February Blues

Ladies and Gentlemen, 

I have a confession.

2013 has been rough.

Already.

There is [was] this boy. He’s a relic of 2012 (2011, actually). It makes me feel like this Grey’s Anatomy clip, except that it’s not like that at all. I hate boys and their life-ruining ways. 

 

Anyway, instead of dwelling on the things that are getting me down these days (and there sure seem to be a lot), I’ve decided to document my gratitude. Because that sounds much less self-pitying. 

1. I’ve already run over 100 miles this year! You guys. I’m gonna go ahead and pat myself on the back because I am impressed. 100 MILES! GO ME! [Also, I’ve been using logyourrun.com, and I am pretty obsessed with it. It makes me want to run faster and faster so I can lower my pace. I definitely recommend it!]

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Because I am like a 5 year old, I motivate myself by coloring in each day that I workout. These calendars hang on my bedroom door. Ya’ll. It IS really motivating. 

2. I went on a DISNEY CRUISE! It was amazing! It was so wonderful to see my dear friend Steven shining in his element, and to reunite with my lovely friend Bryce who left me for the West Coast a couple years ago. 

ImageMickey, Me, and Bryce aboard the Disney Wonder! 

3. I visited my friend Dana in Boston. It felt like my own little mini vacation. 

4. I didn’t drink for the entire month of January! The first half was pretty easy because I was still in California with my Mama [it’s amazing how easy it is to NOT drink when you spend your evenings drooling over Shemar Moore watching Criminal Minds and going to bed at 10:30]. The second half, ooooh child, was much more difficult. HOWEVER, I learned that *gasp* it’s possible to have fun without drinking! I went to a party and had interesting conversations with people. I hosted a game night and had an awesome sober time playing Cards Against Humanity. [I need to remember this. 12 days off the wagon, or halfway through “Fucked Up February” as my friends christened it, and that fire water is causing more harm than good.]

5. I’ve gotten a few callbacks! Yay!

6. My friend Katie gave birth to her adorable son Jack. I’m planning to visit them in the Spring!

7. I finally reunited with some of my Junies. I miss them so. And that show. 

ImageHey, Junie Beatrice!

8. I’ve lost 8 pounds. Go me. [Why aren’t they coming off faaaaaster!?]

9. I’ve begun the process of doing some major purging: closet, papers, general shit that I’ve hung onto for too long. 

10. I’m no longer drinking soda and I cannot believe how clear my skin is. It has BLOWN MY MIND. Like. I can go outside with ONLY mascara on and not feel like Quasimodo. If I can SEE such a drastic change in my skin, I can only imagine how much healthier my insides are doing. Did you know that soda is really close to battery acid on the pH scale? Gross. 

So. People of the cyberworld. What are your failsafe, fake-it-til-you-make-it, get me out of this pit of despair tactics? I’ll take any and all suggestions, coffee date propositions, and spontaneous Ikea ferry requests. These winter blues have got to go!

Comfortable Being Uncomfortable

I was already out of breath and glistening* when I arrived at my very first SoulCycle class.

The day before, Olivia from season 11 of The Biggest Loser** posted on Facebook that she was teaching a free SoulCycle class on the Upper East Side. All you had to do was comment on her post and she would message you a confirmation and additional information.

I’ve been wanting to try SoulCycle for awhile now. People are obsessed with it. It’s like lululemon or iPhones or pork belly. I had to know what was so revolutionary about a spin class***. However, I had no idea that I regularly rub shoulders with so many closet trust fund babies. These classes are off the hook expensive. So I had resigned myself to just wondering about SoulCycle.

I commented on her status and excitedly awaited the arrival of the promised confirmation message.

It never came.

I thought it was strange. But I also had other shit going on, so I didn’t worry about it too much. I came to terms with the fact that maybe free SoulCycle was too good to be true.

At 1:10, fifty minutes before the class was set to begin, it occurred to me that her message might have gone to my “other” inbox. I don’t know when this “other” inbox came into existence, but I just recently became aware of it. Apparently Facebook arbitrarily decides which messages should go into your “regular” inbox and which should go into your “other” inbox. If a message is deemed “other”, you don’t receive a notification.

Sure enough, there were TWO messages from Olivia waiting for me. I had a bike with my name on it.

I was angry. I called my mom [as I am wont to do in these situations] and recounted the sequence of events.

Me: So now I’m pissed because I was so excited to take this class and meet Olivia [*cough*fangirl*cough*] and now I can’t.

Mom: Well. That’s your decision. [I HATE it when she says those kinds of mom things to me.]

Me: What? No it’s not! I have no control here!

Mom: You could still make it to the class on time, couldn’t you?

No. She was wrong.

Mark Zuckerberg was deliberately sabotaging my opportunity for free SoulCycle.

I needed time to mentally prepare myself for this class.

I hadn’t showered.

I was just another innocent victim of Facebook upgrades, and I was going to wallow in my self pity for the rest of the day.

And then I realized that she was right. I COULD, in fact, make it to the class on time. It was my choice.

So I made the choice to go. I ran to the subway. [Half marathon training and express train FTW!]

Olivia started class and announced that the theme was “comfortable being uncomfortable.” It seemed so serendipitously fitting. In my ideal world, I would have been preparing (mentally, water-bottle-and-sports-bra-gathering-wise, whatever) for hours before. But I decided that it was worth it to step outside of my comfort zone in order to attend class.

The class was awesome. I felt a little bit like an uncoordinated buffoon because I could not stay on the beat of the music at all. “We ride as a pack!” she exclaimed when the class started. Well. If we were a pride, I would have been the lion picked off by hyenas. I was NOT part of the pack, try as I might. But I had an amazing time nonetheless. The 45 minutes flew by. I loved the feeling of community [no thanks to me and my beat-less-ness] and accomplishment and jazziness [there is dancing and music and mood-lighting, oh my!]

