Fruits and Veggies

I don't like cold veggies. Is that odd? How about the fact I just microwaved my salad? In my defense, I only zapped it for 17 seconds. Just enough to mildly wilt the lettuce.

Mark my words, people... I will lose 20 pounds by the time I go to Italy in September. Never mind all the other times I've said "mark my words" and the fact I've been telling myself this for weeks. I had 20 weeks, which I figured was completely doable, based on a pound a week. But now? I only have 13 weeks and I said the same thing just as many weeks prior to my New York trip and I fell flat (or lumpy and jiggly, depending how you look at it). I lost about 15 pounds but, sadly, have gained 10 of those back despite my 'sure fire' weight loss plan of having an organ removed. Remember that one time when I wrote about how I'm always the exception to the rule when it comes to Side Effects? Ya... that still holds true. Dammit.

I'm feeling inspired. I watched Extreme Makeover: Weight Edition last night and if someone can lose 160lbs in a year surely I can lose 2 pounds a week, right? Then why is it *so* hard? I know a big (pardon the pun) part of it is the struggles I have with my emotions. In a day when I'm feeling doom and gloom nachos taste REALLY good (who am I kidding? Nachos taste really good on bright and shiny days too). When I feel like nobody will ever love me again it's easy to think it doesn't matter that I don't like the way I look naked because, let's be honest, I'm the only one who sees me that way.

I know I'm not fat. I know that. But I also know I'm not comfortable in my skin. I want to be able to wear a t-shirt without having to worry about side boob and love handles. I long for the day when I can stand with my legs shoulder-width apart and not have my thighs touch. Is that too much to ask?!?

Then why is it so hard to stay motivated? Oh right... because when I have a bad day instead of having someone to come home and talk to while going for a walk or making a healthy meal together I've found another way to pass the time... by eating. And because depression sucks and cakes, cookies and potato chips do not.

And, so, I will eat a sugar free freezie while I type and hope (and struggle) to make it through another day eating and exercising the way I should, pondering the fact that there is never any sugar-free grape candies, freezies and jello... hoping that someday there will be but, by that time, I won't need it.

Here's to tomorrow!

Did I mention tomorrow is treat day at work?!?

Ya... this is hard.

A Million (or so) Little Pieces

When I first decided to make a stained glass lamp I checked Etsy to see if it was worth my while to make my own shade. Goodness, I thought, I could make a living at this!

Now that I've spent countless hours (and spilled blood) cutting, grinding and foiling a bazillion pieces of glass I've come to the conclusion that I would have to charge double, if not triple, the going rate to make such an enterprise worth my while. Because who wouldn't pay $2400 for a lamp, right?!?

Right...

Weekend Wrap-Up

The highlight of my Saturday night was buying a new brand of toilet paper. Had said toilet paper lived up to it's hype perhaps things might be different but, as it stands, I'm thinking I perhaps need to spice up my weekends. You know, by purchasing Kleenex with lotion or brand name toilet cleaner or something.

Actually, my weekend was a good one. Complete with a couple walks around the lake, cards with the girls and time spent reading in my comfy new chair. And, yes, some of that reading was via osmosis, with my eyes closed. Did I mention my new chair is comfy?!?

Sure, my weekend wasn't as productive as it perhaps should have been but, all in all, it was a good mix of coffee and salad; TV and housework; exercise and napping. And nachos. There may have been nachos.

Diet, whatnow?!?

The weekends don't count, right? RIGHT?!? Ya... that's what I thought.

Oops.

O: More Than Just a Letter of the Alphabet

I know I already wrote about this, perhaps a few too many times and it might sound lame or pathetic but I am really having a hard time with Oprah ending. I mean, really?!? Come on... it's just a show, right?

Except it's not.

I've been pvr'ing the last season. At first I was picky in my selections. I'd skip through a segment here, a guest there. I let episodes build up over time, telling myself I'd watch them when I could, that other things were more important. But now? I find myself clinging to the them, saving the ones that were especially poignant... that touched and inspired me. It's become like a dance, forever trying to shuffle to make room for new ones, having to prioritize the old. I flip through them and watch them according to their description and the mood I'm in. Whether I want to be inspired... or just made to laugh and be entertained. I'll save one I might think will be really good, forcing myself to watch another that I'd been putting off. And, much like the last piece of pie at a potluck that nobody will eat, I just can't seem to watch them all. I always want there to be one there, waiting for me. I, literally, don't want them to end.

Ever.

