Weight: 22.4 lbs lighter
Mood: Pretty good!
Listening To: Clumsy by Fergie
Remember when you were a kid and during any game you could call "Do over!" whenever you didn't like the outcome and everyone would repeat the play? What was amazing about the do-over, what we never really realized, is that no one ever challenged it. It was a widely-accepted rule among all of us, and at some point during our process of growing up, the do-over became invalid. During the past few months, I have been trying to call "Do over!" on this whole weight loss thing. As you can see in the dates between entries, I haven't really lost that much weight and it's taken me awhile to figure out why.
As much as I appreciated Weight Watchers for the first 20 pounds, the meetings were no longer cathartic. It was just a bunch of old ladies sitting around trying to figure out new ways to fit as much food as possible into the points they had been allotted. With that, I stepped out of my last meeting, knowing I would not be returning. It took me two months to accept that I had let go, and cancel my membership.
Then I realized something about myself, I need a gimmick. God has blessed me with a very short attention span, one that gets bored incredibly easy. I remembered some of my girlfriends talking about this Herbalife weight loss program, which was successful for them. I approached the whole thing knowing they were going to try to sell me, and I refuse to be sold. I'm too knowledgeable for that and I have used all of the sales tricks myself.
I met with the rep, who was very touchy-feely from the get-go. Wanting to hug, touching my arm, smiling and repeating things like "Love it, love it!" Good thing it was a girl. If it was a guy, I probably would have walked out. I don't know you! Stop touching me!
I've been rather judicious with what I've purchased, but it hasn't been as bad as I anticipated. Sure, I really haven't lost any weight with them, but I have noticed a few changes. One thing I that I have always agonized over are my more than unusual weak nails. I could never grow them out because they always split and broke, and I've always been able to bend them with no pain. In the two months I've been slurping up these protein shakes, my nails have stopped splitting and breaking and are the longest I've ever had them. Genius! Also with the help of my rep, my diet is slowly changing for the better and I'm working up that mental muscle of self control. Hebalife is no magic bullet, but it has been helping me make some changes. Sure as hell slowly, but surely.
I also realized that I'm totally bored with the gym and I don't want to play anymore! So I've been trying to vary my activities, like climbing the steps at Baldwin Hills that kill me almost every time. And I signed up for a dance class. A pole dancing class, to be exact. There are only a few girls in the class, taught by a rather talented stripper, in a nicely dark-lit room. You know what happened when I started learning those tricks on that pole? I remembered what it was like to feel sexy.
When I was a performance dancer in school, I was skinny, strong, sexy, and I knew it and loved it. I constantly teased the boys, went through them one by one and had a great time doing it. I had lost that spark years before the weight gain, right when I stopped dancing. It started to bubble back up when I felt my hand grab that pole, threw my weight to one side and spun myself around. I just knew I had to find that place again. So what if it was found in a darkly lit room with my eyes closed, dancing in high heels. I needed to get back to me! So I signed up for more.
So with my pole dancing classes, new activities of hiking and stair climbing, I'm calling "DO OVER!" with a protein shake in my hand.
Saturday, February 13, 2010
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Cheetos and Noodles
Weight: 21-something lbs lighter
Mood: Bloated
Listening To: Dancing With the Stars
Not long ago I met someone who is a member of Overeater's Anonymous. It was a rather interesting treat for me because I had never met anyone from OA before and he told me that his triggers were sugar and something else. This made me begin to wonder about my delectable affair with sugar, myself. After a few hours of wondering about it, I managed to put it out of my head until I was on the ride home tonight from a parent's night at one of my high schools.
You see, I had been doing rather well on my diet and work out up until the weekend with the Aussies. I mean dam can those people drink and eat and somehow, someway stay skinny . . . . I forced Brian to leave the party at 1am, but they were still in full swing - almost like they had just been warming up the entire day and most of the evening. Oye.
Well, I kinda let myself go that weekend. I told my trainer I wasn't going to work out Friday - Sunday because I could tell I was getting exhausted and needed a break. (It's now Tuesday and I have yet to get on an elliptical)So my trainer kicked my ass on Thursday like it had never been kicked before and I was out the door, shaking and almost in tears. Looking back on the weekend, I really didn't do THAT bad. I had some healthy choice mixed in with some bad choices. It's not like I went crazy and sucked on bacon all day, every day. Sure, the 10 or so drinks I poured down my throat might not have been a good idea, but that's cool. I was just tryin' to keep up. Now that I'm back in town, it's back on track, right?? Oh, so wrong . . .
It started when Brian DRAGGED me to Taco Bell to try the black tacos. (Rating = neh . . . ) I told him - last fatty meal, okay?? I knew I was lying when I said it . . . . then today happened. Breakfast wasn't all that bad. Lunch wasn't all that bad . . . then I made it to the college campus, where I was going to make camp for 3 or so hours before the parent's night at the High School. As soon as I pulled into campus, I heard them . . . .
"Hey . . . . hhheeeeeyyy . . . Did you forget about us?? We're in the student store, still. We're still waiting for you. Little cups of peanut butter hugged in chocolate. One or two bites won't hurt you, you know. We're still here and you have cash in your pocket. You won't even have to use your card!" I tried to fight it, I tried to ignore it but the voice just grew louder the closer I got to the student store, and hey - my office is right next to the student store. It's true, one or two can't hurt. Before I knew it, I had three little wrappers sitting on the desk in front of me as I was checking my farm on facebook.
My boss had to shut the office down earlier than I expected, so I went down to the information desk to hang out with the students who work down there. On my way down, I heard a different little voice. "Hey . . . . hhhheeeyyyy . . . . remember us, Mr. flamin' hot cheetos? Remember when you first started working here and you pulled some shifts at the info desk and we first met? Yeah, it was pretty memorable for me, too. You know we haven't talked in a long time and I heard you were going to be visiting me soon. Do you have any idea when that will be, because, well, I miss you." I tried to tell that little voice that I had one and a half more pounds left before we could sit down and visit and this is what it told me: "That's taking too long. I think you should just give it up and come and have a visit. You know you will eventually get there, but I want to visit now." As I rounded the corner of the information desk, I saw it. I saw what was going to make me break and the voice said to me "Oh, I see you haven't met my sister Miss BAKED flamin' hot cheetos. I think you two should meet." The next thing I knew. I was wiping bright orange powder from my hands and catching a look at the cookies my co-worker had brought with her. By then, any sense of reason was gone and as soon as a voice in my head said "Those look good!" another voice said "You have another dollar in your pocket."
There was more debauchery that surrounds the evenings gluttonous behavior, and as I was driving myself home I was reminiscing about all of the crap that I had put into my body and certain phrases like "You spend way too much money on a trainer to do this." and "You do way too much work with your trainer to revert back to this" and "You know you're not going to reach your goal. You need food with nutrition!" I began to think about eating real food. Food with some substance to it and I remembered this amazing noodle dish I got from Mao's kitchen a few days before and 'accidently' left the leftovers behind . . . . I started to actually taste it in my mouth, feel the noodles run over my tongue and the sponginess of the eggs. Then I debated whether or not to take Brian out to dinner that night "just because."
Monday, September 21, 2009
An Open Letter to Myself
Dear Self:
We need to talk. You know this has been a long time coming. You didn't really think you would get away with all those trips to the candy store for long, did you? I totally understand that losing weight is no easy task, but let's face it - you've gotten a little off track and we need to get this crazy train back to where it belongs before you are back to where you started. I'll give you this - you're amazing at maintaining your weight. With all the candy bars, coffees and things fried you've managed not to gain anything back . . . . . yet. But let's be serious - you're still a little fatty around the curves and that just won't do.
This all really began with the college, didn't it? You totally forgot what undergrad was like. The undergrad where you gained 15 pounds, but hell you could have stood to gain some at that point. That trip was filled with top ramen, Swanson dinners and my personal favorite, rice-a-roni. This new trip around the undergrad block? Well, it's been filled with Reeses peanut butter cups, flamin' hot cheetos and countless numbers of coffee well diluted in half and half. Oh, and the occasional cookie.
