A Perfect Body

I've got a perfect body, but sometimes I forget
I've got a perfect body, cause my eyelashes catch my sweat
- Regina Spektor

I've been having a hard time with my body lately. I've been trying to lose about 10lbs ever since the holidays, and I haven't been having much luck. Technically, I've already lost these 10lbs about 3 times in as many years, which makes their repeated return even more frustrating. In any case, losing them again has been difficult because the cold weather has destroyed my willingness to leave the house for exercise, and also I have a moral obligation to eat all of the chocolate in North Carolina.

I blame my dissatisfaction with my body on the fact that it's currently 10lbs larger than my arbitrary ideal, but in fact wasn't happy with my body even at my thinnest. My "thinnest" wasn't particularly slim, of course, but it was a perfectly average, acceptable weight, and probably fully 20lbs less than what I weigh now. But at the time I lamented my full hips, my thick thighs, and strong calves. I wasn't petite and top-heavy, and I considered it a serious injustice. (This was in high school, when most things were injustices.) When I look at photos from that time, I want to slap that girl. At this point in my life I don't even aspire to be that thin again, because I think it would be too difficult to maintain. That was probably a major high point in my physical history, and I wasted it. I should have been enjoying myself! I should have worn a bikini everywhere! I should have been taking nude photos every day and showing them to strangers!

Obviously, the irony is that a woman in her mid-30s, or 40s, or 50s, or anyone whose just had her first child, or really any number of people, could look at me now and think how ridiculous it is for a childless woman in her late-20s with a perfectly average body type to be lamenting "the good old days." They have a point. Sometimes when I'm standing in front of a mirror, scrutinizing the line between my eyebrows that comes from constantly judging stupid people, I try to imagine what I'll look like when I'm 80, and remind myself that some day I'll look back fondly on the time when I only had one slight wrinkle.

I also try to remind myself to stop making this face so much.

Likewise, I recently read a piece that was written by a gorgeous woman who had suffered a medical event that left her face substantially changed. She's beautiful in a different way now, but were I in her position I assume there would be days when I would miss the way I once looked, or the ways I used to express myself with my face. (Yes, even that hateful expression up there is something for which to be thankful.) It seems silly to nitpick over superficial things like acne and laugh lines when could suddenly find yourself faced with a much more deeply frustrating situation. And barring a medical catastrophe, that's what happens gradually as we age, anyway.

It's not just a matter of how much worse it could be. It's true that I could weigh 400lbs, or be 80 years old, or have a debilitating disease. It's also true that, regardless of your point of comparison, I have so much to be thankful for and excited about. Yesterday, I ran outside for the first time since early January. I always feel beautiful after I've been running. Not "pretty," not even necessarily "attractive," given that my face is usually beet-red, my hair sweat-soaked and in disarray, and my scent decidedly rustic. Nevertheless, I feel beautiful. The ache in my legs reminds me of their strength, and the rhythm of my lungs and heart are evidence of my vim and vigor, I suppose.

It's good to remember that I can run. I can jump. I can eat spicy food and chew gum. I can wear mascara, and put my hair in a pony tail. I can stand on my tiptoes and reach objects on high shelves. I can crochet, and paint bookshelves. There's a lot of joy to be had with almost any body, if we really look at what we've got and stop comparing it to some past or future ideal self.

Well, would you look at that. I've talked myself into a state of inspiration. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go put on a bikini and run through town. Locals, you have 20 minutes to don your sunglasses.

Dead Ends: Unitarians, Coffee, and Lady Issues

I was going to write today about my thoughts on the Unitarian Church, but I basically already explained it all in an IM conversation with a friend of mine, and he put it on his blog before I could. So just go here if you want to know what I think about that. (In the first part, I'm telling him he should go to church more often or there will be negative spiritual consequences. The second part is my recounting of how my friend had to tell her very conservative parents that she visited a Unitarian chuch one Sunday. And the third part is the important one, about my primary problem with Unitarians.)