And now that my pvr list fits on one page I realize that, much too soon (we're talking one more episode, aside from the tribute that's already been taped), there will be no more for me to record, no more for me to watch. And while I know I will leave the pvr rule set to record new shows- partly out of homage and partly out of hope that maybe Oprah will change her mind- I also know that each day when I get home, as I have done so many days before, I will check the list but, this time, there won't be anything there.

And that is why I'm having a hard time with it.

I didn't think I had watched that much Oprah over the years but now that I've seen so many clips from past shows? I'm amazed at how many I remember watching and that I can not remember a time when I didn't have Oprah to come home to. So, of course, it's hard to imagine a time without her, going forward. Miss Winfrey is like that person you don't know how much means to you, how integral a part of your life they are, until they are no longer there. Much like a casual acquaintance you look forward to seeing every day; the kind smile you see on the way to work that brightens your morning; the person you make idle conversation with while in line for coffee. Someone who doesn't know where you came from or how you got there... they're just happy that you're there.

Sure, there have been episodes that I've fast forwarded through. Some of the makeovers (probably not a surprise coming from the girl who doesn't know how to apply makeup) and the a Dr. Oz show, every now and then (probably due to the fact I usually catch up on my episodes while eating supper... although I'll admit I can't take a poo without checking to see if it's s-shaped. I wonder how Oprah would feel about knowing I think about her every time I have a bowl movement?). But there have been so many others. That have left me in a puddle on the floor. That have inspired me to be something better. Do something bigger. That leave me feeling like I am the most important person in the world. That I can do anything. That Oprah was speaking just to me.

And then there's the guests. The ones that have made me feel like my struggles are small, in comparison to their own, sparking me to do better in my own fight. And others that have spoken so clearly to my own pain, letting me feel something I have struggled so long and hard to feel... understood. People I will never know or meet to whom I will forever be grateful to for being brave and sharing not only their story but their pain, their joy, their heartache and triumphs.

I will miss the a-ha moments. And while it won't be as easy as having them delivered right to my living room at 3pm every day, I'll do my best to come up with them my own, finding them where I may least expect them and, with any luck, when I need them most. I'm sure they won't be as frequent, without Oprah's help, but I hope I'll have them just the same.

I remember where I was when (I thought) M*A*S*H ended. I cried when Bette Midler sang her adieu to Johnny Carson. I mourned not having girls night when SATC ended and I felt like I lost a friend (or six) when the door closed on Friends. And I know exactly where I'll be on Wednesday afternoon. It might not be Chicago, leaving one item on my bucket list that will forever remain undone, but I'll be there in spirit.

And, I'm sure, in tears.

It's been a good run. And, with any luck, re-runs!

Because Oprah Says I Can!

I’ve been watching episodes of Oprah. Back to back, since I got home from work five hours ago. Fast forwarding through the commercials, picking the episodes that seem most inspiring. Watching Oprah’s Master Class, hearing her story.

It leaves me feeling inspired. Granted, I’m bawling my eyes out... but I’m inspired, none the less. How can one person live such a life? And do so in a manner that inspires so many others? In such a way as though she’s speaking directly to me? As though I’m the most important person in the world, full of the greatest potential. That she believes in me. That if she can do what she has done then the world is my oyster too. That I can do anything.

Because Oprah says I can!

It may sound trite or trivial, to let a TV show affect me in such a way, but I grew up being told I was stupid, worthless and would never amount to anything. And, in every fiber of my being, I believed it. I let die all my hopes and dreams: of being an actress, becoming an astronaut or writing a book (although, on a really good day, I still hold on to that last one). And when I moved out of the home that was so toxic, away from the words that hurt so much, I found I couldn’t really escape. The words that were once spat at me I now spat at myself, telling myself over and over again that I wasn’t worthy of a good life. That I was a lost cause. For the past 30 (or so) years it has been a constant struggle to rise above what I feel inside, because of what I've been told on the outside. To not just give up and wait for life to pass me by, lamenting on what could have been but never was. To try and change what I’ve been told and, instead, believe what I want to be true. So imagine, then, how much it must mean to have someone tell me, on a daily basis, the things I’m so desperate to hear. To be told, when life seems so difficult and I don’t understand where I belong or what it is I’m meant to do or be, that my only purpose... that the only thing I have to worry about in life... is to be the very best me I can be. Well, that sounds easy! I can do that! I will do that!

Because Oprah says I can!

When I see a women who grew up facing odds far more insurmountable than my own... a girl who, much like myself, couldn’t find her name on a key chain or a lunch box... become something so extraordinary it makes me feel like maybe we’re not that different after all. That if she can overcome all she has overcome and do so much good and accomplish so much than maybe I can rise above the few minute things that have been holding me back. And, sure, I may not do as many remarkable things but maybe, just maybe, I'll be able to do one or two things really great. She makes it seem possible. She makes it seem easy.

