I'm down with BDD, yeah you know me...

One of my best friends has a blog called Me On A Diet. It's a daily dose of gut-laughs, but also a very poignant read. I highly recommend it!


Anyway, his latest blog entry reminded me of something I frequently wonder if I have, at least to some degree...the dreaded condition known as Body Dysmorphic Disorder. Every time I think I have it, I quickly snap out of it and replace those thoughts with "no, you really ARE the most fucked up looking 'human' to walk the earth, bitch." Healthy, right?


Just yesterday, I was messing around w/my hair...lemme just interject that anyone who knows me even a little knows how thoroughly I loathe my hair, and how I've possibly created a NEW form of BDD that's focused solely on hair and head shape. I don't wanna talk about it. Except to say that while I was getting ready yesterday, I asked my husband what he would think if he saw me walking down the street - wouldn't he think, "half of that girl's head is missing! Why the FUCK is her head so tiny, and her hair so FUCKING FUCKED??? WHAT FRESH HELL IS THIS???"


That's pretty much how I phrased it, too. He just looked at me with a "bitch, what in the HAY-o are you TALKING about?" sort of expression. I refused to believe that he couldn't recognize how freakish I am, and how unlike ALL OTHER HUMANS my head shape is. Oh, I should clarify that I'm growing my bangs out - I have VOWED not to quit doing it this time. I AM going to do it for the first time in my life, and somehow I think this will lead to me obsessing less about my hair, and spending less time trying to style it (while of course concealing the fact that I look more like an alien than a human if I DON'T style it).


Dudes...WOW. I mean, look at what I just wrote. Are these the ravings of a sane person? Do you see what I'm dealing with here? A LUNATIC INHABITS MY BRAIN. Well, the good news is, there's at least a part of my brain that's AWARE of the lunatic that's sharing real estate up there.


What I'm getting at is...there's a part of me (the bigger part of me, unfortunately) that really does think I'm freakish looking, and that much in the way of illusion and deception must occur before I venture out in public. I hide my tiny head by puffing up my hair...I hide my freakish fat deposits by wearing certain types of clothing or undergarments. If I let people see me WITHOUT completing all my deceitful trickery, then I will be allowing people to witness a FREAK SHOW!


This HAS to be a mild form of BDD, no? I mean, I cannot TRULY be as fucked up as I think I am...I mean, I'm aware of how shallow, silly, unproductive, and self-centered this is. I DO know that, and I don't pretend that I'm any kind of victim. I know I have a good life, good friends, good family, and all the things that really matter in life. But man...I am dogged by this exaggerated sense of my own vileness. I'm trying to cut the shit...REALLY, I am.

Bulimia is SO '87...

Or, in my case, '95. In any event, it's Father's Day, 2010...a perfect summer evening, low 70s with a light breeze, and I'm sitting on the porch with my coffee after a busy, awesome weekend with my family. Kickass, right?


You'd think that after a certain number of years...decades...you'd start to accept who you are, what you look like, and focus on the stuff that really matters (for example, everything I just mentioned, above). HOWEVER...some of us have some nasty old habits that simply don't wanna go away. And here's the regrettable situation in which I currently find myself: JEALOUS of the 25-year-old version of myself that was adept at starvation and an expert in "purging."


You read that correctly. I didn't type that by mistake. Seriously fucked up, innit?


And yet, there's this little piece of me - no, that's a lie...it's a bigger piece than I even want to admit to myself - that genuinely thinks, "wouldn't it be nice if I could have that kind of will power again, and be THAT skinny again?"


Really. I hate admitting it, but I'm going to. And I'm going to do it here, because then I have to own up to how genuinely fucked up it is that I think this way.


Now, anyone with a half an ounce of sanity knows that "will power" is really not the phrase for this. It's really not will power that propels a person to avoid family functions for fear of food (check out my alliterative skills, btw)...or, if forced to join in the fun, to eat the most tasteless and boring items available when surrounded by delicious stuff. It's not "strength" that drives a person to secretly barf 8 times a day in order to negate the fact that food was consumed. So I'm well aware that my old habits are nothing to admire or look back upon wistfully. If I'm being honest, those were some shit times.


Nonetheless, the price you pay for stopping that level of insanity is a normal body. And today is one of those days - I hate to admit there are many these days - when that simply won't do. If I'm not skinny anymore, and if my cheeks aren't sunken, then I'm an average size. Somewhere along the way, this became unacceptable.


But WHY????


I see people all around me, every single day, who are just beautiful. Some of them are smaller than I am, some of them are bigger. Some of them are pretty much just like me. I judge none of them the way I judge myself. I don't view them with the hatred and loathing I apply to myself. I don't think they're disgusting, I don't think they should stop eating for 6 months, I don't calculate the number of pounds they should immediately drop in order to be "acceptable."