Ok, so that's covered. I was also going to tell you about how I discovered caffeine this morning, but then I said it on twitter so that's already been covered, too. Basically, it went like this:

Oh man I don't feel like doing this stuff I'm supposed to be doing. I think I'll have some coffee while I mull it over.
*Prepare cup of coffee, drink cup of coffee.*
You know, work doesn't sound so bad after all! Let's do this! Who wants a hug?!?
......
Hm. Self, have you ever noticed how much happier and more enthusiastic we feel after having a cup of coffee? I wonder why that is? Oh... wait... I see. 'Caffeine,' you say?

In conclusion, I'm basically a scientific genius, it's just that I should have been born thousands of years ago.

But my discovery of caffeine reminded me of something else, which is lady-related, and not in a sexy way, which is why maybe any men reading this should just move on before they get bored.

......

Ok, are they gone? I don't want any of them to hear me confess this and then hold it against the entire Lady Nation when the time comes for one of us to be Commanderess in Chief. I have maintained silence about this issue for a very long time, but I ultimately decided that it's worth the risk of talking about it if I can save just one other young woman from the many years of ignorance and confusion that I endured. So here we go.

I am a sensitive soul. Sometimes I have days when I feel particularly emotional and I cry at the drop of a hat. Other times I have days when everything pisses me off and I want to punch all people in the face, with extreme prejudice. And there are still other days when I feel both ways at once, weeping inconsolably as I beat the everloving hell out of anyone who happens to cross me. It's understandable, it's completely natural, it could happen to anyone. It seemed reasonable to assume that, at these times, the world was out to get me.

Except for that while I was in college, I began to have an interesting experience, which repeated itself with a peculiar regularity. It happened, oh I don't know, about every 4 weeks or so. Perhaps you see where I'm going with this. The experience went a little like this:

ARGH! I hate everyone! That person is being a jerk! And so is that one! To hell with you all! Why is everyone always picking on me? Have I become Charlie Brown over night? I just want to... to... CRYYYYYYYYY oh no my life is terrible. I'm terrible. Everything is terrible! No one loves me! Don't say you love me, because you clearly do not! Also, when did I gain all this weight? Why don't my pants fit properly? You know what would fix all of this? Some motherloving CHOCOLATE, that's what. Let's make that happen. Now!

All of this would occur before 9 or 10 am, at which point I would look at the calendar and think:

On top of everything else, today is a Monday! Of course it's a Monday! It's only fitting that I'd have the WORST DAY OF MY ENTIRE LIFE (which is today) on a fricking Monday gosh I hate Monday. You know, I think the last time I felt this way was a Monday, too. Just like a Monday to treat me this way... And now look! As if that wasn't enough, about 10 days from now I have to... to start...

my period. Oh.

That's right everybody, it was PMS. It took me 4 years (that's almost 50 instances of PMS) to figure out what you all probably figured out 4 paragraphs ago. Perhaps it took me so long to accept it because I always thought I was far too intelligent and rational to be vulnerable to the effects of mere biology. But alas, it turns out that apparently all those stereotypes about what happens to a woman under the influence of estrogen withdrawal are taken directly from my life. So if you're a high-functioning woman in a position of power who can't be taken seriously because her 'emotions are tied to the cycles of the moon' or whatever, I sincerely apologize for that. I did not know that my bonkers mental states were going to be taken out of context and applied to other perfectly rational women.

I guess in a way it's comforting because now I know that when I start feeling crazy, it's probably just my endocrine system - nothing to see here, move along now. But it's still a little alarming to think that that's all it takes to TOTALLY RUIN MY DAY. The only thing scarier than what my PMS experience is doing to me currently (and women's rights, again, sorry about that) is what it will eventually do to me and my hypothetical husband if/when I ever get married, if/when I ever have babies. Oh sweet deity, spare me now.

Consider This Fair Warning, Friends and Family

I'm sure that what I'm about to share goes without saying, but that's never stopped me before, so here you are:

I'm pretty sure that if/when I get married, I will cry the ENTIRE TIME. I used to think that I was stronger than that, but the more I reflect on my personality and the nature of weddings in general (due to wedding-themed programming on Style and We), the more convinced I become that it's inevitable. I'll cry all the way down the aisle, throughout the vows, and the whole way out of the church. I'll sob through toasts, weep while dancing, and blow my nose all over the cake. Instead of wearing a veil, I'll have a splash guard installed around my head. My bouquet will be made of Kleenex. Rather than getting my makeup done, I'll just have my face sprayed down in some sort of waterproof coating. What do you call that stuff they use to protect decks and porches?

