The Song Remains the Same

I reclaimed a song today on my drive in to work. I know that sounds strange (as do many, many things that I say and do), but it's true.  There is a song that I really like, but it reminds me of a boy I knew *coughdatedbrieflycough* in high school.  And while high school is 20+ years ago (when the heck did that happen?!?) every time I hear the song I am reminded of That Boy.  Oh, there are other things that remind me of That Boy, but the song is at the top of the list. 

I actually got over most negative memories associated with That Boy years ago.  And when I see The Man that That Boy has become, part of me does still want to smack him upside the head for his overall stupidity as a teenage boy, but really, why bother?  The mere fact that the last time he saw me - and I know he saw me - he retreated to a far, dark corner is satisfaction enough.  :o)

But back to the song.  Listening to it this morning I thought to myself, "Self, don't let negative memories taint this song! It's a great song!" So I reclaimed it. I banished That Boy from having anything but a fleeting association with That Song.  And I was so happy about it that I hit the "back" button on my iPod 2 more times so I could keep listening to it as I finished the last few miles to the office.  Smiling the entire way.

A Very Touchy Subject

I have recently deduced that I don’t really like to be touched. I haven’t always acknowledged that, but I’m doing so now. Not because people are running around trying to touch me (get any and all minds out of the gutter immediately if that sent you there for some reason), but because it came to mind today as I was making my way-too-early-in-the-frakking-morning trek to work.

Oddly enough, I do consider myself a hugger. Or at least, I don’t mind hugging people. I hug friends I haven’t seen in a long time when we get together. I reciprocate hugs when given to me and, as far as I know, I don’t try to dodge hugs. Although on a couple of occasions I have had people come to my house for a party and walk in and hug me and mentally scratched my head thinking, “Oh, are we ‘hugging friends’ now?” But less its Death coming to get me in a grip, I’m pretty ok with hugging. I especially appreciate hugging my nieces who gives the best hugs ever! They are the coolest people I know.

But, well, I don’t really like to be touched.

Maybe it’s because it doesn’t make much sense to me when someone walks up and talks to you and feels the need to reach out and touch you on the hand or the arm. Especially when it is someone I don’t know very well or in a context, like a work situation, that really makes no sense to be making that contact.

I’m also big on personal space. I always think of the scene in Dirty Dancing where Patrick Swayze is telling Jennifer Grey to stay in her dance space. I just want people to stay in their personal space and not get into mind. Unless it’s David Bryan. Or Michael Buble. They can totally get into my personal space any time they want to.

I don’t ever like to have my chair pulled up too close to someone else’s. I want a little breathing room. I also don’t like sharing an arm rest with another person. Exceptions being, of course, David Bryan, Michael Buble and a few other assorted names that readily come to mind. But mostly I figure if there is space to be had, then why not spread out a little more and make good use of it.

This need for space also extends to keeping at least one stall between me and someone else in the restroom and at least a full arm length away from anyone you are engaging in casual conversation.

So, yeah, I don’t really like to be touched. I know. I’m a freak. But I’m ok with that. So long as you aren’t touching me when you call me one.

There’s someone out there for everyone! And all that other horse hockey...

“There’s someone out there for everyone!”

“Oh, you just haven’t met the right guy yet, but you will!”

“I used to say the same thing and then 2 days later I met my husband.”

Stop.  Just…STOP!!

Seriously.  I can’t take it anymore.  I wish death and dismemberment on the next person who utters that kind of nonsense to me.  Bless their hearts.  *rolling my eyes*

I’m not sure why our culture feels the need to perpetuate the myth that there is someone out there for everyone because there’s not.  There is no guarantee that out there in the world is your perfect (or imperfect) romantic match.  There simply isn’t.  And to be honest, at 38-years-old and chronically single, I’m sick and tired of hearing the BS.

I realize that the speakers of that claptrap have good intentions.  They are simply trying to make me (or whoever) feel better and have some hope, but it really has the opposite effect.  It’s damned depressing.  As is listening to or watching lovebirds fawn all over each other or a bride-to-bed discussing the proposal or well, I could go on, but I won’t because someone will get offended that I feel that way and then I’ll get angry and it’ll snowball from there.

