squishisms.com

The number of contributers at inittogymit is current (capped!) at 100.  Until the number of regular contributers dies down – you will have to deal with continuing to receive fattyfatfat updates here.

I fit into a size smaller pair of jeans this weekend.  The moment they zipped up, I felt so empowered – so motivated.  I wanted to go right back to the gym and do another couple miles and couple hundred crunches…

But later – I used those nice new jeans as justifications for calling movie theater popcorn ‘lunch’ and, when I was inevitably hungry again a couple hours later – I used them to justify the fried chicken strips…etc etc etc.

Today – three full days later, those jeans are a little tighter than they were.

Or are they?

Maybe I’m just paranoid.  Maybe I’m jinxing myself – maybe I am just determined to be cynical and give myself reason to continue this hopeless cycle of  working soooo hard to accomplish something – and then justifying myself into taking four steps backwards.  Or maybe I just think I am…

I think the real issue is that I feel GUILTY for eating things I enjoy – for eating when I am hungry.  Which makes me defensive – even in my own head, against myself – and rebellious. “Pistachio Pistachio from Ben&Jerry’s – no matter how delicious – is BAD for you, Amanda.”  followed by “Screw you, Mr. Man – Imma eat this ice cream.  So THERE!”  and then a few seconds later “I can – because I’m not DIETING, I’m just trying to be healthy – and I AM losing weight.”

But the “Mr. Man” isn’t anyone – it’s ME.  (Don’t ask why the voice in my head is male – I don’t know and I’m not interested in the psychoanalytical possibilities it could represent.)  I piss myself off.

I am convinced that I have to go hungry, and give up everything I love, to lose this weight.  And I was too ashamed to admit that it is about the weight now.  I am fat.  Not obese – but more than chubby.  And I am terrified that all this work will be for nothing.  That I’ll give up and just. stay. fat.

“Nothing tastes as good as thin feels.”  I read that on a blog once – I think it was Courtni’s – and she’s right.  And I keep repeating it in my head like a  mantra – but only after the couple fistfuls of honey roasted peanuts, which came after the granola bar with peanut butter/almonds/cranberries, that I ate after my crazy huge salad for lunch, which was only a couple hours after my fruit cup… etc.  (Cows live off grass too.)

So all I know to do is to keep on Gym’ing it.  To keep forcing myself to get off the couch, out of the computer room, and out the door.  To get over my fear of the Other People in the gym and go anyway.  To walk my dogs further and further every day.  And hope that maybe this is a metaphor for everything else in my life – and once I reach my physical goals all the other shit will either start falling into place or at least be more bearable.

Which is really just justification for not dealing with the other shit now…

I wrote a blog today about pooping. *smh*

Sorry, had to get that out before I could move on.

I am feeling much better. I am not quite there, not quite over the finish line on my journey toward ‘Fine’, but much closer to it. In the homestretch, as it were. Which may or may not have to do with it being SEVENTY FIVE DAYS til Juneteenth. *cue heart racing again* I am |thisclose| to having at least a single bouquet finished, and all my invites are stamped and addressed and will go out tomorrow. Screw the checkmark, I drew a thick black line through that line-item with a friggen sharpie. DONE AND DONE. They aren’t perfect – but they’re mine, so they don’t have to be.

It might have to do with FINALLY having people over. Just a few, but enough to make me feel like I am part of something bigger than this house. Part of something OTHER than this house. This house which still isn’t completely unpacked or put together – which makes me want to cry, but I deal. Only so much a girl can do – and I promised myself I wouldn’t stress myself sick anymore. It was nice to have people here. To know that they don’t begrudge us our long hiatus due to finances and driving issues. And it made me feel like a grown up, if that makes sense, to have enough room to seat them all, plus us and our two dogs.

We won’t talk about the fact that I wore a hoodie most of the night. I’m already dealing with that.

It might have to do with this newfound motivation, determination and accountability. It might be that I decided that Work. Just. Isn’t. Worth. It. and let go. It’s someone else’s baby now – and I’ve never claimed to be a good babysitter. It might be that the wedding is 75 days away. The rest of my life starts in 75 days – and I am both ready and absolutelynotready for it to be here already.

