183

SO my mouth works again, which is awesome. I'm also down to 183, which is pretty great.

My work is doing a "The Biggest Loser" competition. Part of me wants to do it. Part of me doesn't want to spend 20 bucks to have everyone at work know how much I weigh... Part of me also fears that if placed in a competition to lose weight that I will develop disordered eating. I just have that kind of personality and I'm not sure I want to test this theory... I'm also real sure that I don't want to tell people at work my that's my reason for not wanting to participate.

In other news, my ex has decided to contact me and be all "why don't you ever talk to me. is it because you still have feelings for me?"

Ugh. I'm going to go clean.

Why We Need Healthcare, and other excuses for me not working out this week.

So I have a tiny baby head.

Let me explain. No, that will take me too long. Let me sum up.

I am an average size (height, anyway) woman. I wear average sized shoes. My ring size is average. Nothing about me, really, would be considered 'delicate'. Except for my head. I am almost 24 and for glasses I shop in the youth section. Also, at the dentist, for the fluoride they put in trays and shove in your mouth and watch you try not to gag and vom for the requisite 2 minutes, I still am given the child size. This should explain why I don't have room for my wisdom teeth.

I should also say right now that while I do still have insurance through my step-mom, and while she does work at a damn hospital, this insurance is terrible. I am very thankful that it mostly paid for the surgery I had to have a year and a half ago, but there's not optical or dental and well, I think I just established that I am 23, have a tiny mouth, and still have wisdom teeth. This is a problem.

A week ago I woke up to find my mouth in a world of hurt. For three days I had pain that made me want to grab a 6-8 month old baby and look into his eyes and say, "I understand" while we shared a teething ring. After those three days my tooth and gums felt mostly fine and the swelling that had previously plagued me has disappeared. Or so I thought until I tried to open my mouth to eat. Between my teeth there was maybe 1/2 inch of clearance. The next 3 days were very interesting.

Do you know how many things you eat on a daily basis require you to open your mouth more than 1/2 inch? If you're an American, I assume just about everything. That's what I found to be true for myself. I stopped working out this week. You try to motivate ourself to do anything but mope and go to work when you can't open your mouth. I did, however, lose 2 pounds. Thanks yogurt and applesauce.

I woke up this morning and could actually yawn, so things are looking way, way up. I celebrated by cleaning the house and eating food you have to chew.

I'm going to get back to working out this week, though. I started on arms tonight. I have a wedding to go to in about 3 weeks, and I picked out my dress tonight. Right after that is when I did my arm workout.

I'm down to 185, which is -2 from my starting weight. I've been hovering really closely to 186-187 no matter what I eat or how much I work out. After my epic workout last weekend I made it to 184, but that only lasted until I ate a solid meal again. I was maintaining at 187 eating pizza about 9 times a week and not working out at all. Any ideas why, now that I've cut calories and started working out, that I'm not seeing a change in the numbers on my scale?

Freshman 15. Post-Grad 47...

I don't remember when I got fat. I have no recollection of how much I weighed when I graduated from high school, and I barely remember what I weighed when I graduated from college. I'm starting to suspect it was a lot more than I thought, because while I thought I was still sitting at that number, people I knew from undergrad have lately been telling me I look like I've lost weight.

Life is a little static right now. I go to work. I work while I'm there. I come home and do pretty much nothing. I am ashamed to say I play both CafeWorld and FarmVille. That's why I'm making a change. Starting last week I am working out. I'm watching what I eat. I am embarking on a journey to better my body while I wait for my next opportunity to formally better my mind.

Here are my stats:

Height: 5 feet, 6 inches

Weight: 187 pounds

Goal Weight: 140 pounds

47 pounds to go. Wish me luck.

Doing My Time

I'm fairly certain that if, at some point in their lives, everyone was required to work in food service, the world would be a better place.

I am a manager in training at a pizza place. On Wednesdays I am the lunch server. One woman vs a 150 max occupancy dining room for a lunch buffet.

Every Wednesday I lose a little more of my faith in humanity. Every time someone sits at a dirty table because they can't be arsed to sit more than 5 feet away from the actual buffet, I roll my eyes. Every time someone leaves me the 3 cents that was their change from paying for their meal, I sigh. Every time a dude winks at me and calls me 'sweetie' I smile, but think about murder.

I know that the economy is in shambles and the world is an uncertain place, but I have this building feeling of resentment. I'm not sure where to focus it, but I am getting pissed that I have a college education and all I'm doing with it is cleaning up after mom groups who ignore their rowdy children while they make a mess of my back room. When they shake a drink at me and demeaningly ask for a refill, I just want to shout "I have a degree! I am an educated woman! Fuck your refill, I make $2.50/hour here to pay off my $30,000 student loan!"

but I don't. I bring them another diet mountain dew and I do it with a smile. $2.50/hour isn't much, but it's better than nothing when you have a mountain of debt looming behind you...

