Modern Art Vs. Me

On Track? 

So, I've been pretty decent about my food intake, but less so about my alcohol intake. Which as we all (sadly) know has plenty of calories in it's own right. So, because I need to pay attention to this crap, I loaded up MyFitnessPal on my phone (again) and I started using it (again) today.

Today I was actually pretty awful. Not in a binge-eating way though. I forgot my lunch at home, and then got so busy at work that I never got a chance to eat lunch. The result was that by the time I got home from work at 5:30, all I had consumed was 300 calories for the whole day. I ate a half cup of macaroni salad when I got home because I felt a little light-headed, and now I'm defrosting skinless chicken breasts for dinner. I'll probably make up a green salad to go with it, and have strawberries for dessert.

Tonight I plan on shopping online for a treadmill, so I can walk or jog indoors. I don't much want to take long walks by myself, and anyway I get bored by myself, even though I love being outside. So treadmill it is!

Tripping

This weekend I'm off with my husband, my sister-in-law, and my father-in-law to Minneapolis. We're all staying with family, and a trip to the Mall of America is planned. In case you're unaware of this ghastly behemoth, it is the Church of Consumerism, the Capital of Corporations. It is Conspicuous Spending at it's ugliest. it also has a rollercoaster, so count me in! Sean plans on going to the Lego Store where you can play with every lego set ever made, and they have huge bins of lego pieces. I want to stop in at Lush which is my favorite place ever to shop. Anything handmade and beautiful smelling is there. And I love my bath stuff a whole lot.
Did I mention my birthday is coming up? Guess how I'm treating myself.

The San Francisco Museum of Modern Art

Okay, so this could actually be called "Why I'm never allowed to return to the SFMOMA" and probably should be, but whatever.
So a group of friends of mine and myself all ended up at the SFMOMA. It's been long enough that I can't remember everyone who was there right now, but I know for sure my BF was because she was in on this. As always.
I have never been a fan of Modern Abstract art. Some of it seems to me like they're just going out of their way to be either incomprehensible or disgusting. And if you say "I think this is gross." they crow about how it's supposed to offend you. And if you say "This is stupid, and I don't get it." you're "incapable of understanding it's complexities."  Perhaps both statements are true. I'm willing to say maybe I'm offended because I don't understand it. Or maybe you're just full of shit.

So this was the mentality I went in to the SFMOMA with... probably was doomed from the start in retrospect.
I remember some of the exhibits were interesting, but the one that sticks with me was a series of naked men, sitting on stools blowing spit bubbles. The photos were beautifully composed, and lit... even if I didn't "get" it.
I hadn't been in the museum long when the drama started. I was looking at a statue (I don't even remember what the hell it was now) and I pointed out something to my BF. Out of no where a security guard appears.

Guard: You can't touch the art.
Me: I wasn't...
Guard: Back away from the art.

He followed us around a bit, and then I lost sight of him. A little bit later I was waiting for friends to finish looking at a piece, and I leaned against the blank wall near the doorway.

Guard: Ma'am, you are too close to the exhibit!
Me: *looks at the exhibit 12 feet away from me* Really?
Guard: Don't make me warn you again.

Now my feathers are ruffled. I know he's just doing his job, and it's probably a thankless bullshit job at that, but Really? So out popped my snark. A few rooms later, when I see that he's still behind us, I walked over to a bench in front of an exhibit and smirked at him.

Me: Can I sit here? Or is this a masterpiece too?

He didn't rise to my bait, sadly.

Near the end of the museum there were two artwork exhibits that really sort of pissed me off. I mean... what the fuck. One was a single canvas of solid blue. The other was three completely white panels. That's all they were. Solid. White. Panels.
So there I was standing in front of the white panels. Just staring. Flabbergasted. And BF says:

BF: So, how do these make you feel?
Me: Like I wish I had brought a sharpie...

And that was when I was herded out of the MOMA!

I was also tossed out of the deYoung Museum, but not because I didn't like the exhibits. Apparently cellphones will damage the artwork, and are not allowed, even if you're a panicked parent who is hurrying for the exit because your child has just been injured. Because, yanno.. the fucking artwork man.

*grins*

I'm Getting Dirty

Out of the Zone

Oh man... I did something today that is WAY outside of my comfort zone.

I signed up for the Dirty Girl Mud Run.

I hate running, but this is more like an obstacle course plus it's for a good cause. Breast Cancer. Plus, I get to roll in the mud, which sounds kind of awesome.

http://www.godirtygirl.com/

I have such a hard time making friends right now though, and I don't get out much, so I felt like this was a chance to break out of my rut. Do something that's good for me, even if it makes me uncomfortable. I'm already regretting it, but that's probably a good sign as it means that I'm doing something besides video games. >.>

My blog readers can be my cheerleaders! I will keep you posted on here.