Remember that day when the candy first came to you? You had been doing so well; you were off your first plateau and on your way to your goal. Then she did it. That new boss of yours, bless her heart, opted for ice breakers to get everyone to know each other. All of which seemed to involve candy. Now, we both know you have issues when it comes to candy. We both know you can't control your hands. The best thing would have been to sit on them and push yours to the side. Instead . . . . you ate all of yours . . . . and your neighbors . . . . and then dove into the bucket full of candy until you found yourself surrounded by tiny little wrappers, lost in what everyone was talking about and wondering how to hide the evidence.
But it didn't stop there, did it. The co-worker of yours that reminds you of Mari, yeah, she showed you where to get MORE candy. The smart thing would have been to say no thank you and never even look in the spot. But you didn't do that, did you? You clicked your heels three times and said "There's nothing like candy, there's nothing like candy." And you were brought to the candy. Each individually wrapped and in deceivingly small servings. Each perfectly sweet, charming piece of candy was your new buffet. This was the beginning of that downhill spiral.
You've been all over the map since then, haven't you? Scoffing in the face of fat and calories and daring them to a fight. Well, you've officially stopped winning; I just thought I should let you know. You were ALMOST on belt loop 4 . . . . well, now that's starting to get tight. So you are officially on lock down. No more fried foods. No more candy. No more fatty foods. This affair of yours, it's over.
You're getting back on the workout track and here is what we have to address straight out - I know you hate the elliptical downstairs. You really gave it its fair shot in liking it, and really it's the only one you've ever felt real hatred for. And you know what? That's ruining your groove thing. You are going to have to learn to put up with it at least twice a week. No exceptions. We both know you are not going to leave the comfort of your apartment to get in your car and drive to the gym, so you might as well make friendly with the elliptical downstairs.
Oh, and every little thing you put in your mouth will be counted. You are paying way too much money for that trainer of yours to not count every little thing. Every french fry you steal every candy bar you say "Oh, well, this is small, it really won't count." Guess what, it does now.
You will reach your goal in February. You will be a skinny bitch once more. And to show I'm not a bad guy - I'll even throw in the fair at no extra . . . . well . . . let's just say I won't be that much of a bitch about it. But past that, welcome to your new hell. So pull up a chair, or should I say elliptical machine, and stay awhile because if I have anything to do with it, which I now will, you will be a skinny bitch.......
We need to talk. You know this has been a long time coming. You didn't really think you would get away with all those trips to the candy store for long, did you? I totally understand that losing weight is no easy task, but let's face it - you've gotten a little off track and we need to get this crazy train back to where it belongs before you are back to where you started. I'll give you this - you're amazing at maintaining your weight. With all the candy bars, coffees and things fried you've managed not to gain anything back . . . . . yet. But let's be serious - you're still a little fatty around the curves and that just won't do.
This all really began with the college, didn't it? You totally forgot what undergrad was like. The undergrad where you gained 15 pounds, but hell you could have stood to gain some at that point. That trip was filled with top ramen, Swanson dinners and my personal favorite, rice-a-roni. This new trip around the undergrad block? Well, it's been filled with Reeses peanut butter cups, flamin' hot cheetos and countless numbers of coffee well diluted in half and half. Oh, and the occasional cookie.
Remember that day when the candy first came to you? You had been doing so well; you were off your first plateau and on your way to your goal. Then she did it. That new boss of yours, bless her heart, opted for ice breakers to get everyone to know each other. All of which seemed to involve candy. Now, we both know you have issues when it comes to candy. We both know you can't control your hands. The best thing would have been to sit on them and push yours to the side. Instead . . . . you ate all of yours . . . . and your neighbors . . . . and then dove into the bucket full of candy until you found yourself surrounded by tiny little wrappers, lost in what everyone was talking about and wondering how to hide the evidence.
But it didn't stop there, did it. The co-worker of yours that reminds you of Mari, yeah, she showed you where to get MORE candy. The smart thing would have been to say no thank you and never even look in the spot. But you didn't do that, did you? You clicked your heels three times and said "There's nothing like candy, there's nothing like candy." And you were brought to the candy. Each individually wrapped and in deceivingly small servings. Each perfectly sweet, charming piece of candy was your new buffet. This was the beginning of that downhill spiral.
You've been all over the map since then, haven't you? Scoffing in the face of fat and calories and daring them to a fight. Well, you've officially stopped winning; I just thought I should let you know. You were ALMOST on belt loop 4 . . . . well, now that's starting to get tight. So you are officially on lock down. No more fried foods. No more candy. No more fatty foods. This affair of yours, it's over.
You're getting back on the workout track and here is what we have to address straight out - I know you hate the elliptical downstairs. You really gave it its fair shot in liking it, and really it's the only one you've ever felt real hatred for. And you know what? That's ruining your groove thing. You are going to have to learn to put up with it at least twice a week. No exceptions. We both know you are not going to leave the comfort of your apartment to get in your car and drive to the gym, so you might as well make friendly with the elliptical downstairs.
Oh, and every little thing you put in your mouth will be counted. You are paying way too much money for that trainer of yours to not count every little thing. Every french fry you steal every candy bar you say "Oh, well, this is small, it really won't count." Guess what, it does now.
You will reach your goal in February. You will be a skinny bitch once more. And to show I'm not a bad guy - I'll even throw in the fair at no extra . . . . well . . . let's just say I won't be that much of a bitch about it. But past that, welcome to your new hell. So pull up a chair, or should I say elliptical machine, and stay awhile because if I have anything to do with it, which I now will, you will be a skinny bitch.......
Sunday, September 6, 2009
Panties and Chocolates
Weight: 19.6lbs lighter
Mood: So Frustrated I Could Cry
Listening To: Money Fly Out of My Pocket and the Maintenance Guys Fixing My Air Conditioner
This past week, I worked every day at the college where I now have a part-time job. Since it was the first week of school, the hours were really full time and I worked in the sweltering heat of the valley, at times with no air conditioning. I kind of got screwed on my hours, working 10:30 - 7:30, leaving no time to really work out or to spend with Brian, considering the hour drive there and back in okay traffic. Since the week was so hectic, my feet hurt and I developed this kink in my neck, which meant I could no longer turn my head to the right, I made an appointment at the spa to relax and recover. Brian had just as hard of a week, so I also decided to surprise him with an appointment for a massage, too.
The alarm went off early in the morning today, but not too early as to be devastating. By now Brian knew where we were going, and he returned from an early morning workout so we could get on our way. I declined the breakfast sandwich he was making because working at the college had made it so I had eaten all sorts of crap and had practically fallen off of the wagon. I reeeealllly needed to get back on track. So I had my weight watchers frozen sandwich and a glass of milk. We checked into the spa, and when I went to my locker I discovered it was a lower half locker. As I walked back to the front desk to request a full locker, I wondered why they would give out half lockers on a day where practically no one was there. I didn't really think much more of it when they handed me a key to a full locker with a smile. I took some time and rested in the Jacuzzi, looking forward to the 80 minute massage I was about to get.
When the clock hit 11:30, I met with my would-be therapist and thought she had a little bit of a strange vibe, but whatever, I just hope she's good! I went over with her things that were bothering me - I have this kink in my neck to where when I turn my head right it hurts. Where is it? Oh, it runs right along here. My lower back also hurts when I lay on my belly. Not sure why, but it always does. Yes, I do have a curved back. Oh, and I've been working out a lot so my feet have really been hurting me. As I laid down on the table and felt my lower back cramp, I couldn't wait to get started. She really dug into my neck and shoulder to work out that kink. I can't lie, it felt great. I can't wait until she gets to my lower back.......huh......does she think that's my lower back? That's more like my middle back. This is a reputable place; she has to know that's not considered the lower back. I'll just wait and be patient. What's that you say? Time to flip over? Huh. Well, I guess you do think you hit the lower back area, unless you have some other tricks up your sleeve. I at least hope you do some foot work because I've been dying for it. Oh, yup, there's my foot! And there it went. That's all the work you are going to do? Really? Can't be. I mean, really, it can't. What's that? The massage is over? Well, I guess it can be. Yeah, you were great.....really.