The Age-Old Question...

When we're young, we're often asked, "What do you want to do when you grow up?"

Like many other American children, I was always told I could be anything I wanted to be and as a youngster, I held many ideas about what would occupy the time of Future-Me, as I like to call her. For a while I wanted to be a marine biologist (disregarding my own fears of deep water and disinterest in science), then a vet (see earlier comment on science), then a teacher (even though I never liked children, even as a child) and, of course, a ballerina (I am clumsy and was only called dainty as an infant).

I am 23 years old. I hold a Bachelor of Arts degree in Women's Studies. I have no idea what I want to be when I grow up.

Right now I am visiting one of my best friends from undergrad. He's a second-year graduate student and starting to look for full-time employment at universities here, there, and everywhere. I sat in on a meeting today and really started missing being involved with students, but I'm not sure anymore if I want to dedicate my life to student affairs again. Do I want to spend 2, 4, 6, or 8 more years living in a residence hall and dealing with all of the issues that are bound to happen when you put hundreds of 18-24 year old strangers in a building together? I used to be sure, but now all I know is that I miss being needed. I miss being able to contribute to the creation of something, rather than just cleaning up after other people.

I need to think on this more.

"I'm proud of you"

For the last year I've been feeling rather ho-hum (read: really depressed) about my lot in life. Back in February/March of 2009, my cohort in housing were all offered jobs, either while earning their masters, or bachelors-level, but in the field we all wanted to go into. Except me.

It was a very dramatic time in my life, as I waited to hear back from any school while my friends went on final interviews and school visits. As they were deciding on where, of the multiple places that had offered them jobs, to accept and spend the next 2+ years of their lives, I started getting the rejections. I stopped counting them, but there were enough.

I applied to graduate school on a whim in 2010, deciding that once and for all that I needed to do something about wasting my education on food service. I was rejected. I knew I would be, but it still hurt. Later in the year I decided that if my current bachelors degree was inadequate, then perhaps I should just get another one. This is what I started on Monday.

Its going to take me until 12/11 to get this second degree, if all goes well, grade-wise. I am hoping by the end of BA #2 that I will have a high enough GPA that I can go into graduate school. I will be two full years behind my former cohort. They will have advanced degrees and I will not. Though I am trying to do good by my own future, I'm still feeling low, dumb, and a bit like nothing I do means anything. Or, I did.

Tonight I was talking to a friend I met through student affairs, but who did not attend my undergrad. I feel no need to be better than him, feel no validation in a difference between us. I am ashamed to say that I do with those who went to undergrad with me. I am less than them for not having started a masters yet. I thought everyone felt this way about me, in that way that you think that everything that you do is the norm when you are small, because its all you know.

Tonight, E proved me wrong. I was chatting with him about my homework and he said 4 small words that actually made me cry. "I'm proud of you"

It was like he was validating my very existence. I matter. Someone thinks of me in a positive manner.

I can go on now.

Back in the Saddle Again

I start back to school for my second bachelors degree on Monday. I am nervous and excited. I wonder if being back on campus will give me a sense of calm, of belonging that I have been missing since May 9, 2009. I wonder if I will feel out of place, older than a traditional undergraduate, not old enough to be 'non-traditional". I wonder if I can do it.

The Two Paths Before Me

So I work at a pizza place. It's not the worst job ever, its not the best job ever, its a job. I have risen through the ranks in the 11 months that I have been back (this was my high school job as well as my oh-crap-I-have-student-loans-to-pay job now) as high as one can go without becoming management. My best friends there are the managers. What can I say, I appreciate people who aren't idiots... My best friend is stepping down as a manager. She is changing a lot in her life and is doing things to make her happy and I am stoked for her. I am apparently also slotted to replace her.

I was told today "I really can't think of anyone else who I would trust to step up, but you're going back to school... aren't you?"

Yes, I am going back to school. My first degree got me as far as $7.95/hr and living with my mom. I'm hoping I can do better with the second. And better for me is not managing a pizza restaurant.


Though I am flattered to have been thought of, truthfully. I sometimes wonder if I'm valued for the work that I do and this demonstrates to me that I am.

I have decided on my path for now. Will there be future forks and more decisions down this path? Of course. But for now, I'm set.

Dream a little dream of work.

Its not a new thing for me to dream about my job. The types of dreams this job is producing, though, oh man.

When I was a resident assistant I often dreamt about my staff and handling situations that could and did actually happen. I would dream about going on rounds when I fell asleep at the end of a duty night and of breaking up a fight after hearing about one in another building.

Never did I dream of being a secret revolutionary or possibly the only one who could save our country and my fellow employees from an apocalyptic future.

Last night I had a dream that I was trying to escape from the USA. It started with me rescuing animals and finding people to ferry them to safety. I vividly remember finding a cat with matted hair and scared eyes and begging one of my favorite bosses, Bryan, to please take this cat with him. I know that in real life B is an animal lover, so this makes sense, but to have him in my dream in the first place? Anyway, he saved the cat.