It might be that I was reminded how rock solid Robbie and I are. How good a fit we are.

It might be that I spent an hour on the phone with my little sister.

It might be that Bauer is maybe, finally, getting the whole leash-training thing.

It might be that I went and looked at the boat today and everything I wanted is possible – and the owner is glad I’m not THAT Bride. (Side note: Why rent a party barge for a wedding and then try to make it something else? Something nicer? People boggle my brain.)

It might be that I am done waiting for other people to make an effort to make me happy and am now not only Seeking, but SEIZING my sunshine.

It might be that I have gotten to know my neighbors on at least a sight basis by walking my dog and feel safe in my neighborhood, even if nobody else does.

It might be that Bauer found his cojones and growled at Ken. We think he’s racist – my dog, not Ken.

Or… it just might be that I don’t give a damn anymore. About anything but MY happiness.

/shrug.

I’m done. Over it. Tired of being so whiny here. My life is not bad, kids. It really isn’t. In fact, on most days, from the time I get home until the time I leave for work the next morning – I love my life. It is safe and warm and HOME-y. It’s busy, but boring… at least as far as blog-worthiness is concerned.

I am consumed with wedding plans. Everything is the wedding. Every decision I make is tied to this party we are planning. I can’t go more than ten minutes without thinking about it. What I need, or want or could be doing.

And I’ve been trying not to blog about it…but I’ve remembered this is my blog. About my life. And that I can put whatever I want in it.

So, today I feel like sharing a lesson my wedding is teaching me.

I’m just a little on the trashy side… and I like it this way.

It started off as just not really loving anything I was seeing on the traditional wedding sites. Theknot and marthastewart and all those sites have really pretty pictures, and I could appreciate them and the fact that some of those pretty pictures would be PERFECT for this or that friend of mine… but nothing really struck a chord with me. Nothing really felt authentically “ME.” And that mattered to me. And Robbie especially wasn’t into the suit-and-tie-everyone-stare-at-us affair once we nixed the Vegas idea.

And when someone suggested just having a boat party – it clicked. And I wavered back and forth between just getting a white bikini and calling it a day… but ultimately decided that was a little too far into Pam Anderson’s territory for me. But a boat, specifically a party barge, is not the place for a white froofy dress. So I have had to put together something boat appropriate, that still makes me feel special and makes me smile – and the result is… well – obviously a little bit on the trashy side is all I’ll give up at this point.

And I found the OBT (that’s OffbeatBrideTribe, for those unaware), and started browsing their photo pool, and joined the site and began sharing my thoughts and trepidations about this whole wedding thang… and met women who have supported every idea I’ve had and encouraged me to let me be…well, me. As I floundered away from feeling obligated to have the wedding everyone expected and slowing moving toward the wedding of MY dreams.

Through this planning process I have learned to just own up to loving things a little sparkly, a little low cut, a bit overdone, and a tad childish. I like to think I pull the sumtotal off with grace and class… but I guess we’ll see.

There will always be a part of me that loves overalls and wants to wear them in public. I will always love black eyeliner and fingernails that are justatad too long. There is a part that will squee over rainbow colored zebra print heels and take an idea just a tad too far…

But, while we were out this last weekend, Robbie and I picked up a picture for the house – a print of zebras that we both like. We got it home and hung it up and then Robbie told me the reason he likes it:

Because it looks like something from a porn movie.

And I realized he was right, and that there WAS a part of me that wanted to put it in the biggest, tackiest painted gold frame I could find.

And that’s why we’re getting married.

Because, deep down, he’s just a little bit trashy too.

I won an award!  I Squee’d.  And then did a dance.  Yes, it might have resembled the Snoopy Dance…

Courtni gave me a Happy 101 Award.  The rules say I have to list ten things that make me happy and then pass it on to ten other bloggers…but I don’t know many other bloggers who haven’t already been given it lol.  So I’ll just say that if you list ten things that make you happy, and haven’t already got the award – consider it yours now.  :)

So… Ten Things That Make Amanda Happy:

1.       Sharpie Pens.  Is that weird?  I don’t care.  I love to write and doodle and am a compulsive list maker.  I’m also a Virgo who despises mess.  Sharpie pens are clean and crisp – they make words look definitive and important.  It’s bold font that doesn’t bleed through and looks prettier than Times New Roman… bringing me to numbah 2…

2.       My Handwriting.  Most of the time.  After 45 minutes of addressing envelopes it gets a little sketchy, but for the most part I love the way my handwriting looks (especially in sharpie pen).  I love the way I make the lower case letter ‘f’.   And I love the way my new name looks when I doodle it like a twelve year old with a crush.