Diet News

My husband had left the house while I was typing up my last post, and just shortly after I finished it, he returned... With a red velvet cake. *sighs*
I was good though, and only took a small sliver of it. I've allowed myself a very small slice every day, but only one, and it has been VERY small. But it's enough. It tricks me into thinking I'm still not dieting, and makes me happy to have that to look forward to all day.

The wonderful bookkeeper I work for at the lab took me out to lunch yesterday, to Noodles & Company and I ordered the small Med Salad despite how much I love their pastas in cream sauces. I was pretty proud of myself. Jan told me I was doing such a great job at work, that she felt like getting me out of the store. Happy!

I've been good about my meals at home as well. Last night I had a half cup of cooked couscous with a teaspoon of olive oil and cracked pepper, and 6 oz of grilled chicken. And I made myself a smoothie to drink with half a mango, a cup of frozen blueberries and blackberries, a half cup of yoghurt, and cranberry crystal light instead of juice or milk. There was enough for three serving from that, I had a small glass of it (half a pint) and my husband drank the rest.
Was I good? I dunno, I forgot to weigh myself this morning. However I feel like I did better, so it's a start. I would have normally probably made burgers, or ordered a pizza, then had soda with it. Followed by chips later. So yeah, an improvement I think.

I want a baby, Husband says "NO!"

Not a real baby. A kitten. Or a puppy, I'm not picky. But my husband says that we "don't need another one. Two is enough."
Then he reminds me that I spoil the shit out of the cats we have, and that to share that attention at this point would probably break their hearts. Which makes me feel guilty.
I don't sleep well, so I suppose having a third cat to poke me all night would be even worse, but I can't help but stare at photos of tiny baby kittens in need of homes and my heart breaks because I cannot save all the animals in the whole world. If I am ever rich, I will donate all but what I need for basic survival to rescuing, and finding homes for all the sad, and abused animals in the world.

Because I'm a crazy cat lady.

Until next time!

Starting My Journey With You

So tonight I had my husband take some photos of me at my "Before" weight. I've been trying to watch what I eat for a week or two now, but I always end up discouraged, and then I think "Ah fuck it" and binge on ice cream.

It has to end.

So I'm going to post here, and hopefully it will help me to identify any binge triggers, and keep me focused on my goal. I currently weight (takes a deep breath) 220lbs. Ugh...... I hate it. Would you believe I used to model? It's true.

That's me at age 15. Here's another taken just after my 16th birthday.

Now I weighed about 110lbs there. I won't try to get down that far. I'd be happy at about 150-160. I'd be healthy at that weight, and that's really what I'm after. So, here goes the photo of me now.

Ugh... Not what I want to look like, at all. (btw, that's my son's room I'm standing in. I don't have Mario Bros. posters in MY room... I have like, Dragon Age and Portal... I have standards yanno. >_>)

For dinner tonight we grilled chicken breasts, in seasoning, and had rice. For lunch I had a green salad with a little chicken on it, and breakfast was yogurt and granola. I'm going to start keeping track of how big my portions are, but I'm already spending my days hungry. I ate dinner at 7pm, and now at 11pm my stomach is growling already.

My next step is to start doing more physical activity. As the weather is getting nicer, I will start walking home from work in the evenings, instead of catching the bus. Also, because I love to watch movies, I want to get a treadmill and I will be happy to walk, or jog on it while the tv is going. It will distract me from the fact that I hate to jog.

I want to wear something cute, and pretty. I want to dress fashionable. And it might sound shallow, but I want guys to stop me in the street and compliment me. It used to happen. It doesn't anymore.

I'm going to reward myself with an entirely new, and more expensive wardrobe when I have lost the weight. Also, I plan on having my entire back tattooed in poppies. Why poppies? Why not?

PS, I would cut you for a doughnut. I mean that.

<3 Till next time!

Jelly Belly: The Journey From Tubby To Tiny

This is a repost from my old blog.

So we have nicknames for our cats, Data we tend to refer to as "Pants" which is short for 'Crazypants'. Seven we call "Tinycat" for obvious reasons (She's about a third of Data's size).


Well, she won't be tiny for much longer if she keeps up her food consumption. She will eat until the bowl is empty, so we're having to feed her careful amounts. As a result, she will follow us around, mewing piteously, trying to convince us that she is just simply STARVING! When we don't listen, she will try to feed herself. Data will often help her by opening the cabinet door for her, and holding them open, while she gets into the bag of cat food. We then tried leaving their bag of food into a wall cupboard, where, in theory, they wouldn't be able to get to it. Alas, all this accomplished was a lot of banging as they batted at the door from the counter top. So we've since put their food into the linen closet, which has a doorknob. All of their plans come to nothing for want of thumbs.