No, I save ALL that good shit for myself. Every day. All day. 


Dudes, here's one thing I DO want to quit. I don't know when it'll happen, or if it will. Maybe it's a lofty enough goal to try to decrease the amount of time I spend thinking these thoughts about myself. I've never NOT done it, and now that I'm getting a little older and my body is changing in the normal ways that bodies do over time, these thoughts are getting louder again. Shit. Not cool. This is one thing I will be happy to quit, if only I can.

one more thing for today...check out COOLTURE!

While I'm on the subject of boasting about my talented friends, take a moment to check out this new blog by Coolture USA:

Coolture's Blog

My friend Van DiBernardo was a designer at DKNY before he was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis. Falling back on his design background, he and his sister Luanne (another amazing talent) have just started a company called Coolture, whose signature cooling vest is, as stated in their blog, "the first fashionable solution for improving physical endurance when overheated by exercise, physical therapy, and/or warm environments."

Give them a click when you have a moment, and refer any friends you have who might benefit from Coolture's amazing innovation!

Mara Hoffman Sample Sale Next Weekend!

(Click the above picture for a larger, printable version)

Alright, alright...so I'm a little off-topic here. But this is important, dammit.

My good friend Mara Hoffman is having a HUGE sample sale next weekend, so if you're in or around New York City, or if you feel like hopping a plane for less than an hour to get there...

GET THERE!

Foreals, Mara's designs are off the chain. It's a rare day when I leave the house wearing something this girl didn't design. Her sample sale prices are incredible, so things sell out quickly - Friday morning is the ideal time to show up, but you have all weekend to shop. The sale features current spring, resort, swim, and past collections at up to 80% off retail.

This one's gonna be big, so get over to Mercer & Broome Sts. in SoHo and get your shop on (and bring me coffee throughout the day, if it pleases you)!!!

www.marahoffman.com

Is it an iPod, or is it a time machine?

you should listen to this

So, I got back on the exercise routine gingerly last night (insert 'woot' here), and when I walk/run/whatever outside, I almost always have to set it to music. One thing about me and my music: every single second of every song is associated with some sort of memory, person, event, feeling, era-in-my-life...This is both a blessing and a curse. A song comes on, and I find myself mentally and emotionally submerged - almost completely - in whatever was going on in my life at the time I first heard that song. Sometimes this is fantastic, and sometimes it's a little like drowning...it's like having your insides instantly transported to another time and place while your body is still doing laps around the block. 


For instance: when I listen to Waylon Jennings, I'm back in early 2006, when I first started dating my husband (this time around). When I hear Wings, it's 1975 again and I'm a little girl at my grandparents' house, staying up late to watch Hockey Night in Canada with my Aunt Lynne. OR...it's November of 2000, and I'm trying to drive home in a blizzard that made national news. I got 5 city blocks in FIVE HOURS...and the only CD in my truck was Wings: Greatest Hits. Now, I love Wings. But after 5 hours of one CD, even the truck had had enough: the digital readout on the car radio read "HOT" and spit the CD right out.


Jeff Buckley's Grace generally gets skipped on the iPod because it brings me back to a really dark time, one of the few times in my life I really never enjoy revisiting. Belle & Sebastian's Books EP: the most beautiful boyfriend I had, and also the most disappointing. Any song by my friend Michael Oliver and his band Go, Dog. Go! brings me back to one of the happiest times in my life, and it also makes me a little wistful for those days. The Cardigans' First Band on the Moon is a stay in Los Angeles in the mid-90s, whereas their Long Gone Before Daylight record is a fun time and a really sweet boyfriend in the mid-"aughts."


Anyway, you see where I'm going with this. I could literally go on for hours.


I don't really have a point. It's just that I've noticed something while engaging in this whole exercise thing: it's always like hopping into a time machine, Bill & Ted style: with each song change, I'm back in the time traveling phone booth and whisked off to some different era. One lap around our block and I've already visited several places, spanning a number of years. It's almost a workout in itself.


So now let me leave you with Carol Medina's Secret Fantasy, arguably one of the cheesiest songs ever recorded. I mean, listen to it! But...all I think about when I hear it is being 23, 24 years old, going out at night with my then-boyfriend and - gasp! - dancing. Oh, and it also reminds me of when I first "met" one of my many movie boyfriends - this time, it was Jeremy Northam in The Net. ha! How's that for totally fucking random? 


