myself. I tipped in at 180 again.
While I have managed to lose the grad school weight, it’s still a major struggle. I do well, give my leniency, and then I’ll go up, feel bad, and go up, and down….you get the point.

I’m still on this crazy ride that is losing weight, because I want to look at myself in the mirror, and not make excuse for what I see. To feel comfortable in clothes that are more snug on my body. To match the me I see in my head. To like the physical as much as I like the person inside.

Day 5: The Scales of Self-Esteem--My Weight Loss Journey (Part 1)

Just finished my work-out, so I figure that I can talk about that. My weight-loss journey, that is.

Let’s start off this post with a fun fact: I actually was my mother’s smallest baby, weighing in at 6 lb. and some odd ounces. This was mostly due to her having pneumonia less than a month before I was born. So I didn’t stay small for long—she still says I was her butterball, because I plumped up quick. Though like most toddlers, I lost some baby fat. From about age 5 to age 8, I was a normal size. Probably between 8 and 9 was when I really just outgrew my peers weight-wise. I remember in 5^th grade (so about 11 years old) a classmate of mine was messing around, and pushed on the top of my desk. Normally, that makes it where the desk set goes up in the air. Since I was larger, it took more force. I still remember her response: “What do you weight, like 100 lbs?” And I know she didn’t mean to, but it hurt, mainly because I was 100 lbs. By the beginning of 7^th grade, I was about 120 lbs.

I continued to gain weight as I grew older, mainly because I didn’t know portion control. When we went to McDonald’s, I was getting adult meals as young as 10 years old. I often ate multiple servings at meals. I drank Coke and soda pretty much every day. So it’s no surprise that I was pushing 185, 190 when I graduated high school.

My weight was a big factor on my self-esteem, especially in high school. I played sports and would constantly here my teammates saying, “I’m so fat, ugh”, as they looked in the mirror at their 130 lbs bodies. On one of my more snarky days, I remember that a girl said she was as big as a planet, when she was clearly not. I muttered, “If you’re a planet, I’m a universe.” Part of me was jealous, but another part of me was glad I wasn’t deluded about my size. I knew I was overweight—I just wasn’t sure if I could ever do anything about it.

Flash forward to first semester of sophomore year in college. I’d been dating Brett for a while, so he knew about my self-esteem issues and tried to help motivate me. It wasn’t that effective, to be blunt. By January of 2009 as I went off to England for a semester abroad, I was about 215. But there, something clicked. I was homesick, it was cold, I didn’t like the way I looked…so, I started just dancing around my room in the flat. Not even like Zumba dancing, just moving to music for some time. And because of money, I wasn’t eating a huge amount, and some days, when I didn’t leave my room, I just didn’t get as hungry. So I lost 20 lbs by the beginning of May.

So, tomorrow, I’ll continue with part two of my weight-loss journey. And it’s definitely filled with ups and downs, I guarantee you that.