While I sat in the Jacuzzi again, letting the bubbles run over my skin, I tried not to get totally frustrated when I thought about the two spots she missed, that I really wanted her to work on, and the almost $200 it cost me. I mean, really, the massage was really good. In all, I enjoyed it. I can always go to the local massage place and drop $60 for an hour massage to get those areas worked on. Didn't really plan for that, though. But overall the massage was good and I am relaxed. I could nap right now.
Once I paid the bill and met up with Brian, I suggested we go to lunch because I was starving. We sat down at a local deli and I passed up on the sandwiches and pasta for a cup of veggie soup and a Chinese chicken salad, tossed please. The veggie soup came and it was good, with the exception of the mushrooms I had to pick out of it. I've never known anyone to put mushrooms in a veggie soup, but to each their own. Huh, no crackers.....just as well. It would just me extra points that I don't need. Ah, there is my salad. Huh, doesn't look like it's tossed. No matter, it's still edible. Huh, that bite didn't have any dressing on it. Well, there has to be dressing somewhere. Nope, not there. Oh, piece of chicken, I'll give that a bite while I search for the dressing. Oh crap, that was a bite of cartilage! GROSS! I'm spitting that out, sorry for the grossness Brian. Still not finding any dressing in here. Where the hell is the waiter? Um, I'm sorry sir but there is no dressing on the salad. Do I want a side of it? I just want dressing on the salad, so fix it. Hmmmm.....I'll eat some of Brian's fries while I wait. Gawd I've had a lot of fries. I need to create a barricade with the water. Ah, there is my salad and this time, I can smell the dressing on it! This is gonna be good! Wait a minute. How much dressing did they put on it? A teaspoon? It's barely there! I can't believe this crap. Now I really am gonna have to ask for a side of dressing and this guy is going to think I am crazy. Okay, calm, breath. It's just dressing it's cool, people do it all the time. Excuse me, sir; can I have a side of dressing please? Oh, thank you. Now I'll just smother that in dressing. There is the salad I was looking for!
Once lunch was over, I decided to take Brian by the local Vickie's Secret. Since I've been on the, eh-hem, bigger side of things my cute little panties don't fit any more. But, since I've lost some weight, I have four cute pairs that fit, one of which is falling apart, and I'm tired of rotating through them. I knew the cuts I was looking for, which are pretty common cuts, so we could totally find a few pairs. As soon as I got to the store, I scanned through the offerings and found one of the two cuts I was looking for. Awesome! It's the cut I really wanted, too. Let's go pick out some colors! Hey, wait a minute. Does that sign really say "One Size Fits All"? You've got to be kidding me. Maybe it's just this section. Nope, it's all of them. Again, you have got to be kidding me. Not only am I shocked that a store of this caliber would try to pull that kind of shit, but I can tell you right now, that what fits a size two in no way will fit my size large-ass. Gawd. Are they really pulling this shit? Maybe I can make it work. How big do these stretch out to? Well, maybe that will fit. Huh. Maybe if I hold it to my hips, it'll give me good news that they will fit. Nope, nope, nope. The only way these things will fit is if they are stretched out all the way, all day long. GUESS WHAT VICKIE!!!!???? THAT MEANS ONE SIZE DOESN'T FIT ALL, YOU BITCH!!!! As I left the store, feeling utterly betrayed, I thought maybe if we checked into a few more store fronts we could find what I'm looking for. Nope, nothing there. They don't sell panties here. Oh, look! Kittens!!! That'll brighten up my day a little bit!
It's not uncommon in this part of town for people to bring live acts out onto the street, or to ask for help for their organization. With the way my day had been going, seeing a cute little kitten play or just looking at them could really help turn it around, because fuck if things just aren't really going my way today. As I approached the cages, I saw the sweetest little calico kitten, and immediately told Brian I wanted it. He pointed out a Chester kitten and my heart just sank. They were so sweet, napping, licking themselves clean and playing with the papers stuck to the cage, gawd I wanted to take one home, and just seeing their sweet little faces was starting to turn my day around. Then the lady behind the cages started yelling at all of us about how we should donate money so they could pay their vet bills among other things. Her yelling at all of us blocked my ray of sunshine that was the kittens and I just had to walk away. It's true that I wanted to pull out my wallet and donate to them, and by now I was thinking that my money was misplaced in the massage I got earlier. But you know what else was true? My job is part time and pays crap. I don't even know if I can do the $60 to cover for the make-up massage. ::sigh:: I just wanted to see the kittens and this bitch ruined it.
At this point, I really needed to turn this day around. I mean, really, massage - okay but not great. Soup - had to pick out the mushrooms. Salad - no dressing. Panties - one size fits all. Kittens - bitchy handler. Maybe if I got a bite or two of chocolate from the local chocolatier. C'mon Brian - if there is one thing in this world that will cheer a girl up and put her day back on track, it's a bite of good, delicious chocolate. As we walked into the chocolatier there was a lady talking to the singular man behind the counter. She needed a full description of EVERYTHING on the menu. I was starting to feel my patience wane, but told myself to calm down. Sometimes people need some explaining, you know you've been there. It will be your turn in just a minute. I looked over the chocolates sitting behind the case, but no description was available to tell me what they were. Clearly, this was no Godiva, but what I was looking for was simple, easy. There is no way they couldn't have it. As I could tell my patience was growing less and less, the guy behind the counter looked over at all of us in line and asked if we were paying cash or credit. Before I could say anything, the man behind me said "credit" and the guy behind the counter said "okay." Huh. That was weird. I mean, I'm the next in line. Does he not care what my response is. I mean, I could go cash or credit. And why would he talk to the man behind me, and not me, the next person in line. Maybe it was just a general question to acknowledge we were all standing there. Or maybe he's a sexist.....no, no, girl. Benefit of the doubt. It was just a general question.
Once he finished up with the lady in front of me, he came over to the chocolate case and began to put on a glove, and also continued with his conversation with the man behind me, not once looking at me as I stared directly into his eyes. Okay, so he's telling the guy that he's low on cash and that's why he was asking the question. He hasn't yet asked anyone what their order is, and if this asshole behind the counter thinks he is going to "pass over the little lady and talk directly to the man" I am going to go the fuck off. And if this asshole thinks he is going to trump me in line just because he is a man, I am going to go the fuck off. So go ahead, jerk off, put on the glove. Let's see you do it because I will bring the wrath of hell to your doorstep for your sexist behavior. One step, dare you. Just as I could feel my blood boil and the darts in my eyes take aim, someone else came onto shift and he asked her to take over, because hey, he had to go on break as he explained to the man behind me. At least she had some sense, and knew I was next in line. One chocolate and caramel, please. What's that? You're sold out? Okay, common flavor it's cool. How about some sort of chocolate on chocolate, like a chocolate truffle? WHAT THE HELL DO YOU MEAN YOU DON'T MAKE ANYTHING THAT IS ALL CHOCOLATE???? YOU ARE A FUCKING CHOCOLATIER!!! IT'S WHAT YOU DO!!!!!!!!!!! FUCK YOU ALL, I'M GOING HOME!!!!