Anyway, oddly enough, 1995 was one of the absolute darkest years in my life, marked by a descent into the hell of eating disorders and all the stuff that comes with that. But Carol Medina, Heart, "the fuckin' Eagles, man"...all the cornball music I listened to back then only brings me back to the good stuff from those days. And there was quite a lot, when I bothered to open my eyes and check it out. I don't know what the deal is with that, or why that music doesn't bother me the way I think it should. All I know is, I'm happy about that, and when this silly shit came on my iPod last night, I had to listen to it twice.

awwww snap

I've discovered that I get awfully crafty when I'm sick. I've made countless pieces of jewelry and done some rather nifty dyeing and batiking while confined to my house, too. One thing I haven't done, however, is any form of exercise whatsoever. Eating well isn't too difficult for me, because I don't eat meat and I love a lot of stuff that's actually good for me. So fortunately that's not the big challenge. It's the damn exercise, and I did not a LICK of it all week.


Gah.


I should point out that, for a change, I actually feel antsy to get back on track with my daily activities of becoming less bloblike. (Not physically, just like...metaphorically. Or something.) I'm a busy enough person that, in the past, I might not really have noticed that I didn't make time for exercise all week. But not this time! This week, while sneezing and coughing like a 3-pack-a-day smoker (awesome feeling, btw), the actual desire to get some exercise nagged at me a little.


Bitches, that has GOT to count for something.


Something else: I'll admit I take some perverse pleasure in losing weight while sick. Come on, you know you've done this. But this doesn't seem to happen anymore. WTF? I thought that was like, the ONE perk of feeling crappy for a week. See, now I'm hearing the doctor saying "well, you ARE 38..." Is this another 38 thing? You don't get to put your skinny jeans on after you've been sick? Because come on, that's kinda bullshit.


Whatever, it seems I have to continue eating well and exercising. Apparently Mrs. Obama didn't get those delts by having the flu.

I don't know how to say this, but...

I don't have a hell of a lot to say. Surely this cannot come as a huge shock to any of the 12 of you following this somewhat sorryass blog. But some of you may be wondering, "what IS this blog for, anyway? Does SHE even know?" 

The answer is, hmmm...I'm not sure. The only thing that's certain here is that I'm attempting to remain focused on several goals I'd like to accomplish by the end of the year - and by stating these things in semi-public (or, again, to this select jury of 12), I'm hoping to hold myself to these goals. 

What are my goals for this year? I have just 2, but they're big: 

1. Get back in shape and shed 15 lbs;

2. Make some music and play some shows again.

I said it here, so I have to stick to it. That's my thinking, anyway.

The thing is, I don't have a whole lot to say about it all. So I'm finding myself wondering why the hell I'm "blogging" (god I hate that word as a verb) when I don't really have much to share with you kind folk on the innernettes. Will you forgive me if I post infrequently? Will you trust that I'm not quitting (on you or on myself) if I don't check in as regularly as most "normal" bloggers (wow, I hate it even more as an active noun)...? Am I a pretty big loser for thinking this is a good way to keep myself motivated?

Regardless of the answers to those questions, I'mma go ahead and post sporadically anyway. So THERE. I showed YOU.

Well, you ARE 38...

Yesterday, I went to my doctor to discuss the results of a brain MRI. It sounds a lot scarier than it is - I had the MRI because of a long history of migraines and sinus troubles. The good news is, my brain looks completely healthy. There was no bad news. The NP said, "you have a little arthritis in the left jaw, some TMJ." I had suspected the TMJ part, since sometimes when I yawn, my jaw does something utterly horrifying: it locks WIDE OPEN. I can't imagine what that must look like, but I digress. Basically, I didn't know TMJ was arthritis. So I said, "arthritis?" Her response?


"Well, you ARE 38..."


What do you mean, "you ARE 38"??? Last time I checked, this wasn't an age at which people begin making their final arrangements, preparing to shuffle off this mortal coil. 


You may have figured out, this post isn't about arthritis at all. I'm cool with the TMJ thing. I just wonder if these days, we're making people older...younger. We live in a culture obsessed with youth, and that's nothing new. But slow it DOWN. About a month ago, I was looking at a brochure that outlined all the recommended surgical procedures for women, broken down by decade. Sure enough, the recapturing of youth via surgical intervention began in the teens. Say it with me: what the fuck?????


My OB-GYN is rather quick to remind me of my age, too. All that's missing in that office is an outsized hourglass that allows you to actually HEAR the grains of sand racing to the bottom half of the glass.


SLOW IT DOWN, guys! Yeah, I AM 38. I'm not 78! I'm still pretty young, god damn it! Don't get me wrong - I have regular panic attacks about whether I've wasted my entire youth, and I frequently ask myself, "is this ALL?" But I'm not ready to give the understanding head nod when someone acts like arthritis is all the rage at my advanced age. There's plenty of time to start arranging my meds in a pill reminder strip. Can I finish my 30s first, please?