Because Oprah says I can!

I know it’s just a TV show. But it’s really not. It’s a daily affirmation, from someone other than my self, of all the things I have never been able to make myself believe. That I have a purpose. That I am bound for greatness. That so many things have had to align in the universe to bring me to where I am that I, for that very reason, am amazing. That I am worthy. It’s the undoing of years (upon years) of horrible things that have been said. Setting them right. And I’ve been listening. Slowly, but true. I feel inspired. But I worry... now that the show draws to an end... who will inspire me now? I can almost hear her, this person who would call me 'stranger' whom I think of as 'friend'. Oprah would say: it's time to inspire myself. And this time around I actually feel like maybe I’ll be able to.

Because Oprah says I can!

How could I possibly thank her for something she doesn't even know she's done? I'll never be able to. For being the friend, as I've sat crying on my couch, who has seemed to understand when no one else could. For always being there, day after day, when I thought I had no one. And for reminding me, when I couldn't remember for myself, that there's a reason and purpose to all this. That while I may not have had key chains and lunchboxes that, somewhere in the world, there's a regatta with my name on it. That I'm meant to be something better than I am.

Because Oprah says I can.

Rude Awakenings

My eyes pop open, in the middle of a deep sleep, as I ask myself "was I supposed to work yesterday?". My heart beats fast as I assure myself that I did, indeed, have yesterday off. That people weren't wondering where I was and that I'm not going to be in trouble, come Monday morning. It is 7:30am on Saturday morning. I'm still tired, but it will take at least another hour to get back to sleep, I'm too riled up.

I spring awake again, feeling guilty that it is now 10:30 am on a beautiful Saturday morning and I am still in bed, still tired. I tell myself that it's okay, that I need to make up for the sleep that I lost during the week and the fact that I'm going out tonight and have to work for a few hours tomorrow morning, so I may as well sleep when I can. I lie awake, thinking of all the things I should be doing: the front yard that needs to be raked; the motorcycle I should get up and running so I can sell it; all the time spent in bed that would be better spent exercising. Then I remember... I don't want to go into my front yard, because I worry the neighbors might complain about all the things about my house I have trouble maintaining on my own- the gutters that need cleaning and are too tall for my ladder; the plants in my yard that have spread across the property line; the back deck that needs repairing, for which I do not have the tools or know-how, that my neighbour can see from his own, lovely, deck and living room; and the broken window pane that lies against the side of my house because it needs to go to the dump and is too big for my car, knowing that hiring someone to take this one item for me is too high a cost to justify. I remember that I already tried getting my motorcycle up and running, when I dragged my ass out of bed last weekend, in a fit of inspiration and courage- the siphon I bought not working, trying to get the gas out myself, chocking on the fumes, wondering how my dad used to do that for me, year after year. Leaving the gas tank open, knowing full well it's wrong to let it evaporate and that I've ruined the bike, in my laziness, now that bugs are free to roam in the tank, that it will soon be filled with cobwebs and dust.

So I try to focus on the last task. Exercising. I make it 5 minutes before it's just too much. The thought of all the wasted money, the things that are ruined, all because it was just too much for me. So I crawl back into bed, pull the covers over my head and fight to fall asleep. Again, it will hours... and I will wake up the same way, full of guilt for the day passing me by. Wanting to do better, finding it so hard to force myself. I get up, worried about what other people must think... that I have no reason to be so tired, given the fact I have no kids and no one but myself to answer to... that I'm lazy, useless.

And then I go back to bed again.

Ch-ch-ch-changes

Based on the fact I was diagnosed with PTSD after going through a breakup even the captain of The Titanic could have seen from a mile away, I think it's pretty safe to say I don't handle it very well when things end. Relationships, friendships, vacations... you name it, I don't like when it ends. Which probably explains why after an ill-advised late night cup of coffee and 2 episodes of Oprah I was still wide awake at 4am last Sunday, contemplating a world with a vacant 3pm time slot.

The same thing happened when Friends ended. And don't even get me started on what a mess I was when Sex and the City called it quits... never mind the fact I was still on season 5 at the time, what with not having HBO and having to wait for the DVD and all. I remember lamenting with a near stranger in a calendar store (I should probably provide some background to this rather odd scenario... but I will not) that the end of the show was similar to losing a friend and- oh my god- it was going to be so hard to say goodbye.

I swear I'm not a hermit who lives vicariously through her TV. Really.