Suffice it to say that for me, at least, I am tired of people spouting nonsense that someday some guy is going to come into my life and it’ll be all hearts and flowers from there.  Because you know what?  No matter how many times you say that to me, I’m well past the point of being willing to believe it.  And that’s ok.

Years ago – and many pounds ago, for that matter – I believed it.  I did.  My generation of little girls was still brought up with the notion that one day Prince Charming was going to ride up on his white horse and whisk us away to the magic castle where we’d live happily ever after (HEA) and life would always be happy, happy, happy!  Well, ok, so that’s a bit much, but I believed that one day I’d meet a great guy, fall madly in love, and blah blah blah. 

But I grew up and realized that fairy tales are simply that and not reality.  That doesn’t mean I don’t believe that people fall in love and have the potential to live HEA. It just means that I don’t believe in it for me.  And that’s ok.  I’ve cried a few rivers over it and moved on. 

But it’s also at this point that all the clichés become extra annoying.  Honestly, HONESTLY, do you really believe there is someone out there in the world for me?  Seriously?  Because I don’t.  But the difference is that I don’t think that it is part of God’s plan for my life for me to meet someone. I think God’s plan for me is to be single.

I’m not saying I like that plan necessarily, but for the most part I’ve come to terms with it.  Sometimes it hurts. It can hurt a lot.  But at other times it’s very freeing.  I consider it a blessing that I have never wanted to have a child because I’ve watched friends who are single and desperately want to be mothers or even married women who have trouble conceiving and it’s just not happening for them.   I consider myself fortunate that I’m not in those situations.

Now, there are those that would say that I simply don’t have enough faith in what God can do and that’s not true.  I never said that God COULD NOT bring a man into my life. I’m saying that I think God CHOOSES NOT to do so. I can’t say why that is; it simply is. 

God can do anything my friends.  Anything at all.  But sometimes He chooses not to give us the things we want. He gives us the things we need.  Whoa baby. Big difference there you know.

If you give it some thought you will see what I mean and what a blessing that “not getting” can be in your life.  Ok, so maybe I don’t know why God hasn’t hooked me up with some front row seats to a Bon Jovi show, but maybe it’s because He knows I’d make an ass out of myself screaming over David Bryan and security would have to pull me away and there would be restraining orders involved and it’d just get uglier from there.  Or maybe it’s because that would only reinforce my Bon Jovi obsession and goodness knows it’s bad enough as it is.

But on a more serious note, I have to trust that God knows what He’s doing because He does.  I’ve prayed for years to have someone in my life. Just one man. I don’t need 15 boyfriends or 3 husbands (one at a time, mind you) or anything like that. Just one decent guy who is interested in me and i'ts mutual (I’ve had more than my share of the non-mutual from both sides). It seems like a small enough order, but God has never come through for me. Never hooked a girl up.  I don’t know why (and refuse to psychoanalyze myself and my character flaws), but that’s just the way it is.

Which brings this ramble back around to the topic of needs versus wants.  I find that in life we seem to focus so much more on what we want than what we need and that happens when we pray as well.  I often pray about something and even while doing it I realize that I’m only thinking about what I want.  Fortunately, God thinks about what we need.  And that’s what He gives us.  It’s not always what we want and we might not always like it, but it’s hard to argue with the decisions that God makes. 

Now, that doesn’t mean I understand a lot of those decisions, but I’ve stopped arguing with them. I don’t understand and never will why my mother had to get sick and suffer and die from breast cancer.  She was a good person, who never hurt anyone, but while I believe God heard our prayers; His will was different than our wants.  I stopped questioning it because there were no answers to be found.

The same with my friend Andrea who died last year (also from breast cancer).  I don’t know why God allowed it to happen, but if I stopped and put too much into asking why, I’d never get out of bed in the morning.  So I take a lot on faith and trust in God that He knows what He’s doing.  Because He does.

So at the end of the day I cannot say that I always appreciate my singleness.  It’s annoying at times.  It can also make me very, very sad and lonely.  I don’t want to think about being alone as I get older, I want someone to share my life with. 