3.       My new house.  The boys are not such big fans of it.  All they see is a decided lack of hot water and leaky sinks and holes in the fence.  I see space for my dogs to run and play and get out of my lap/hair.  I see places for my friends and family to gather and eat wings or pizza or pasta or enchiladas whenever I want.  I see privacy.  I see friendly neighbors and a park around the corner.  I see twenty steps in any direction without running into each other, a dog or a piece of furniture.  The rest will come.  Having a house makes me feel like we are really a family.

4.       Date Nights with Teridactyl.  Nights where the boys are banished to their respective corners and I can sit in my home and be a girl.  It means a lot to me that she drives so far out of her way to hang out with me.  And the longer I live with men, the more I appreciate the girl talk.

5.       Ke$ha.  I know, I know.  Don’t judge me.  Here’s the thing.  I know it’s ridiculous. I know she is ridiculous.  I don’t care.  The songs are upbeat and happy.  They remind me of driving home to Waco from Austin at 3 in the morning – sitting in Natalie’s car with the radio up.  When we most definitely should NOT have been driving.  When we didn’t quite understand all the lyrics, so made up our own ridiculous versions.  It’s like Ke$ha is the embodiment of those moments – only her lyrics are really that ridiculous.  I adore her.  And the feathers in her hair.

6.       Reading.  Specifically horrible, cheesy Supernatural Romance novels.  Gimme.  Gimmegimmegimmegimmie.  So much that I have a corner in the new house already slated for a papas an chair for me to curl up in to read where the dogs won’t fit and will have to bug someone else.  Shhh.  Itsa secret.  Iwon’t haven’t told the boys (yet).

7.       My family.  Robbie and my dogs being there every day when I get home is a bright shiny moment, every single day.

8.       Email.  I do a happy dance anytime I can email instead of call.  I get seriouslyfuckingpissedoff at places of business that do not have links for email or online communication and force a bitch to call.  We all know we are all making these things happen while at work nowadays.  It’s far easier to pretend to work while writing an email than sitting on the phone – and I ain’t got time to sit on hold, motherfuckers.  Getwithit.  It’s TWOTHOUSANDMOTHERFUCKINGTEN.  I should not have to pick up my phone ever.

*ahem*

9.       Butter Cookies.  And French fries.  And pie.  And cobbler.  And SourDough Bread.  And mashed potatoes.  Baked Potatoes.  Pasta… you get the point, I’m sure.  But the thought of fitting into a bikini of a specific size makes me happier – so I will be forsaking the starches.  I can do this.  For reals.

10.  And now I’ll be a big geek.  WoW makes me happy.  A lot.  I rarely group or play my level 80 character though.  I like the leveling.  The questing.  The killing of things by myself, with my headphones on.  Noone to tell me what to do or how to do it or when or why.  Just single minded killing or things that don’t matter cause they aren’t real… and I miss it when it’s gone.  When I cancel my subscription for months at a time… I always come back.  And – Truth?  Between you and me, I’m bad at it.  And I don’t care.

A few days back, when this whole thing started – Robbie Randomly mentioned my blog.  The theme, the challenge, I had given myself.  Before I knew it he was listing off topics for the various letters.   R, obviously, was to be for Robbie.

And because it’s obvious, there is a part of me that wants to Rebel.  It’s too easy.  Expected.  Like those quizzes we make up to find out “how well” our friends know us, and then make the questions as obtuse and misleading as possible so that they “have to really, REALLY know {us}” to get them Right.

Oh shuddup.  I know I’m not the only one who does it.

And there are so many things that start with R that I am grateful for.

