Slap on the Wrist

It seems like all of a sudden people have completely changed-- they go on a vacation for a month and they come back a different person. Suddenly, you find that they've been back for weeks, yet they haven't called. You reach out to them and all they have in return is snark and curt answers. What happened, is this what growing up is- watching people disappear, waiting for them, and then realizing they've come back a different person? What if I haven't changed with them, what if I'm not the one taking vacations and coming back with something more than a tan? I'm exactly the same and I can't keep up with everyone around me. All too quickly I've gone from feeling overwhelmed by the mass of people around me, to falling victim to the terror of true solitude. For the first time in my life I realize how horribly lonely the world can be.

I was lying in bed the other night, my head plagued by clutter which made it impossible for me to fall asleep until the wee hours of the morning, and I began thinking about the difference between needing and loving someone. I've been in my fair share of romantic flops, none of which made me see hearts and spew the 'L' word, but I do know the feeling of needing someone. I've frequently walked away from relationships because of my own emotional challenges, thinking that I would be better off without them, but then as soon as I walk away I can't help but feel the strong urge to rekindle what we had. It's like all of a sudden this desperation takes hold of me and I want, no, need the same person I cast aside moments before. Suddenly I'm criticizing myself for my inability to handle a relationship in a mature manner and I find myself dredging up the same question that I've been pondering for years: is needing someone synonymous with loving them, or are you just unable to let them go because you want what you opted not have?

        Much too frequently I (along with, I'm sure, thousands others) feel the sensation of being trapped. Trapped by expectations from society, my parents, my peers. Trapped emotionally by my inadequacy in relationships, both romantic and cordial. It's not that I think that the world is an evil place filled with death and destruction although isn't it, in a way? It's more that I don't know who I am and I'm left scrambling in the dark, groping for any sort of identity I can hold on to. Part of me likes this chameleon approach I have towards who I am; I don't feel constrained to one specific personality or look. Another part of me is curled up breathing into a paper bag because I just want to have some sort of game plan; I like being in control but it is impossible to be in control when I have no idea what it is I am trying to control. This sensation of being completely encompassed by self-doubt, insecurities, and a dwindling sense of who I am scares me. I'm afraid that one day I'll wake up and I'll be exactly where I am now: emotionally immature, close-minded, and forever searching for people who will never live up to my standards. I'm wondering if I am as completely insane as I oft feel-- am I destined to be some social nomad, a leper to the rest of society? It isn't uncommon for someone of my age to feel a bit lost, I'm educated and logical enough to understand that much. My anxiety stems from the fact that I see most of my peers taking on some sort of identity, genuine or faux, for the time being. Similar to a fashion trend, they know they like denim so they slip on those skinny jeans for now-- perhaps they will be distressed in two years, or shorts a year after that but they know they are denim. I'm a corduroy blazer with a mustard stain on the sleeve one day and then an evening gown the next. 
         So tell me from your own experience do you ever feel the sense of panic wear off? Will I ever had a strong sense of who I am or will I only learn to adapt to my surroundings? Food for thought.

           Happy (belated) Independence Day to all my fellow Americans. Hopefully you didn't eat too many ice cream cones and hot dogs and I definitely hope no one blew of any limbs with fireworks. For those of you that did indulge, you probably hit the gym hard today (or a few times.) Speaking of the gym. . .  *dundunduuuunnn*.
         I understand that very frequently there are attractive people at the gym. Often I see a sweaty, toned man with a chiseled jawline a la Jude Law, and I feel my heart skip a beat, oh wait, that's just because I'm on the elliptical and I'm wheezing. Personally, I hate when this happens. No, not my erratic heartbeat, the gorgeous guy! For me, the gym isn't the place to get your flirt on and I think that while there may be something alluring about a sweaty man, there isn't anything appealing about a greasy girl.
        I know plenty of people who would seize the opportunity. They would push their boobs together (they only wear padded push-up bras to the gym,) pull down their tanks, smooth their hair, and check to make sure they don't have raccoon eyes. Well, that's great for them but unfortunately for some of us that's just not how the situation pans out.
       I would gladly push together my boobs, trying to amp up a little cleavage, but I have a half crescent of sweat below each and my stretched out sports bra isn't doing much to help the situation. Perhaps I could pull down my t-shirt but what would the point be-- it's stained, drenched in sweat, and two sizes too big. It would be wonderful if I could simply smooth back my hair but my only option would be to slick it back because I tend to sweat profusely around my hairline. On the upside, I don't need to worry about raccoon eyes because I don't have any eye makeup on! (I know that if you asked anyone who knew me they would tell you how I am a die hard supporter of ALWAYS wearing at least a little makeup; Guys like girls who look their best. I'm not advocating blue eyeshadow and red lipstick from the moment you rise until the moment you fall asleep, but I am saying that putting on some tinted moisturizer, concealer, and mascara wouldn't kill you. My one exception for this is going to the gym. Mascara and tinted moisturizer is a good idea, very safe. Personally I don't like sweating with any sort of face makeup on-- it makes me feel like I'm going to breakout. If I have a blemish though, I will cover that bad boy up. No one likes a pepperoni-face.) Overall my look is not pretty and I'm in no shape to get my flirt on.
        So here it is, the question of the decade: Is it a good idea to try to pick someone up at the gym? I say hell no. Personally, I don't want anyone (hot or not) talking to me while I'm sweating my ass off because I'm attempting to lose those last five pounds. It's like they've walked in on some dirty secret of mine. I'm at the gym, trying to lose weight. I want to get a killer bod so that I look hot. That way, when I meet you while I'm wearing makeup and real clothes you're attracted to me! They've skipped ten paces ahead because they've seen me at my most disgusting-- maybe I can talk about my cramps and bloating while I'm at it. If I wanted to be hit on, I wouldn't bother going to the gym. Maybe I would just not eat (yeah, that's right) and go somewhere else... with makeup and sans sweat stained tee.