Seven, however, was undaunted! She had to check the sink area, in case we had forgotten some little tidbit of food she could gobble down. Mind you, there are a few dirty dishes in the sink... I'm bad, I know. But in any case, those dirty dishes lead to this conversation in the darkness of the bedroom while we're trying to sleep.


Darling Husband: *listening to the crashing sounds* They're on the sink again.
Me: I'll get them...
*come back with Seven and Data in tow and we all climb into bed*
DH: Oh hi, Tinycat... why are you sticky?!
Me: She was on the sink.
DH: Is that JELLY on her stomach?
Me: Probably...


Just another typical day in our madhouse.


PS:
I tried to embed a video here of the cats, but it seems to be too large. That's what I get for going with HD video, huh? Instead enjoy these photos of Seven in her Holiday sweater.

In other news I've decided to try to keep up with my attempts to lose weight. I feel like if I blog about it here, then I will accountable for my binges. So this will guilt me into sticking with the straight and narrow. So tonight I will take "Current Weight" photos, and then update once a month with photos of my weight fluctuations. Wish me luck!

In Which I Consider Seppuku

Hey there all, so today was a busy day for me. I had intended to buy tulip bulbs, plant them in my pots on our deck, and then paint all day, however... I'm tired, and probably slightly drunk, so here I am instead! YAY!

I did actually paint some today, but I'm sleepy, and not really into it. My dandelions are looking sad, and I think I want a different type of brush. I have round brushes, but I want to get a fan brush and something with a bit of a point. Sooooo, I think I have a trip to the craft store in my very near future.

Now, I know that I promised some tales from my time in Old Blighty, however the other night at our favorite bar, I was exchanging tales with the girlfriend of one of my husband's old friends from school, and I realized I have a horrible, terrible, awful, shameful story to tell, that's pretty hilarious.

Let me set the scene: It was  94 or 95, and it was my birthday. I honestly can't remember if it was my Sweet 16, or my 17th birthday, but it doesn't really matter. My grandmother had allowed me to invite a lot of people over to the house for a BBQ, and we had minimal adult supervision. We were pretty good kids, most of us, and so there wasn't any alcohol at the house (a few may have been drinking a head of time, but none were drinking on location). However, my best friend from High School, we'll call him Seamus, was a cheeky fucker. He was frequently stoned, and would get high and listen to Phantom of the Opera, and debate with me the nuances of meaning of various operas and musicals. Our favorite was Sweeney Todd.
Anyway, he brings over as my birthday present a small jelly roll cake, and he's grinning. With a cartoonish wink he tells me it's a "Special Cake", and that I should share it after the party has died down. I knew this meant it was loaded with pot, and that he intended for us to listen to an opera (probably  "Die Fledermaus ") after we'd eaten some. This was a typical weekend for us when we hung out actually. Not your kids next door, for sure.
Awesome plan, man. I'm down. But let's go eat burgers and hangout with friends first, kay? Kay.

Nope.

About 2 hours later, we get inside to bring out more soda pop, and my gramma has just taken the last bite of a large slice of the cake. HOLY SHIT! I know my face must have looked amazing, because my gramma told me "Well, I didn't eat ALL of your cake!"
"No, it's um.. no problem Gramma. So, uh, how do you feel?"
"I'm fine, except I ran out of medicine*. Your mother is running to get me some, so you behave for me while it's just me here."
Seamus finally recovers and says "Of course Gramma. You know I think things are wrapping up here soon anyway, we'll just go keep an eye on things."

Outside we loose our minds. I know if I say anything, I will be in for a world of hurt, and I don't want to get Seamus in trouble. He's ready to throw himself under the bus and confess, but I decided to wait and see how things went. I was ready to confess to everything the minute anything seemed to be wrong with Gramma, because she was (still is) very important to me.

We sort of quietly managed to get everyone to leave without incident or suspicion after a little while, since it was Easter break and most of my friends had to get back to family stuff anyway. So finally it's just Seamus and I at home with my Gramma and mom. Seamus had packed away as much of the cake as he could, so there wouldn't be anymore accidental casualties, and we're watching tv with my folks waiting to see if the shoe is going to drop.
I'm grinding my teeth, and scared. Not really for myself, because though I'd get in trouble, it wouldn't honestly be MUCH trouble. My mom is sort of a hippie, and believed in child-rearing by positive reinforcement. (read: I ran wild, and was never ever punished). But my Gramma... I would never forgive myself if anything happened to her. I was filled with dreadful visions of anaphylactic shock, or overdose, and it would all be my fault. I had just decided that if my Gramma became really sick because of me, I would commit dramatic seppuku as penance, when she stood up and walked purposefully to the kitchen. Worried, I followed.

I pretneded to be interested in a drink of water and casually asked her "Whatcha doing Gramma? Anything I can help with?"
"Oh no.. I'm just REALLY hungry. Gosh, I just have this feeling like I need to snack on something!"