And with that, I was on the street corner yelling at Brian to take me home. I sat quietly in the car, knowing that no matter what I said or what I suggested at this point, it would just go to crap. It was traffic almost the entire way home, until Brian jumped off onto a side street that I didn't suggest. He asked if maybe my new favorite would make me feel better? Frozen Peanut Butter Yogurt topped off with chocolate peanut butter bits. I knew what would happen if I went, some bitch who got there 2 minutes before me would decide she needed an extra large size of peanut butter flavor and stand there, filling up her extra large cup, while I sat there tapping my foot, not believing the kind of shitty luck I had. By the time I got to the flavor, it would have almost been tapped, to the point where I was getting the scrapings of the barrel where the fro-yo had the consistency of something between a slushee and fro-yo. Hey, it's happened before. So either that, or they will be out of the chocolate peanut butter pieces that I love so much. Or a combination of the two. So, no, take me home.
As we walked down the hallway to our place, I just caught glimpse of our repair guys who decided to finally come and fix our air conditioner. At 4:50pm on a Sunday. I stood out in the hallway, yelling at the ceiling, WHY GAWD, WHY?????? I let Brian deal with it, as I sat down on the couch with my computer, unable to turn on the air conditioner and unable to open up a window because of the lack of a screen. Let's face it - with my luck at this point, something with a stinger would fly right in and decide that somewhere on my body would be a good place to plant the stinger.
So I'm writing this, sweating on my couch, feeling my $200 massage melt away as I can once again no longer turn my head to the right. I've already explained to Brian that the plan for the rest of my day is to drink, and drink heavily. I'm lucky that he laughed at me and ran to the store to get groceries of the rest of the week. While he's been gone, I've discovered that he's emptied the dishwasher, made the bed and left a sweet little card on our bed that I have yet to read. On this, the day of our six-year anniversary, I realize that I really do have the best guy ever.
Mood: So Frustrated I Could Cry
Listening To: Money Fly Out of My Pocket and the Maintenance Guys Fixing My Air Conditioner
This past week, I worked every day at the college where I now have a part-time job. Since it was the first week of school, the hours were really full time and I worked in the sweltering heat of the valley, at times with no air conditioning. I kind of got screwed on my hours, working 10:30 - 7:30, leaving no time to really work out or to spend with Brian, considering the hour drive there and back in okay traffic. Since the week was so hectic, my feet hurt and I developed this kink in my neck, which meant I could no longer turn my head to the right, I made an appointment at the spa to relax and recover. Brian had just as hard of a week, so I also decided to surprise him with an appointment for a massage, too.
The alarm went off early in the morning today, but not too early as to be devastating. By now Brian knew where we were going, and he returned from an early morning workout so we could get on our way. I declined the breakfast sandwich he was making because working at the college had made it so I had eaten all sorts of crap and had practically fallen off of the wagon. I reeeealllly needed to get back on track. So I had my weight watchers frozen sandwich and a glass of milk. We checked into the spa, and when I went to my locker I discovered it was a lower half locker. As I walked back to the front desk to request a full locker, I wondered why they would give out half lockers on a day where practically no one was there. I didn't really think much more of it when they handed me a key to a full locker with a smile. I took some time and rested in the Jacuzzi, looking forward to the 80 minute massage I was about to get.
When the clock hit 11:30, I met with my would-be therapist and thought she had a little bit of a strange vibe, but whatever, I just hope she's good! I went over with her things that were bothering me - I have this kink in my neck to where when I turn my head right it hurts. Where is it? Oh, it runs right along here. My lower back also hurts when I lay on my belly. Not sure why, but it always does. Yes, I do have a curved back. Oh, and I've been working out a lot so my feet have really been hurting me. As I laid down on the table and felt my lower back cramp, I couldn't wait to get started. She really dug into my neck and shoulder to work out that kink. I can't lie, it felt great. I can't wait until she gets to my lower back.......huh......does she think that's my lower back? That's more like my middle back. This is a reputable place; she has to know that's not considered the lower back. I'll just wait and be patient. What's that you say? Time to flip over? Huh. Well, I guess you do think you hit the lower back area, unless you have some other tricks up your sleeve. I at least hope you do some foot work because I've been dying for it. Oh, yup, there's my foot! And there it went. That's all the work you are going to do? Really? Can't be. I mean, really, it can't. What's that? The massage is over? Well, I guess it can be. Yeah, you were great.....really.
While I sat in the Jacuzzi again, letting the bubbles run over my skin, I tried not to get totally frustrated when I thought about the two spots she missed, that I really wanted her to work on, and the almost $200 it cost me. I mean, really, the massage was really good. In all, I enjoyed it. I can always go to the local massage place and drop $60 for an hour massage to get those areas worked on. Didn't really plan for that, though. But overall the massage was good and I am relaxed. I could nap right now.
Once I paid the bill and met up with Brian, I suggested we go to lunch because I was starving. We sat down at a local deli and I passed up on the sandwiches and pasta for a cup of veggie soup and a Chinese chicken salad, tossed please. The veggie soup came and it was good, with the exception of the mushrooms I had to pick out of it. I've never known anyone to put mushrooms in a veggie soup, but to each their own. Huh, no crackers.....just as well. It would just me extra points that I don't need. Ah, there is my salad. Huh, doesn't look like it's tossed. No matter, it's still edible. Huh, that bite didn't have any dressing on it. Well, there has to be dressing somewhere. Nope, not there. Oh, piece of chicken, I'll give that a bite while I search for the dressing. Oh crap, that was a bite of cartilage! GROSS! I'm spitting that out, sorry for the grossness Brian. Still not finding any dressing in here. Where the hell is the waiter? Um, I'm sorry sir but there is no dressing on the salad. Do I want a side of it? I just want dressing on the salad, so fix it. Hmmmm.....I'll eat some of Brian's fries while I wait. Gawd I've had a lot of fries. I need to create a barricade with the water. Ah, there is my salad and this time, I can smell the dressing on it! This is gonna be good! Wait a minute. How much dressing did they put on it? A teaspoon? It's barely there! I can't believe this crap. Now I really am gonna have to ask for a side of dressing and this guy is going to think I am crazy. Okay, calm, breath. It's just dressing it's cool, people do it all the time. Excuse me, sir; can I have a side of dressing please? Oh, thank you. Now I'll just smother that in dressing. There is the salad I was looking for!
Once lunch was over, I decided to take Brian by the local Vickie's Secret. Since I've been on the, eh-hem, bigger side of things my cute little panties don't fit any more. But, since I've lost some weight, I have four cute pairs that fit, one of which is falling apart, and I'm tired of rotating through them. I knew the cuts I was looking for, which are pretty common cuts, so we could totally find a few pairs. As soon as I got to the store, I scanned through the offerings and found one of the two cuts I was looking for. Awesome! It's the cut I really wanted, too. Let's go pick out some colors! Hey, wait a minute. Does that sign really say "One Size Fits All"? You've got to be kidding me. Maybe it's just this section. Nope, it's all of them. Again, you have got to be kidding me. Not only am I shocked that a store of this caliber would try to pull that kind of shit, but I can tell you right now, that what fits a size two in no way will fit my size large-ass. Gawd. Are they really pulling this shit? Maybe I can make it work. How big do these stretch out to? Well, maybe that will fit. Huh. Maybe if I hold it to my hips, it'll give me good news that they will fit. Nope, nope, nope. The only way these things will fit is if they are stretched out all the way, all day long. GUESS WHAT VICKIE!!!!???? THAT MEANS ONE SIZE DOESN'T FIT ALL, YOU BITCH!!!! As I left the store, feeling utterly betrayed, I thought maybe if we checked into a few more store fronts we could find what I'm looking for. Nope, nothing there. They don't sell panties here. Oh, look! Kittens!!! That'll brighten up my day a little bit!