The entire dream was set in an underground parking garage. I know it was near an airport, my final state-side destination. I think I had arrived in a caravan. it, however, was quickly abandoned and while I waited nervously on someone to come and get me to transport me out of this facility I frantically looked though vehicle after abandoned vehicle for things I might need to take with me. They were mostly minivans or jeeps and they were all left open and were in states of serious disrepair, as though they has been there for decades while the world collapsed around them. in one van there were nothing but pillows, in another food. I took with me only packaged food, which I shoved into a paper bag as a van pulled up for me.

The driver was at first a stranger, but as the dream progressed she became someone I knew I could trust. I feel like she may have been a teacher of mine. Who, I'm still not sure. She drove me to a security checkpoint, still underground. I'm not sure if the government was in tact or if this was more of a martial law-type situation because I'm not sure why I was fleeing. Perhaps the government had gone corrupt and I had to escape to being help from our allies. Perhaps there was a zombie apocalypse and our infrastructure was crumbling. I'm not sure. What I am sure of was the sense of urgency and fear I felt. Our checkpoint consisted of pulling up to the side of another minivan with their side door open, guards sitting inside, waiting to see our luggage and papers. I handed over the paper sack I had collected when I noticed the guards outside the minivan. One of them was my friend from work, Cody. He winked at me and that's when I knew that I was the leader of some sort of resistance movement, but that the opposition had yet to figure out who we were. It was then very, very important that no one figure out who I was and that I get through this and be allowed to leave the country. They checked my sack of food and weren't going to let me go any farther because I didn't have any personal items in there. I quickly pulled my phone out of my back pocket and showed them that I was a genuine traveler. It was a very tense moment and when it passed I was given back my paper sack and for some reason I told the guard that I had money in there that was now missing. I was given $15 in small, crumpled bills once Cody backed me up.

We drove away from the checkpoint and I remember feeling incredibly relieved that they never checked my ID. I though clearly about my drivers' license and could even see the stupid purple color that's behind the state name and breathed a sigh of relief, because though my face was not recognizes, I knew that my name would have been and I didn't have time or foresight to change that on an ID. As we drove away my friend and "husband" Andy ran up to my window. I made the driver stop so I could talk to him. He looked like he was really sick or had been beaten or something. He called me wife, like we do at work, and told me that things were really bad here. I grasped his hands though the rolled down window and told him, "Andy, you're my husband and I love you. I wish I could take you with me, but I can't. Please know, though, that I will come back for you and I'll be bringing with me a military power like you've never seen. I'm going to fix this" We let go of each other and I was driven away, presumably to do just that, all the while thinking about how Andy is not really my husband, we're not even dating. Actually, we don't even interact outside of work. My ID does not bear his last name and I don't wear a ring, but I knew I would come back for him and for everyone else. I knew I was going to England.

And then I woke up, freaking out.

The content, while rather dark, is not something one might get worked up over in the light of day. Perhaps my lack of writing skill factors into this, but having lived this once and then relived it to write it, it seems less daunting in waking hours. The emotion I felt through however long it took me to dream this and the 15 or so minutes to calm myself down after was incredibly real. I haven't felt that kind of fear of the unknown, overwhelming concern for the welfare of others, and just need to escape in a time I can remember. I suppose I'll have to ponder this until another dream comes along and eclipses this one. I hope it isn't tonight.

Post Grad, or how life after college isn't all it's cracked up to be...

In the movie "Post Grad", main character Ryden Malby (played by the charming and talented Alexis Bledel) graduates college, has a plan, and then everything goes to hell. I identify with her.

She is forced to move back in with her parents and get a terrible job as she tries again and again to break into her chosen industry only to be rejected time and time again. As I sat on the couch in my mom's house watching this (on my day off from the job in pizza I had left once I started college, only to return after spending over $32,000 on a bachelor's degree...) I felt like this movie was made about me. It was rather like how every young girl in love thinks that every song about love was written about her.

Then, spoiler alert, Ryden gets the job she always wanted. And she figures out that her bff (who is a super talented and hot hot hot dude) is in love with her and what do you know, she loves him too. She quits the job she wanted so bad and runs off to be with the man she loves.

Okay, Ryden, you lost me at "gets the job she always wanted".

I am nearing 1 year post-graduation and I am still living with my mother and working at the job I got at the young age of 16. In my free time, which is abundant, I try to spend as little money as possible, as it is scarce, and am still struggling to break into my field. At 373 days post-grad I will begin work on my second bachelors degree. I am not holding onto the Hollywood notion that suddenly I will realize that my best friend is madly in love with me as one best friend is a lovely and engaged girl and the other is an equally lovely and gay male. Also, I love them both, but neither "like that". Wish me luck on that dream job though, eh?