My face... I wish I could have seen it. I'm sure it was hysterical.

So my Gramma proceeds to decimate the remains of chips, and regular birthday cake, the whole time marveling at how hungry she is. I know I gave Seamus this look at least once:

I eventually (10 years later)confessed to my Gramma exactly what had happened that day, and what she had eaten. She laughed and told me that now she wanted to try to get her doctor to prescribe her medical pot because that was the best she had slept in ages.

*My grandmother calls her whiskey "medicine". She takes a single shot of it before bed, and the occasional small sip after dinner. She claims it's to help her sleep, and now that she's 95 years old, no one wants to argue it with her.

So there's a look into my life. I wasn't a bad kid, I never got in trouble with the law, I never hurt anyone, and I never disrespected anyone's property. But I wouldn't say I was a good kid either...

Till next time!

Adolescents are not monsters.  They are just people trying to learn how to make it among the adults in the world, who are probably not so sure themselves.  ~Virginia Satir, The New Peoplemaking, 1988

I Dream Of England And The Rain

Hi guys! Sorry I've been a little lax in posting. I was being lazy, and also The Husband bought me Portal 2, and I've been utterly ridiculously a wee bit preoccupied with playing it. I love video games, far more than is good for me.
I'm also dieting, with my husband, who by the way probably doesn't need to. It's somewhat frustrating to be married to a dashing, attractive man, when you feel like you look like the stay-puft marshmallow man's mother. Also, I would cut you for a doughnut right now. Seriously, I would.

So I said I would talk about ending up in England.

It was 2004, and my life was imploding. I was married to my first husband, who was addicted to a lovely thing called meth. He also wasn't a very nice person. I won't get in to details, because quite honestly I'm still terrified he'll find me online, and threaten my family (again) so I'll just leave it.

I discovered that he was having an internet affair with a woman in Minnesota. We had a massive argument, and he left. He came back a week later, apologized and said he was going to get his act together, and he was leaving state to do so. He promised that if I would pay for the plane ticket (he was not working, of course) that he would stay with a friend of ours, and get a job, and then send for me. The place he wanted to go was Minnesota.

Yeah.

Well, I'm not stupid, but at this point I was exhausted, and concerned for my son (his step-son) whom I had managed to insulate and protect from the madness so far, but only because he was still a little guy. I knew in my heart I couldn't protect him forever, and I needed the madness to stop. So I smiled, told him I loved him, and bought that god damned airline ticket. I knew I'd never see him again. I knew I was paying to fly him to her arms. I just didn't care anymore.

After that I was at loose ends. I felt like I couldn't stay where I was anymore. My son's father was in Iraq, and my son was a bit distressed. My son's step-mother offered, in what must have been one of the most surprising phone calls ever, to have my son and I move in with her and her daughter (my son's half-sister). I don't know if it was my mood, or everything... but I accepted.

So I lived in the South for months, and that's a WHOLE 'nother blog entry, and she and I made decent co-parents I think. Eventually though I knew I couldn't stay. I didn't enjoy the area much, and being on a military base all the time was not my cup of tea. (no offense to the people in uniform, I love you guys, but it wasn't for me) My ex was home on leave, so we talked and decided to let our son decide where he wanted to stay. We both felt like it was better for him to stay on base though, as he's just been diagnosed with Asperger's, and the schooling was miles better than where I was in California. I'm from the ghetto, nawhaddymean? In the end, my son asked to stay there. My heart was broken. I cried for days where no one could see. I still cry when I think about that day. His sweet little face, being such a little man about it, taking it as seriously as any kid ever did. *pauses to wipe off face* I love my kid more than anything in the world, and it never gets better.

I moved back home, but when I got there it appeared that my grandmother had let my aunt move into my bedroom. So here I was, lost, alone and sleeping on the couch in my childhood home.

Hmm, I should back up and explain a little bit. I was during all this time part of a thriving online community which you might have heard of, deviantArt, and I was very active on there in the social life. I had made some very good friends there (most of which who I am still extremely close to to this day). One of them is the still sickeningly fantastic artist Nykolai Aleksander, whom I love dearly. At the time she (yes, She. Nykolai is a woman) had just split with her boyfriend, and suggested I come stay with her for a little while. Oh and did I mention she was in London? Of fucking course I said yes.
We'd never met face to face though, so I should have been wary. I wasn't. I jumped in both feet first with all the joy of a kid discovering a toy store for the first time.

And thus started one of the best times of my life. A golden year if you will. How Nyko put up with me for that long is completely beyond me, and she still for some reason seems to love me in return.

 Taken from a friend's FB account. I did not take this photo, and I'm not sure who did. But as soon as I do I will give credit.

I'll have to leave out my misadventures in other lands for a different blog post, but I'll leave you with the teaser: I wind up in Amsterdam.