It's not uncommon in this part of town for people to bring live acts out onto the street, or to ask for help for their organization. With the way my day had been going, seeing a cute little kitten play or just looking at them could really help turn it around, because fuck if things just aren't really going my way today. As I approached the cages, I saw the sweetest little calico kitten, and immediately told Brian I wanted it. He pointed out a Chester kitten and my heart just sank. They were so sweet, napping, licking themselves clean and playing with the papers stuck to the cage, gawd I wanted to take one home, and just seeing their sweet little faces was starting to turn my day around. Then the lady behind the cages started yelling at all of us about how we should donate money so they could pay their vet bills among other things. Her yelling at all of us blocked my ray of sunshine that was the kittens and I just had to walk away. It's true that I wanted to pull out my wallet and donate to them, and by now I was thinking that my money was misplaced in the massage I got earlier. But you know what else was true? My job is part time and pays crap. I don't even know if I can do the $60 to cover for the make-up massage. ::sigh:: I just wanted to see the kittens and this bitch ruined it.
At this point, I really needed to turn this day around. I mean, really, massage - okay but not great. Soup - had to pick out the mushrooms. Salad - no dressing. Panties - one size fits all. Kittens - bitchy handler. Maybe if I got a bite or two of chocolate from the local chocolatier. C'mon Brian - if there is one thing in this world that will cheer a girl up and put her day back on track, it's a bite of good, delicious chocolate. As we walked into the chocolatier there was a lady talking to the singular man behind the counter. She needed a full description of EVERYTHING on the menu. I was starting to feel my patience wane, but told myself to calm down. Sometimes people need some explaining, you know you've been there. It will be your turn in just a minute. I looked over the chocolates sitting behind the case, but no description was available to tell me what they were. Clearly, this was no Godiva, but what I was looking for was simple, easy. There is no way they couldn't have it. As I could tell my patience was growing less and less, the guy behind the counter looked over at all of us in line and asked if we were paying cash or credit. Before I could say anything, the man behind me said "credit" and the guy behind the counter said "okay." Huh. That was weird. I mean, I'm the next in line. Does he not care what my response is. I mean, I could go cash or credit. And why would he talk to the man behind me, and not me, the next person in line. Maybe it was just a general question to acknowledge we were all standing there. Or maybe he's a sexist.....no, no, girl. Benefit of the doubt. It was just a general question.
Once he finished up with the lady in front of me, he came over to the chocolate case and began to put on a glove, and also continued with his conversation with the man behind me, not once looking at me as I stared directly into his eyes. Okay, so he's telling the guy that he's low on cash and that's why he was asking the question. He hasn't yet asked anyone what their order is, and if this asshole behind the counter thinks he is going to "pass over the little lady and talk directly to the man" I am going to go the fuck off. And if this asshole thinks he is going to trump me in line just because he is a man, I am going to go the fuck off. So go ahead, jerk off, put on the glove. Let's see you do it because I will bring the wrath of hell to your doorstep for your sexist behavior. One step, dare you. Just as I could feel my blood boil and the darts in my eyes take aim, someone else came onto shift and he asked her to take over, because hey, he had to go on break as he explained to the man behind me. At least she had some sense, and knew I was next in line. One chocolate and caramel, please. What's that? You're sold out? Okay, common flavor it's cool. How about some sort of chocolate on chocolate, like a chocolate truffle? WHAT THE HELL DO YOU MEAN YOU DON'T MAKE ANYTHING THAT IS ALL CHOCOLATE???? YOU ARE A FUCKING CHOCOLATIER!!! IT'S WHAT YOU DO!!!!!!!!!!! FUCK YOU ALL, I'M GOING HOME!!!!
And with that, I was on the street corner yelling at Brian to take me home. I sat quietly in the car, knowing that no matter what I said or what I suggested at this point, it would just go to crap. It was traffic almost the entire way home, until Brian jumped off onto a side street that I didn't suggest. He asked if maybe my new favorite would make me feel better? Frozen Peanut Butter Yogurt topped off with chocolate peanut butter bits. I knew what would happen if I went, some bitch who got there 2 minutes before me would decide she needed an extra large size of peanut butter flavor and stand there, filling up her extra large cup, while I sat there tapping my foot, not believing the kind of shitty luck I had. By the time I got to the flavor, it would have almost been tapped, to the point where I was getting the scrapings of the barrel where the fro-yo had the consistency of something between a slushee and fro-yo. Hey, it's happened before. So either that, or they will be out of the chocolate peanut butter pieces that I love so much. Or a combination of the two. So, no, take me home.
As we walked down the hallway to our place, I just caught glimpse of our repair guys who decided to finally come and fix our air conditioner. At 4:50pm on a Sunday. I stood out in the hallway, yelling at the ceiling, WHY GAWD, WHY?????? I let Brian deal with it, as I sat down on the couch with my computer, unable to turn on the air conditioner and unable to open up a window because of the lack of a screen. Let's face it - with my luck at this point, something with a stinger would fly right in and decide that somewhere on my body would be a good place to plant the stinger.
So I'm writing this, sweating on my couch, feeling my $200 massage melt away as I can once again no longer turn my head to the right. I've already explained to Brian that the plan for the rest of my day is to drink, and drink heavily. I'm lucky that he laughed at me and ran to the store to get groceries of the rest of the week. While he's been gone, I've discovered that he's emptied the dishwasher, made the bed and left a sweet little card on our bed that I have yet to read. On this, the day of our six-year anniversary, I realize that I really do have the best guy ever.
Monday, August 10, 2009
Protien Shakes and Pretzels
Any girl that knows anything about hair, knows two things: 1) It's bad to wash it every day and 2) the day after a blow dry, your scalp is usually oily and you have to get creative if you plan on having that look another day. During one of my many lay out sessions by the pool since I've been unemployed, I found an item listed is the "best of" section of one of my magazines. It was called shampowder. Huh . . . . . a waterless shampoo that extends the life of your hairstyle by sopping up all that oil. Huh . . . . So I researched it online and found that a beauty supply store was right down the street from my new work. Little did I know that this supply store was in the mall.
I love the mall. So many things to look at and so many things to . . . . . eat. Crap. I love mall food. Really, it's my favorite. Sabarro, Auntie Anne’s, Mrs. Fields. I'm into all of it. I didn't quite anticipate walking by all of these store fronts, and I certainly didn't anticipate how wonderful they would all smell. As I turned one corner, I was immediately assaulted with the smell of fresh baked pretzels from Wetzel’s Pretzels. Oh that smells so good. I could feel the warm, soft pretzel in my hand, and taste the gooey, buttery cheese hitting every inch of my mouth with that slight twinge from a grain of salt. There is nothing better. Surely, just one pretzel wouldn't hurt. Remember when you had a pretzel on the way back from the fair? Remember being surprised in how low it points it was? Surely we can work this in to today’s points! Surely! . . . . . . . Then it happened. I heard the other voice and it went a little something like this: Now you remember Saturday? Oh, you don't? Well let me refresh your memory. You STARTED drinking at 2pm. You didn't STOP until midnight-ish. Girl, that was ten hours of drinking! I blame Brian. Oh, but it didn't stop there. You did good at the restaurant. Then you got your hands on those hot dogs, mac salad and cupcakes. If you open up that little weight watchers pamphlet, you will find that there is no wiggle room for the rest of the week. There is no working this in. You're either gonna lose weight, or you're gonna stay a fatty. What's your choice?
I was so offended. How dare that little voice say such hurtful things. But it's right, you know. That hot dog wasn't a turkey dog . . . . but it was good. And the chili I had it covered in. Yeah, I'm into that. Erin makes some mean cupcakes, too! Oh my gawd I feel fat and bloated just thinking about this. KEEP WALKING, KEEP WALKING!
As I rounded the corner, my nose picked up the familiar smell of Mrs. Fields cookies. Oh Mrs. Fields cookies. They had taken the one out of my local mall and this was one of only two locations that I know of in L.A.. You know, we should have at least one because gawd only knows when we are going to get this treat again. I could just get one of the small ones. What is that? Like 2, 3 points? Surely I can work that in. Can I even buy only one little one? I should ask . . . .