Raggedy Anne’s.  Rock and Roll music.  Reggae.  Rockabilly.  R&B.  Rap.  Running water.  Rainy Nights.  Rapture.  Red Bull.  Rocks.  Rings.  Romance…  Red Wine…

Remembering spending all night decorating the Cal Farley’s Boys Ranch Dining Hall for Christmas…

All those things, and more…

But, if we are honest… If I am honest – and if I can’t be honest here gods help us all – Robbie is more.  (Sorry, Courtni.  I tried really hard to stay un-mushy… but that’s where this is heading now.)

On June 29, 2008 I wrote the following:

…I accepted a long time ago that I either do or do not like people.  That it’s decided quickly.  That I get attached quickly because I don’t waste time on trying to make myself like people I don’t.  It’s not a judgement, just a difference of opinion – and I accept it.

But I’m trying to slow that down where the men are concerned.  Trying to stick to the 500 questions or six weeks rule.  But I know I *could* love him.  And really have known since the first night.  I also know it’s only been two weeks since I met him.  Four days of which I had no phone and didn’t talk to him at all… so ten days.  During which we have slept in the same bed four times.  *Slept* being the key word.  Bizzare to me.  Foreign.  Did I mention HE wants to take it slow?  Yeah.  Apparently he has a six weeks rule or something similar too.  I’m aiming for a compromise…

I’d already let him sleep on my bed.  (ON, not IN, as I very clearly specified in that blog lol.)  I knew.  He knew.  We would both argue that we knew the moment we met – regardless of anything you might have to say regarding love at first sight.

Robbie is my Refuge.  My Right when everything else is ohsoverywrong and crumbling around me.  My Remedy.  Every bad day, every cramp, twinge, headache and snotty nose is made better with just his presence.  Knowing he is near makes me feel better.   I can’t even stay mad at the jerkface for more than twenty minutes before I start crying because we can’t be mad at each other and stay in the same room.  Yeah, it’s really that pathetic lol.   He is the Rock I tell my secrets to.  And he lets people know when they’ve hurt my feelings – because I am too proud to do it myself.

More than anything else all year, more than anything else EVER: I am grateful for Robbie.  Not just that he is in my life, not just that he chose me – but that, somehow, *I* am what makes him happiest.

…is for Kisses. Get your mind out of the gutter. I said Kisses not foreplay or making-out. Just simple, Kind Kisses. I LOVE Kisses. They are not implicitly sexual to me. In Squishtopia, Kisses are chaste. Kisses are platonic. They CAN be sexual, but typically – aren’t for me. Kisses are demonstrative affection. Loving Out Loud. The simple act of placing one’s lips to another person’s forehead. Or cheek. Or lips. Kisses from a friend. From Robbie. From my puppy. Puppy kisses may get their own blog I love them so much. If you aren’t aware, Bauer was being beaten by the previous owners, and was afraid to do anything – ESPECIALLY lick a person. His Kisses mean the world to me. They mean he trusts me. They mean he is starting to feel safe in our home. In addition to being happy to see me and/or concerned for my emotional state. And despite giving up Kissing my girlfriends this last year, I have had no lack of Kisses. I would almost say that in the last year I have had more Kisses than any other single year, or possibly even two, ever in my life. I am blessed with Kisses.

And I almost forgot Karaoke. I don’t get to go very often anymore. And, to be honest, it’s not the same fun that it once was… but it’s still there. Still exactly the same as it was five years ago when I started going. Oh, the TVs are bigger and the Karaoke itself is all digitized now…but the atmosphere is the same. It’s a tiny little place packed to the brim with “WeDon’tGiveAFuck.” So many things, so many people in my life have changed in the last few years. They’ve started having to care about being at the “Right” bar with the “Right” people in the “Right” atmosphere and wearing the “Right” clothes… and maybe it’s because I am still a peon…maybe it’s because, at heart, I really am just a little on the trashy side… but I haven’t made that transition. I cannot play the Kissass game. I’m bad at it. It makes my head hurt. To be blunt, it disgusts me. And I hate myself every second that I am attempting to play it. Karaoke is my refuge. My sanity. It is raw and gritty and ugly and offkey and unashamed of any of it. I can go in a party dress or a Tshirt and jeans and be equally accepted the moment I walk in the door. And I will always appreciate and be grateful for that.