Finishing thought: For those of you who are what I described in my second paragraph. . . SCREW YOU. You're the reason guys expect us to look hot all the time.

    Binge eating. We've all participated in it, some more frequently than others, but why? I know for everyone it's different; for some shoving oreos down their throats is the only way to squelch their anxiety. Word to the hungry: Do not attempt to suppress feelings with food and here's why.

    1.) First and most importantly, it will not work. You may finish off that entire row of fig newtons and you will still feel just as empty as you did pre-newton coma.

    2.) You will feel worse after than you did before. Think about it-- you're feeling insecure, you're unhappy, and all of a sudden you realize you've just ingested a few hundred unwanted calories. You start thinking about how many hours you'll have to run at the gym, how many cycling classes you'll have to suffer through and realize that even after all that, you'll only be able to drink water and a glass of milk for the next three weeks. All of a sudden you've got thighs on the mind. Thighs that aren't even welcomed in your "fat jeans". . . how exactly is that making you feel any better about yourself?

    3.) It will become a habit and that habit will result in a lifestyle change. Ever heard of that little problem I like to call obesity? DON'T DO IT! PUT DOWN THOSE COOKIES! THAT ICE CREAM! THOSE MARSHMALLOWS! IF THEY'RE IN YOUR MOUTH RIGHT NOW, SPIT 'EM OUT! You're not making anything better, you're only making it worse. What if all of a sudden every little bump in the road turns into an excuse to polish of some Häagen-Dazs?! THERE IS NO EXCUSE FOR BINGE EATING (except birthdays and major holidays because that isn't I-Hate-Myself binge eating... that's happy gluten.)

    At the end of the day I'm not a nutritionist, I'm not suggesting that  you never indulge or that you count calories religiously, nor do I actually care what you ingest because it's your body not mine. But I would like for that fat Americans reputation to dissipate (honestly, I think a lot of Europeans are just as bad. Just because you're fat from delicious food doesn't mean that your fat is any better than our fat... oh wait, yes it does.) Deal with your anxiety another way because I'm sick and tired of hearing about how so-and-so "just ate a jar of peanut butter lol."

     I like to think that manners will make up for any superficial social short-coming. In other words that zit on your forehead that you picked at last night, your 'S's that sound more like 'TH's, and your sweaty hands could perhaps be overlooked if you're pleasant and polite. Unfortunately, it appears that as people get less attractive, larger, and sloppier, they don't get more polite; what happened to common courtesy?

     While at my local market, I noticed a woman with a cart piled high with groceries. The isle was narrow and I moved closer to the shelves that I was perusing in order to give her more passing space. There was ample space, she could have easily avoided me by slipping down another isle OR she could have slid past me. Once again, ample space. Of course, being the bitch magnet that I am, I heard an exasperated sigh as she came screeching to a halt, Excuse me *dagger eyes*. Apparently my previous adjustment wasn't adequate for her (perhaps she drives a Hummer and thinks she's much bigger than she is) so I apologized and stepped out of the isle so that she could pass. I waited with a hopeful look on my face, half expecting her to give me a sheepish look and scurry by while making some comment about how her cart was too big and she was too small, but it never came. Suddenly I felt so naive to expect any sort of thanks. Now wait just a second; you're not toting around three children under the age of five, you aren't pregnant, you aren't with your ill mother, and you sure as hell don't have any sort of visible, physical disability-- Why do you think it's okay to be such a bitch?

     A word of advice to all of those out there who think that you're entitled to some sort of unwritten "privilege" of not having to say 'please' and 'thank you.' You're not. It doesn't make you cool to purse your lips and shoot dagger eyes every which way. No matter how much of a nasty wench you are, you must remember that there is no reason for you to behavior like some crude, crass, cave-being. Don't worry, next time someone asks me to move I'll just beat my chest. Me no move now, bitch.


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     I've often been pinned as callous, incoherent, and condescending. I'm not going to waste your time and explain whether or not I agree and I definitely won't attempt to debunk my prickly reputation, but I will offer brief insight. I've always had strong opinions, but I spent years keeping my mouth shut for fear of a social "slap on the wrist." Now I'm old enough to realize that being a people-pleaser will get you no-where in life. I am no longer a people-pleaser, a wallflower, or a (social) pacifist- no, I'm not running around flipping off the masses, leading rallies against corporate America and burning my bra- I've found my voice. Maybe this is a headache for you but for me it means a chance to try to apprehend trivial matters that plague most people's lives (que dramatic music now, Rob Pattinson enter stage left while holding leather journal...zZzzZzz.)
You don't have to agree with me, in fact I would prefer if you didn't, but if I make you think about something you might not have thought about otherwise, I'll be satisfied. If I can offer you an escape from your day by divulging an embarrassing story or an incoherent rant, I'll be ecstatic.
Bottom line: you'll be entertained by my illogical reasoning, my bizarre antics, and my bouts of complete insanity. My mental instability will make you feel so much better about yourself. I promise.