NO! WAIT! YOU STOP RIGHT THERE!!! There it was, that little voice again . . . . Do I really need to go through Saturday's menu with you again? You have been the worst dieter ever for the past week and a half! I bet you've even gained weight back!!! You need to knock this off. You're back on the road to fatsville . . . . just when you were starting to look good again and clothes were starting to get loose . . . You suck. I don't want to be on this crazy train.
I held my breath and looked the other way as I passed by. I thought about the apple I ate in the car and the protein shake that I was going to have on the way home. That's nice and chocolaty. That should be yummy. After stopping in two stores in the mall, neither one of them had what I was looking for. Dam them for dragging me into this pit of temptation for nothing.
On the way back to the car, I stopped right where a small arrow pointed the way to the food court. As I walked back and forth in a ten pace area, I thought about Sabarro. I thought about a weight watchers meeting. I thought about Panda. I thought about how loose my clothes have been getting. I thought about hot dog on a stick and I finally walked away, and to my car.
On the way home, I drank my protein shake and although it doesn't measure up to a regular milkshake, it does sit on my tummy like lead. I reassured myself that I would make something at home that would be a yummy lunch. Just for me, and within my point allowance. I did my best at making something yummy, but you know what? I would place my bets that the baked ziti and garlic bread that Sabarro would have been better.
I love the mall. So many things to look at and so many things to . . . . . eat. Crap. I love mall food. Really, it's my favorite. Sabarro, Auntie Anne’s, Mrs. Fields. I'm into all of it. I didn't quite anticipate walking by all of these store fronts, and I certainly didn't anticipate how wonderful they would all smell. As I turned one corner, I was immediately assaulted with the smell of fresh baked pretzels from Wetzel’s Pretzels. Oh that smells so good. I could feel the warm, soft pretzel in my hand, and taste the gooey, buttery cheese hitting every inch of my mouth with that slight twinge from a grain of salt. There is nothing better. Surely, just one pretzel wouldn't hurt. Remember when you had a pretzel on the way back from the fair? Remember being surprised in how low it points it was? Surely we can work this in to today’s points! Surely! . . . . . . . Then it happened. I heard the other voice and it went a little something like this: Now you remember Saturday? Oh, you don't? Well let me refresh your memory. You STARTED drinking at 2pm. You didn't STOP until midnight-ish. Girl, that was ten hours of drinking! I blame Brian. Oh, but it didn't stop there. You did good at the restaurant. Then you got your hands on those hot dogs, mac salad and cupcakes. If you open up that little weight watchers pamphlet, you will find that there is no wiggle room for the rest of the week. There is no working this in. You're either gonna lose weight, or you're gonna stay a fatty. What's your choice?
I was so offended. How dare that little voice say such hurtful things. But it's right, you know. That hot dog wasn't a turkey dog . . . . but it was good. And the chili I had it covered in. Yeah, I'm into that. Erin makes some mean cupcakes, too! Oh my gawd I feel fat and bloated just thinking about this. KEEP WALKING, KEEP WALKING!
As I rounded the corner, my nose picked up the familiar smell of Mrs. Fields cookies. Oh Mrs. Fields cookies. They had taken the one out of my local mall and this was one of only two locations that I know of in L.A.. You know, we should have at least one because gawd only knows when we are going to get this treat again. I could just get one of the small ones. What is that? Like 2, 3 points? Surely I can work that in. Can I even buy only one little one? I should ask . . . .
NO! WAIT! YOU STOP RIGHT THERE!!! There it was, that little voice again . . . . Do I really need to go through Saturday's menu with you again? You have been the worst dieter ever for the past week and a half! I bet you've even gained weight back!!! You need to knock this off. You're back on the road to fatsville . . . . just when you were starting to look good again and clothes were starting to get loose . . . You suck. I don't want to be on this crazy train.
I held my breath and looked the other way as I passed by. I thought about the apple I ate in the car and the protein shake that I was going to have on the way home. That's nice and chocolaty. That should be yummy. After stopping in two stores in the mall, neither one of them had what I was looking for. Dam them for dragging me into this pit of temptation for nothing.
On the way back to the car, I stopped right where a small arrow pointed the way to the food court. As I walked back and forth in a ten pace area, I thought about Sabarro. I thought about a weight watchers meeting. I thought about Panda. I thought about how loose my clothes have been getting. I thought about hot dog on a stick and I finally walked away, and to my car.
On the way home, I drank my protein shake and although it doesn't measure up to a regular milkshake, it does sit on my tummy like lead. I reassured myself that I would make something at home that would be a yummy lunch. Just for me, and within my point allowance. I did my best at making something yummy, but you know what? I would place my bets that the baked ziti and garlic bread that Sabarro would have been better.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
The SoCal Hood
I’ve lived in Los Angeles most of my life, but it hasn’t really been consistent until recently. My parents bounced me and my brother to multiple suburbs in California, finally settling in Irvine for my High School career. Ah Irvine, where the houses are big, the yards are green and all the kids get a car for their sixteenth birthday. I didn’t mind Irvine, I liked it actually. There was always a sense of safety no matter where you went. Along with that sense of safety, you always knew that you were being closely watched just because you were a teenager. I experienced some unwarranted pull-overs by Irvine P.D. because we were a group of teenagers. At the time it pissed me off, but looking back on it, I get it. They were trying to keep gangs and delinquents out of their perfect community.
When I was nineteen I left the Orange Curtain for Los Angeles and have lived here since. In the beginning there were struggles with anxiety of not having that same safe feeling, but I soon nestled into West Los Angeles with the help of my one-generation ahead sister. I found it funny how rap songs always talked about “the life of the Westside”, and found myself living it. I knew it was hard on the Eastside and touched on it every once in awhile. I can’t say I’ve been under exposed, I know what’s out my front door. I know the privilege I continue to live in, and struggle for. I’ve researched, met and talked with people from the Eastside, and I fooled myself into thinking that I get it.
Yeah, there are gangs, I get it. Yeah, you’re a single mom with three kids, I get it. Yeah, you’ve got bills to pay, I get it, so do I. But recently I started working on the Eastside. My first assignment was at a High School in East L.A., and I loved every minute of it. The kids told me about the gangs on campus, but I never found even one member in my office. They were just another kid passing me in the hall. In some of them, I found the poverty I knew so much about and there were times I had to take a moment to myself to fully take in the magnitude of what they were telling me. All I could do was lend a sympathetic ear and attempt to make High School just a little easier for them while giving them the hope and a pathway to something better.
However, the assignment I’m on now has brought me even deeper into “the hood”. Instead of the Hispanic Barrio of East LA, I find myself smack in the middle of the hood of South Central, trying to pull these young children out of the quicksand they find themselves surrounded by. I’ve broken up so many fights in the last three days and seen kids hit and kick at faculty and staff, that I’ve found a whole new side of myself that I knew was in there somewhere. I learned how to stand my ground with these kids and tell them how things are going to be. When they try to challenge me, I have learned how to make them back down and put them back in their place. Just this afternoon I was helping a Dean watch approximately 60 students in an auditorium when I caught one student hitting another one while they were sitting. Sure, seemed like play. I called the student out and told him to knock it off and stared directly at him, as if to dare him to do it again. When he backed down, I backed down too. When I looked back at him, I saw him threatening the student next to him again, who at this point was flinching. That’s it, I’ve had it, it’s your ass at this point. YOU! YEAH, YOU! GET UP, SIT IN THE BACK BY YOURSELF! WHY? BECAUSE I’M TIRED OF YOU HITTING HIM, THAT’S WHY! MOVE, NOW! Sure he tried to stare me down while he got up, but you know what? He complied. I stood my ground, I showed him I wasn’t messing around with him and it worked. The days I’ve worked there, I’ve had multiple incidents, but nothing has really made me think like Jason.