It's not so much the fact that a show is ending... it's the fact that I can't imagine what it must have be like for Jennifer Aniston and, hello, Matthew Perry or Sarah Jessica Parker and Chris Noth (who am I kidding, he had Law and Order to go back to, he was fine) to have to say goodbye. To dedicate so many years of your life to something to which nothing else will probably ever compare... and know the end is in site. And, yes, I'm still talking about TV and not the breakup.

At least not consciously.

I'm not worried about Oprah. I'm sure she's sad and perhaps torn about her decision (dumb move, Oprah... dumb move) but I know she'll be fine (the woman wipes her butt with hundred dollar bills... she'll be more than fine). I'm worried about her staff. The ones who have worked 10, 15 and 20 years as part of a team. A family. I feel sad for them. What will it be like for them, the day after, to not have a place to go? To have to start all over again, knowing full well that whatever they end up doing will never be nearly as good.

That's gotta be tough.

I know the TV world's not all unicorns and rainbows (Isaiah Washington on Grey's, anyone?). But it's a world I've longed to be a part of since before I can ever remember. I tear up at Oscar speeches for categories like "Best editing in Sound" and "Best director of a Foreign Film" (when I often don't even know what they're saying) so you can just imagine me during a truly remarkable speech... standing in the middle of my living room, clutching my hands to my chest as though I were there and it was I being thanked or, better yet, giving the speech. Never blinking, lest I miss a sideways glance or a shot of the crowd. So while Hollywood may not be full of leprechauns and Care Bears to me it's at least a place where the roads are paved in chocolate (mmmm... chocolate) and double rainbows hang in the sky (what does it mean?!?). It's a place where I imagine people who appear to be Friends (pardon the pun) on screen are also friends off. So when I see something like this, knowing full well a show and it's people are losing a piece of itself, it makes me melancholy. It makes me want to stop time, let everyone change their mind and allow life to go back to what once was (again, talking about TV, not breakups) and, yes, it even causes me to loose a little sleep (although, in my defense, it really could have been the coffee) because, much like a child at Christmas, if I'm awake it feels like more time has to pass before it's all over. And even though the characters are fictional (Oprah included, it seems, because, really, how can someone have enough time to run a TV show and a magazine and a book club and a network when I have trouble working a desk job and blogging?) the people playing them aren't and, hot damn, I feel for them. Probably a little too much but that's okay... it'll be over soon.

Too soon, really.

Happy Mother's Day

My cat was extra snugly today. It's almost as though she knew it was Mother's Day.

I didn't have the heart to tell her I'm not her biological momma.

But I think she might just be figuring it out. The way she stares at me while I shower (creepy as it may be), watches me use the facilities (could it be that she's a pervert?!) and often stands on my head or digs at my hands when I'm in bed, as though she's saying "what on earth are you doing", I think she's catching on to the fact we're different. Well that, and the fact we have trouble communicating, what with the meowing and such.

To all the mothers out there to children a little less hairy then my own fur baby (although I was pretty hairy as a child so who am I to judge?), Happy Mother's Day! To those of you doing it all on your own, my hat's off to you, I can't imagine how hard, yet rewarding, that must be. You make the world go 'round. To those who have chosen not to have children and have to explain yourselves, to strangers and family alike, over and over (and over) again, my kudos to you on this (and every) day for making a decision that is harder than most people probably give you credit for and for standing firm in your choice, for whatever the reason, and having the courage to stand tall while doing the responsible thing and not bringing a child into the world for no other reason than because you can or should, depending who you ask. To those who have lost their mother and are feeling that loss today, and everyday, my heart goes out to you, I hope you know how loved you are. To those who have lost children and remember them today, as you do every moment of every day, may you feel the love of your child today more than you feel the obvious, immense loss, I wish things could be different for you, my heart aches for you. To those who, like me, are orphans, whether by choice or by circumstance, may you find peace in what once was and what may never be and be proud of who you are regardless of where (or who) you came from. And to everyone who is not a mother but wishes they were my heart goes out to you on this bittersweet day full of pain and hope, melancholy and dreams. Because, despite it's name, this day isn't just for those who have children or mothers... it's for all who have, want, or are missing the love that comes from the special relationship that can only exist between a mom and her child.

Why I love my friends

Because I can say this:


And, upon announcing my safety, get this:

The Democratic Process

Today I voted. I always enjoy voting. It makes me feel important (and, really, isn't that what counts?). You arrive, people smile and welcome you. You leave and everyone says thank you and smiles some more. You get to see your neighbors and everyone seems so happy and friendly. It feels like you're really doing your part. To be heard. To make a difference. At least for a few hours... until my candidate loses. Voting tends to be very similar to The Amazing Race, Survivor, The Bachelor and Big Brother... the person I chose never wins.