Demonic Discs of Temptation

I'm looking to lose 15 pounds this year. That's one of the things on my "stuff I'm not going to quit" list. Before anyone tells me "shut up, you're not fat" - I know I'm not fat. I just want to get myself back into shape, and maybe shed a little of the extra. My soul won't be crushed if I don't lose 15 lbs., but I'd like to try and do it.


Here's what doesn't help: fucking OREOS. Seriously, what is in these things, and why does my aunt keep buying them for my dad to bring to the office? CUTITOUT. I can't eat ONE Oreo. It's physically impossible, and against the laws of both science and nature. Even two feels like deprivation sometimes.


Why are Oreos so awesome? And, while I'm at it...why the hell is CHEESE so awesome? What about Bison Dip? I have Prader-Willie when Bison Dip is in the vicinity. I literally cannot sit down with "a few" chips and some Bison Dip and just be satisfied with that. I might as well just put on a lobster bib and throw down when it's anywhere near me, because I'm not going to be stopping at a reasonable point.


There's really no point to this particular blog entry. I just wanted to ask the universe why there are certain food items that exist solely to fuck with me. I mean, there's not ONE ounce of nutrition in half the things that taste awesome...and these are generally the kinds of foods that are completely addictive. WHY, LAWD???


If it takes me longer than I want to lose 15 pounds, you can blame Oreos. And my Aunt Lynne.

checkin' in...

Hey kids, haven't had much to say for a few days, but I'm checking in to assure the handful of you who may be reading that THIS filly has not done any quitting. w000t! That's right - I'm still working on my Mama Obama arms, still exercising regularly, and attempting to eat sensibly without resorting to any of my old, obsessive ways. 


That's all for now. More soon...

Baby Got Back

When the hell did my BACK get fat? Seriously, wtf? Needless to say, I'm on a mission now, because I have a LOT of backless Mara Hoffman dresses in my closet. This reeks of middle-school-locker fodder, but I've kept this picture of buff Buffy around to remind me of my goal: to be the one, chosen every generation...no, seriously, to have a killer back.


I use free weights a lot, so I've added all these dorky looking "lat" exercises to my routine, in my quest to undo whatever the hell made my BACK all out of shape and grody looking. So, in addition to my Michelle Obama arms, I hope to attain an amazing Sarah Michelle Gellar back...minus the tramp stamp. Wish me luck. My arms are killing me.

Lilias, Yoga & You

This 1970s yoga show pissed me off. As a child, I didn't want to see some woman with an overly long braid, wearing a onesie, doing yoga at ungodly hours of the morning. I wanted my Sesame Street, and I wanted my Electric Company. Lilias, Yoga & You was a harbinger of doom. It meant boring television for the foreseeable future.


But that's not my point. My point is, I'll never be someone who gets up at 5 a.m. to do any type of exercise, no matter how peaceful yoga may be. There's nothing that should be done at 5 a.m. that doesn't involve me sleeping. Me + mornings = no.


I'm never going to be that person who gets up and goes running BEFORE work. I've made peace with the fact that my physical activity will always take place after work - or, on days off, after I'm good and ready to get out of bed. I've vowed to stick to my plans this year (this is where the blog thing comes in), and to get my body back into shape. This in no way involves getting up early to work out.


Oh, know this: I'm also never going to be that person who talks about how awesome it is to work out, and how empty I feel if I haven't worked out in 24 hours. Because let's face it: working out kinda blows. If I had my druthers, I'd return to the days of sitting on my ass, eating chips and Bison dip, watching crappy television, and weighing 105 lbs. regardless. Alas, that's not to be. I've accepted that exercise is something I HAVE to do, because my body is getting all, "yeah, this is what happens when you act like you're still 25." Ugh, THANKS, body.


So anyway, I'll work out and I'll stick to it (with your help!) but don't expect any early morning antics, or any 5 a.m. yoga to "clear my mind" and prepare me for the day. Lilias, Yoga & Me? Bitch, please.

Why I'm Here

Here's my story, in a nutshell:


I'm kind of a quitter. My theory is that this is one of two things that happens when you're a little ball of stress as a child, then an adolescent, then a teenager. Some people become ambitious, and others become...well, lazy. I'd like to change that, at least a little. That's why I'm here.


One of my best friends just started a blog called Me On A Diet. This morning, I was rollerskating (you heard me correctly) and I thought, I need to copy Shaun. If he can publicly whip himself into shape - set his goals and then MAKE himself do it - then so can I. Right? 


Maybe.


That's the thing about me: I start things, and I don't always finish them. I've quit just about every kind of lesson you can imagine...I've quit writing songs...I've quit recording them...I've quit ballet...I've quit the gym almost as often as I've joined it...Why? I don't know, but I have to quit.


I'm forcing myself to write down some thoughts so that by the end of 2010, I can say I've done a few of the things I wanted to do. That's why I'm here.