Jason is this small little seventh grader, who is actually cute as a button. When you see him, you just want to call him sunshine and spend some time with him. Jason came into my life when it was reported he was jumped by seven other students. With the exception of a bruise by his eye, he was surprisingly uninjured. Guess these kids don’t know how to throw a decent punch yet. It wasn’t until later that we recovered he was in fact part of a gang and was jumped by a rival gang on campus. Lucky for Jason, we aren't talking about major gangs like Bloods and Crypts. We’re talking about small campus crews that still have the potential of being broken up. Unluckily for Jason, belonging to these crews is the first step in belonging to a major gang later in life.
When his mother came onto campus with his older brother, I was in the meeting where we broke it to her that her son is a member in a gang. I didn’t know what to expect from her. Tears, anger, denial? It was clear his older brother is not a gang member, so what is going on with Jason? Why did he join? Why now? Why?? The funny thing, I didn’t get the reaction from her that I was expecting. She was very quiet. At first she didn’t believe us because her son always comes home on time. That means he’s not in a gang, right? We really had to explain to her that while Jason was heavily denying membership, we had too many eye witnesses that are putting him in the gang. Jason just sat there, head down, not making eye contact, feet dangling from the chair. His mother searched all of us, not knowing what to do next. She searched his brother, who at this point appeared very worried. The case is still continuing.
I finally felt the true grit of the hood. I felt it reach its ugly hand into that meeting room past me, past the dean and wrap itself around that small, cute as a button boy. I could feel myself wanting to pry its fingers from his body, try to not let it totally envelope him, but I knew what I could do was limited. I saw the potential Jason could be, bad and good, and it was all flashing by so quickly. I wanted to cry for his mother who was clearly struggling for a light in the dark of unexplored and unknown ground.
Now when I walk across the street to my favorite taco stand and see the boys hanging out on the corner, they all look like Jason. At one point they were all cute as a button with their legs dangling off of a chair in school. Now they are on the corner watching the neighborhood under the blanket of the Los Angeles heat. They are the very clear addict that is searching through the trash for gawd knows what. But they are also the guy in the car ahead of me, with the two kids in the back, fighting to make his way through this life. They are also the guy behind the counter ringing up my order and serving me my tacos. The difference between the two? The grip the hood has on them, and to what level it has over taken them.
I drove home today thinking about Jason with his head down. And I thought about the smile of satisfaction Arnold Schwarzenegger had on his face when it was announced that they had reached a budget for California. A budget that included nine billion dollars worth of cuts to education. Then I wondered if he had ever felt the true grit of the hood.
When I was nineteen I left the Orange Curtain for Los Angeles and have lived here since. In the beginning there were struggles with anxiety of not having that same safe feeling, but I soon nestled into West Los Angeles with the help of my one-generation ahead sister. I found it funny how rap songs always talked about “the life of the Westside”, and found myself living it. I knew it was hard on the Eastside and touched on it every once in awhile. I can’t say I’ve been under exposed, I know what’s out my front door. I know the privilege I continue to live in, and struggle for. I’ve researched, met and talked with people from the Eastside, and I fooled myself into thinking that I get it.
Yeah, there are gangs, I get it. Yeah, you’re a single mom with three kids, I get it. Yeah, you’ve got bills to pay, I get it, so do I. But recently I started working on the Eastside. My first assignment was at a High School in East L.A., and I loved every minute of it. The kids told me about the gangs on campus, but I never found even one member in my office. They were just another kid passing me in the hall. In some of them, I found the poverty I knew so much about and there were times I had to take a moment to myself to fully take in the magnitude of what they were telling me. All I could do was lend a sympathetic ear and attempt to make High School just a little easier for them while giving them the hope and a pathway to something better.
However, the assignment I’m on now has brought me even deeper into “the hood”. Instead of the Hispanic Barrio of East LA, I find myself smack in the middle of the hood of South Central, trying to pull these young children out of the quicksand they find themselves surrounded by. I’ve broken up so many fights in the last three days and seen kids hit and kick at faculty and staff, that I’ve found a whole new side of myself that I knew was in there somewhere. I learned how to stand my ground with these kids and tell them how things are going to be. When they try to challenge me, I have learned how to make them back down and put them back in their place. Just this afternoon I was helping a Dean watch approximately 60 students in an auditorium when I caught one student hitting another one while they were sitting. Sure, seemed like play. I called the student out and told him to knock it off and stared directly at him, as if to dare him to do it again. When he backed down, I backed down too. When I looked back at him, I saw him threatening the student next to him again, who at this point was flinching. That’s it, I’ve had it, it’s your ass at this point. YOU! YEAH, YOU! GET UP, SIT IN THE BACK BY YOURSELF! WHY? BECAUSE I’M TIRED OF YOU HITTING HIM, THAT’S WHY! MOVE, NOW! Sure he tried to stare me down while he got up, but you know what? He complied. I stood my ground, I showed him I wasn’t messing around with him and it worked. The days I’ve worked there, I’ve had multiple incidents, but nothing has really made me think like Jason.
Jason is this small little seventh grader, who is actually cute as a button. When you see him, you just want to call him sunshine and spend some time with him. Jason came into my life when it was reported he was jumped by seven other students. With the exception of a bruise by his eye, he was surprisingly uninjured. Guess these kids don’t know how to throw a decent punch yet. It wasn’t until later that we recovered he was in fact part of a gang and was jumped by a rival gang on campus. Lucky for Jason, we aren't talking about major gangs like Bloods and Crypts. We’re talking about small campus crews that still have the potential of being broken up. Unluckily for Jason, belonging to these crews is the first step in belonging to a major gang later in life.
When his mother came onto campus with his older brother, I was in the meeting where we broke it to her that her son is a member in a gang. I didn’t know what to expect from her. Tears, anger, denial? It was clear his older brother is not a gang member, so what is going on with Jason? Why did he join? Why now? Why?? The funny thing, I didn’t get the reaction from her that I was expecting. She was very quiet. At first she didn’t believe us because her son always comes home on time. That means he’s not in a gang, right? We really had to explain to her that while Jason was heavily denying membership, we had too many eye witnesses that are putting him in the gang. Jason just sat there, head down, not making eye contact, feet dangling from the chair. His mother searched all of us, not knowing what to do next. She searched his brother, who at this point appeared very worried. The case is still continuing.
I finally felt the true grit of the hood. I felt it reach its ugly hand into that meeting room past me, past the dean and wrap itself around that small, cute as a button boy. I could feel myself wanting to pry its fingers from his body, try to not let it totally envelope him, but I knew what I could do was limited. I saw the potential Jason could be, bad and good, and it was all flashing by so quickly. I wanted to cry for his mother who was clearly struggling for a light in the dark of unexplored and unknown ground.
Now when I walk across the street to my favorite taco stand and see the boys hanging out on the corner, they all look like Jason. At one point they were all cute as a button with their legs dangling off of a chair in school. Now they are on the corner watching the neighborhood under the blanket of the Los Angeles heat. They are the very clear addict that is searching through the trash for gawd knows what. But they are also the guy in the car ahead of me, with the two kids in the back, fighting to make his way through this life. They are also the guy behind the counter ringing up my order and serving me my tacos. The difference between the two? The grip the hood has on them, and to what level it has over taken them.
I drove home today thinking about Jason with his head down. And I thought about the smile of satisfaction Arnold Schwarzenegger had on his face when it was announced that they had reached a budget for California. A budget that included nine billion dollars worth of cuts to education. Then I wondered if he had ever felt the true grit of the hood.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Vegetables and Sleeping Pills
Weight: Too scared to step on a scale
Mood: Speculative
Listening To: Family Guy
I once went to this restaurant with one of my girlfriends who claimed it was vegetarian. I thought to myself "no problem, I can do vegetarian!" and gladly skipped my way to the door with her. As I looked over the menu I immediately felt betrayed, confused and disgusted as I realized it was a RAW VEGAN restaurant. Instead of swearing under my breath and promptly walking out the door, I decided to give it a go. I can't remember exactly what I ate was called, but there was a lot of sprouts and some kind of vegan dressing on it. After awhile, it made me start to feel ill and I can't really tell you whether or not it was the idea of the food that made me sick, or the food itself. What I do know is that when I ate at El Pollo Loco later that night, I have never been more thankful for cooked food.