Oh well, it's the process that counts, right?

The cable repairman came today. I actually tried to cancel the appointment since my TV has, of course, been fine since I booked it. But the company insisted and not only did Mr. Fix-it show up early but he waited patiently in his vehicle until our set time. Good thing, too, because I was taping Oprah. Turns out he didn't even have to come inside. I live in an older neighbourhood with beautiful, overhanging trees. In which squirrels like to live. And eat cable lines. Mr. Fix-it showed me the severed line and assured me all would now be well. He seemed a tad taken back when I asked "did the squirrel at least die".

In my defense, I was half-kidding. In my other defense, I missed an episode of 16 and Pregnant and I really count on that show to feel better about the choices I've made.

Again... I'm kidding.

Kind of.

On Dating

This may come as a shock but I do, indeed, go on dates. They may not be often (the term 'bi-annual' comes to mind) and they tend to be without fanfare but they do happen. For whatever reason I find them embarrassing to talk about. Perhaps I fear I'm doing it (no, not 'it') wrong or that people will think I'm too picky when I have no every right to be but it's a point of contention to me so I keep it, er them, to myself. But after this weekend? It's hard to zip my lip.

Am I the only one who thinks dating is a LOT of work?!? I mean, really? Should it be so much work?!? Don't get me wrong, I've been on some good- nay great- dates. They're comfortable, fun and time flies. Unfortunately, those tend to be the ones that don't result in a second date so perhaps I'm 'too' comfortable on them. But blind dates? Blind dates are the worst. Ever. They make me want to poke my eye out, feign an illness, put on my jammie jams and ignore texts, phone calls and the light of day in an attempt to pretend they ever happened (or avoid them in the first place).

It's too much pressure, being set up by people I respect. I know they just want the best for me and I don't want to let them down. So as stubborn and bitchy as I may appear I tend to be too much of a push over to say no. But, from hereon in, I'm putting my foot down. I feel like I'm on a crusade. Stand back, PETA and the Coalition For A Drug Free America because I'm taking a stand against the cruelty and addiction that is Blind Dating.

No means no!

Perhaps I've seen too many romantic comedies because I know, in my mind, that it most likely doesn't work this way but my heart wants to find someone I'm interested in first and go from there. I want to have butterflies in my tummy and feel the thrill that comes from the moment of finding out someone likes me the way I like them. A person I've gotten a chance to know. Not a stranger. Not the brother of someone who knows someone else.

Is that too much to ask?

I appreciate the fact that everyone wants the best for me, I really do. But why does that have to involve a man? And not the best, brightest, most charming man of the bunch, either. I mean, really?!? I understand that the best catches have been caught but let's not scrape the bottom of the barrel just yet, shall we? I've done the shy, quiet guys... they're not for me. I'm over 'boring' and 'stable'. These are not, believe it or not, endearing qualities. Give me fun, adventurous and funny. Make me laugh! Make me look forward to getting up in the morning, instead of longing to escape to my dreams at the end of the day. I'm tired of having to carry the conversation, let alone the entire relationship. Perhaps I'm lazy, perhaps I'm indifferent, perhaps I'm giving up. No, wait... cancel that last one because for the first time in my life I think if I was truly giving up I'd actually be giving in, taking the first thing that comes along and calling it a day. That's what the old me would do. I'd chalk it up to 'it's better than nothing' or 'beggars can't be choosers' and be done with it. After all, there are worse things in the world than a successful, kind man who would take care and think the world of me who just happens to be boring, right?

Wrong!

So, for the love of all that is good and holy, if you know me in real life I only have this to say: NO MORE SET UPS! I don't care if "this guy is different" or "so and so is perfect for you", I'm done. They never go well. I don't know anyone who's ever said "I met my soul mate on a blind date". I have better odds with the lottery and at least that gives me the thrill of imagining private islands and exotic homes, instead of the dread that comes with thoughts of awkward dinners and the inevitable "I'm not interested" discussion that follows. So I'm putting my foot down and saying "no more". So unless you plan on setting me up with Matthew Perry, Tina Fey or Anderson Cooper (hey, it could happen) then please keep your neighbor's sister's friend's brother from another mother to yourself. I'm not interested. Because these days? I'm alone not because I have to be but because I refuse to settle for anything less than what I want. I want something better. Something fantastic. And nothing that leaves me wondering if this is as good as it gets.

Because sometimes? Nothing is better than something.