I'm sure that these will seem like unorthodox choices to some, but if I've learned anything from multiple viewings of Bridezillas, it's that my wedding day will be MY DAY!!, which means that EVERYTHING MUST BE THE WAY I WANT IT!!

(Was that scary enough? I figure it's never too soon to start practicing for my Mandatory Wedding-Related Mental Unhinging.)

Self-Improvement Update

I meditated last night and this morning, but rather than feeling an increased fondness for my fellow man, I have already been mildly annoyed by no less than 3 separate people today. In fact, I'd even go so far as to say that perhaps I'm more irritable than usual.

But maybe that's just because it takes a little while to start seeing an effect. I can't remember how long I did it last time before it started making a big difference. Or maybe I'm not more cranky, I'm just more attuned to my emotions today! Yeah, that must be it.

It's either that, or the sudden drop in lady hormones. I'll get back to you next week.

Paraphrased, But You Get The Idea

Here's what my life has been like this week...

Me: *Grumble grumble, bitch, moan, hateful harpy, argh.*
Lee: So... it's getting to be that time of the month, huh?

And all I can do is hang my head, because he's totally right. It's things like this that make my inner feminist want to punch me in the face.

I'm Trying to Think of a Polite Way to Put This

Dear High School Version of Me,

I know that right now there are some people (mostly girls) that you maybe dislike a little. It's ok. This has been the way of high school girls since time immemorial, ever since some teen cavegirls became cheerleaders while other teen cavegirls played in the marching band. I just want you to know that you're right to think that your dislike of these people is silly. Don't waste your time on it. There are two reasons for this: for one, most of those girls are actually pretty nice people, even though you all have nothing in common. And for another, someday someone will create a thing called facebook, and many years after high school it will show you that... umm... things change. Just trust me.

Love,
Your Future Self

P.S. To My Present Self: Come to think of it, you'll probably find this to be true about people who went to college with you, also. Just something to think about.

Unrelated Facts

This afternoon I started my return journey from Little Rock, Arkansas back to North Carolina. I've just arrived in Charlotte, and I'm waiting for my next flight, which will take me to Greensboro. (If you're from NC, you'll know how ridiculous this is, being a flight that lasts only 40 minutes.)

Next week, I'll be experiencing that glorious time that comes every month to remind me that as a woman I am bestowed with unique and invaluable gifts, chief among them the ability to create and sustain life.

Right now, I would like to buy a pound of fudge at the shop across from my gate, blow this place sky-high, and walk away in a hail of fire (and also eating fudge).

I don't think any of these things are related, but who can say for sure?

Marrying Up

Some people hope to marry into money, or power, or infamy.

All I want is to marry someone that will do my damn dishes.

I'm a decent cook, so I'm pretty confident that something can be arranged.

I May Be Exactly What's Wrong With America

Regardless of your political affiliations or your opinions about Sarah Palin (and good gracious, don't get me started on either one), I think we can all agree on one thing:

We'd really like to see Mrs. Palin's head from behind.

Because, seriously, what's happening back there? What kinds of pins and scrunchies and hair apparatuses is she using to achieve that mound of hair on top of her head? I'm not necessarily going to say that I find the effect unpleasant, it's just that I've never really seen anything like it before. (In real life, I mean. I have seen it on a cartoon character .) I just can't figure out what she's doing, and it makes me feel the same way I feel when I see a really sophisticated magic trick that I can't figure out. Did I just call Sarah Palin's hairstyle sophisticated? I don't think that's what I meant. Anyway. In conclusion, Sarah Palin, I beg of you: allow your head to be photographed from behind. I'm losing sleep trying to figure out what is going on with your hair.

By the way, what's all this talk about sexism in politics?