Here I am, possibly a year away from that event, but with it still crazy clear in my mind, when I am embarking on a week of being a vegetarian. It's really not for any environmental reason, or ethics reason. To fully be able to understand my newest adventure, I have to start from the best spot - the beginning.
It started the week before this past week (that would be two weeks ago to those who don't know how to count) when I was studying for the CBEST. Oh how very stressful that was. I used the Kaplan study guide, which was the worst guide I could have used, ends up. Once I sat down and took the test, I was quick to realize that Kaplan had me studying for things that weren't even touched upon on the test. I should have guessed it when Kaplan included linear algebra in a study guide for a test that has "basic education" in the title. Instead of investigating into the test off of the CBEST website, I took Kaplan's word for it and the stress was insurmountable. Did I work out to relieve the stress? Hell no. Meditation, maybe? Hell no, I needed immediate gratification. Oh hello my old friend spinach dip! Did it stop there? Hell no, I wasn't going to COOK!!! I have NO TIME to COOK!!! I'll just have to order in! I'll just do it tonight, and tomorrow I'll be good and cook. That discussion would continue in my head everyday for the entire week. I never did end up cooking.
Immediately after the test, I proceeded directly to the grocery store to shop for my 19-year-old niece and nephew that were coming in from Tennessee the following day. Hmmm . . . . . what do 19-year-olds like? Fruit? No, I don't even like fruit or veggies and I'm supposedly an adult. Well hello my old friends Doritos, Oreos, Top Ramen and White Cheddar Corn Puffs. It's been quite a long time since we've chatted. I think we should sit a spell. Especially since I won't be the only one visiting with you! I wasn't kidding myself; I knew I was going to have my fair share of visits with these old friends. During the week, I would have additional visits with other old friends like Cheeseburger, french fries, steak, cheese, chocolate and of course not to be missed - Peanut butter cups. Oh they were great visits! Unfortunately those visits will be sitting on my waist for a little while.
Once my babies left me to go back to Tennessee, I was quick to grab a trash bag to throw away the remaining Doritos and such. As I grabbed the bag, I heard them say hello and assumed we were sitting down for a visit. My arm fought me as I put them in the trash bag. I could hear them scream my name "NO!!! WE ARE SUPPOSSED TO HAVE A VISIT! JUST ONE MORE ISN'T GOING TO HURT! DON'T END IT LIKE THIS!!!" My self control somehow prevailed as I sealed the bag and put it by the door and gathered additional items to throw out. When I picked up the bag and saw bright red and orange from my old friend Doritos press up against the plastic. It taunted me, asked me not to end our relationship like this, and if I needed it had baby bags in the vending machine downstairs ready for a visit.
I wish I could say I felt relief when I threw the bag down the trash shoot, but I didn't. I felt regret that I ever said hello to these old friends again. I felt regret that I ended the relationship so abruptly. Although I knew one last visit wasn't worth it, I still think about the bright red and orange poking through at me, shining brightly and pulling me in.
To get back to healthy, I'm throwing myself on a vegetarian track for a week and being miss workout queen as well. I've got a workout scheduled for every day of the week. I'm nervous. Not so nervous about the food. Not so much nervous about the work outs, but more nervous about my self control than anything. Let's face a fact - I have no self control when it comes to food. I admit it, and it certainly shows on my figure. In any case, I treated myself to an Indian dinner as a send off and good luck, wrote down all of my vegetarian recipes for the week and took a sleeping pill to try and catch a little bit of a zero calorie high. Let the games begin . . . . .
Mood: Speculative
Listening To: Family Guy
I once went to this restaurant with one of my girlfriends who claimed it was vegetarian. I thought to myself "no problem, I can do vegetarian!" and gladly skipped my way to the door with her. As I looked over the menu I immediately felt betrayed, confused and disgusted as I realized it was a RAW VEGAN restaurant. Instead of swearing under my breath and promptly walking out the door, I decided to give it a go. I can't remember exactly what I ate was called, but there was a lot of sprouts and some kind of vegan dressing on it. After awhile, it made me start to feel ill and I can't really tell you whether or not it was the idea of the food that made me sick, or the food itself. What I do know is that when I ate at El Pollo Loco later that night, I have never been more thankful for cooked food.
Here I am, possibly a year away from that event, but with it still crazy clear in my mind, when I am embarking on a week of being a vegetarian. It's really not for any environmental reason, or ethics reason. To fully be able to understand my newest adventure, I have to start from the best spot - the beginning.
It started the week before this past week (that would be two weeks ago to those who don't know how to count) when I was studying for the CBEST. Oh how very stressful that was. I used the Kaplan study guide, which was the worst guide I could have used, ends up. Once I sat down and took the test, I was quick to realize that Kaplan had me studying for things that weren't even touched upon on the test. I should have guessed it when Kaplan included linear algebra in a study guide for a test that has "basic education" in the title. Instead of investigating into the test off of the CBEST website, I took Kaplan's word for it and the stress was insurmountable. Did I work out to relieve the stress? Hell no. Meditation, maybe? Hell no, I needed immediate gratification. Oh hello my old friend spinach dip! Did it stop there? Hell no, I wasn't going to COOK!!! I have NO TIME to COOK!!! I'll just have to order in! I'll just do it tonight, and tomorrow I'll be good and cook. That discussion would continue in my head everyday for the entire week. I never did end up cooking.
Immediately after the test, I proceeded directly to the grocery store to shop for my 19-year-old niece and nephew that were coming in from Tennessee the following day. Hmmm . . . . . what do 19-year-olds like? Fruit? No, I don't even like fruit or veggies and I'm supposedly an adult. Well hello my old friends Doritos, Oreos, Top Ramen and White Cheddar Corn Puffs. It's been quite a long time since we've chatted. I think we should sit a spell. Especially since I won't be the only one visiting with you! I wasn't kidding myself; I knew I was going to have my fair share of visits with these old friends. During the week, I would have additional visits with other old friends like Cheeseburger, french fries, steak, cheese, chocolate and of course not to be missed - Peanut butter cups. Oh they were great visits! Unfortunately those visits will be sitting on my waist for a little while.
Once my babies left me to go back to Tennessee, I was quick to grab a trash bag to throw away the remaining Doritos and such. As I grabbed the bag, I heard them say hello and assumed we were sitting down for a visit. My arm fought me as I put them in the trash bag. I could hear them scream my name "NO!!! WE ARE SUPPOSSED TO HAVE A VISIT! JUST ONE MORE ISN'T GOING TO HURT! DON'T END IT LIKE THIS!!!" My self control somehow prevailed as I sealed the bag and put it by the door and gathered additional items to throw out. When I picked up the bag and saw bright red and orange from my old friend Doritos press up against the plastic. It taunted me, asked me not to end our relationship like this, and if I needed it had baby bags in the vending machine downstairs ready for a visit.
I wish I could say I felt relief when I threw the bag down the trash shoot, but I didn't. I felt regret that I ever said hello to these old friends again. I felt regret that I ended the relationship so abruptly. Although I knew one last visit wasn't worth it, I still think about the bright red and orange poking through at me, shining brightly and pulling me in.
To get back to healthy, I'm throwing myself on a vegetarian track for a week and being miss workout queen as well. I've got a workout scheduled for every day of the week. I'm nervous. Not so nervous about the food. Not so much nervous about the work outs, but more nervous about my self control than anything. Let's face a fact - I have no self control when it comes to food. I admit it, and it certainly shows on my figure. In any case, I treated myself to an Indian dinner as a send off and good luck, wrote down all of my vegetarian recipes for the week and took a sleeping pill to try and catch a little bit of a zero calorie high. Let the games begin . . . . .
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