I am painfully aware of the fact that, usually, when I force myself to do something that I don’t want to do, I have a lot of fun. I meet new people. I have experiences that are unfamiliar and awesome. My comfort zone is comfortable. It is also predictable, stagnant, oppressive at times.

I left class pondering “comfortable being uncomfortable” and I happened upon this sidewalk art.

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The universe was sending me messages. Messages received [no thanks to Mark Zuckerberg].

*In the interest of full disclosure, the glistening part isn’t that surprising. I’m a sweaty gal. My mom thinks it’s because I have Nordic blood, so I’m just naturally warmer. To be honest, my regular temperature is around 99.1, not 98.6. So I’ll just blame my Swedish ancestors and natural selection for my proclivity to perspire.

**You guys. I told you I LOVE The Biggest Loser. I wasn’t playing around when I said that. Olivia was one of my most favorite contestants of all time.

***I took a spin class once at Gold’s Gym and I would liken it to cruel and unusual torture. Apparently, there was a sub, and all of the class regulars decided to play hooky. There were 3 people in the class and the instructor knew I had never spun before, so he just spent the entire hour silently observing and judging my failure.

Girls, or Being Called a Fat Ass

While I was on tour, I started a note on my iPhone. It was entitled “Shows to Watch.” In my normal, non-tour life there are only two shows that I watch religiously: Dexter and The Biggest Loser. Everything else that I happen to see is usually a result of one of the following:

-It happens to be on TV while I am at the gym (hence my ridiculously high exposure to Say Yes to the Dress… errr… I would NEVER watch that show of my own volition… or something).

-My roommate DVRs it and our DVR isn’t nearing the 90% threshold, and he therefore has not gone through and deleted things he knows I might want to watch. (A favorite story: One day, I came home and he told me he had cleaned! Oh joy! “Yeah, I cleaned out the DVR”… which means he caught up on his TV watching. Hilarious.)

-It’s a truecrimedrama type show (Law and Order SVU, Criminal Minds, Cold Case) and I am with/missing my mama (she LOVES these kinds of shows).

Anyway, I arrived back in New York yesterday and had an overwhelming amount of unpacking to do. [Imagine nearly EVERYTHING you own packed into one small hallway closet. As I opened the many tightly packed suitcases and rehung countless jackets/sweaters/dresses, I vowed that I would NEVER complain about not having anything to wear ever, ever again.] Obviously, this unpacking monotony was the perfect opportunity to begin to tackle my “Shows to Watch” list. I had given Girls a chance before (I think I watched the first episode while simultaneously facebooking and texting), and had just sort of thought “meh.” Since the Golden Globes success (and the general public’s enthusiasm), I decided to give Girls a second go.

I watched all of season 1 and the first episode of season 2 yesterday. (I guess I liked it more than the first time… or something).

Remember during Sex and the City (or… even now…or in the pilot of Girls) when people would talk about what character they were most like? Obviously most people think they are/long to be Carrie. (This is only the result of the fact that her character is the most developed, in my opinion.) I find that practice annoying. I’m not going to go so far as to claim to be a “Hannah”, but I felt shame in how much I identified with her character. [Who wants to be Hannah? She is about as far from Carrie as you can possibly be! </snark>]

I suppose that’s sort of normal, right? Once again, she is the most developed character. She also is a twenty something, flailing through her New York City life. It’s sort of unremarkable that I, of a similar existence, would identify with her. I guess I’m most intrigued by the fact that I feel shame about that.

I’m sure that the shame stems from the fact that Hannah is an “undesirable” in our society. If I identify with Hannah, does that make me equally blobby?

On New Year’s Eve, I went out with a friend in the thriving metropolis that is the San Francisco suburbs. It was anticlimactic. At 1:48, while we were peacefully sipping our end-o-the-night waters in the corner, the bouncer told us it was time to leave.

Me: Sir, this bar doesn’t close until 2:00.

Bouncer: It’s 2:00.

Me: Uh. No it’s not. It’s 1:48.

Bouncer: No it’s not. It’s 2:00. [He holds up his phone which clearly says the time is 1:48]

Me: Your phone says 1:48!

Bouncer: Yeah. It’s time to go.

[Honestly, we were just trying to sober up in the corner. We were drinking water. And the bar was still full.]

Me/My Friend: It’s fine. We’ll leave. At least we’re not going home alone like you.

[It’s foggy who actually said this. I don’t know why either of us would, but one of us did. I’m pretty sure the implication here was that he was just a mean person.]

Bouncer: I’m married. And besides, I would NEVER take your fat ass home.

We walked to her car. I fumed. [Anyone who knows me knows that I can get riled up REAL fast.] She settled into the backseat to continue the sobering up process. I stormed back to the bar.

Me [pointing at Bouncer]: Can I have a word with you?

Bouncer: Uh. Sure?

I proceeded to hand him a piece of my [somewhat inebriated] mind. I told him that in a society where women are bombarded by ridiculous body expectations and images of unattainable beauty standards, it’s shameful that he would fling the term “fat ass” so nonchalantly, unapologetically. I surely belabored the point more than necessary because, well, I had consumed a few cocktails to ring in the New Year.

He apologized.

I have infinite body issues. My weight fluctuates a lot. I emotionally eat.

And sometimes when I’m drunk, I will dole out my liberal, feminist, wanna-be body-confident propaganda.

PS I wrote part of this entry while going to the bathroom. Put that in the Hannah column.