At the other end of the spectrum, it’s freeing that I can come and go as I please and don’t have to answer to anyone except me and God.  If I have ice cream for dinner, I can have it.  If I want to spend my money on something, I can do it. 

In the end all I know for sure is that I do trust in God that He knows what He is doing.  That He is ultimately giving me what I need, if not what I (think) I want.  And hopefully through a lot of prayer I’ll come to even better terms with my singleness.  And not actually dismember the next person who throws a lovely platitude in my face.  Because they mean well. Bless their hearts.

An Evening with Michael Buble on his Crazy Love tour

I've been a Michael Buble fan for several years now.  Probably about 7 or 8.  I don't even remember when I first saw him, but it was on some television program and I was hooked. I remember later that year (1993 I believe) on Thanksgiving Day he was on The Today Show and I called my dad to tune in because Buble sings the standards and I knew that my dad would like his voice and his songs.

Unfortunately over the years I haven't been able to go see him in concert.  That is, until this past Saturday.

Trapped in the Body of a Fat Girl

I am trapped in the body of a fat girl.  I really want to finish that statement by saying that I’m a skinny girl who is trapped in the body of a fat one, but that’s not true. I’m a fat girl trapped in the body of a fat girl with a fat girl’s mind and behavior. It’s an ugly, unfortunate truth, but truth it is.

Food is the center of my universe. If I’m not eating, then I’m thinking about when I’ll eat next or what I’ll eat. I’m dreaming of what delightful culinary concoction is coming from my next meal. And it’s always about the next meal.

If I were a chef then this round-the-clock food fest might make sense. To have my mind so focused on food all the time would make sense to me then. But it doesn’t. I just want food around me all the time. I want tons of options and as much as I want, whenever I want it.

I have, more or less, always been overweight. I remember being weighed back in 3rd grade and the nurse saying I was 82 pounds. I also remember other kids laughing at me because of that. Fast forward to 5th grade where my former friend Melissa called me a whale one day. I responded that it was better to be a whale than a skeleton. Kids are so sweet to each other, aren’t they? I could list a few more things, but I’ll spare myself from having to remember it.

Sometime during high school I did drop down to my lowest “adult” weight of 120-125. I don’t really have any photos from then, but there are a couple of pictures and to my eyes, I look strange. Like my head is too big for my body or neck. I would speculate that anything from 150 – 175 would be a good, healthy weight for me, but I’m quite a few pounds over that 175 limit these days. That makes me sad, but it also makes me want to eat chocolate.

My Fat Girl Brain (FGB) just wants to eat. If I’m happy, let’s eat! If I’m sad, let’s eat! And after we’re done, let’s eat!! I’ve always been a huge water drinker so when someone says, “drink more water – it’ll curb your appetite” I just want to laugh out loud. It might for some people, but not for me. I could easily down a gallon of water a day without thinking twice about it. When people say they struggle to get in 8 glasses, I’m baffled. Truly. And no, I’m not diabetic. Doctors seem to freak when I tell them how much water I drink and a few have insisted of checking to see if I am diabetic, but I’m not. Nor do I have a thyroid problem or high blood pressure or hypertension or a B12 deficiency or anything else that the docs have tested me for. I’m just fat.

Actually, “obese” would probably be the correct terminology according to the charts, but to me obese people are the ones who have to be airlifted with a crane out of their house. I can work with “fat” thanks just the same.

But the FGB gets me into trouble. The spirit is willing you see, but the flesh and the FGB are quite horribly weak. I get angry when I can’t have what I want. I get angry that I can’t have what I want. I resent that other people can eat whatever they want and not gain weight. And don’t even get me started on people who complain that they can’t gain weight. Oh man, I can’t even go there with that one. That is just so not a problem that someone should complain about unless they truly have an eating disorder or some serious health problem that requires them to put on a few pounds.

My FGB is just a really dangerous thing. I have been known to eat cups full of bacon. CUPS FULL OF BACON. At work when the residents have a baked potato bar for lunch and there are leftovers, I will eat a cup full of bacon. I love bacon so much that I don’t even care if I feel lousy later on. I smell it and I have to have it.

I sneak food and eat in secret. I’ve been known to stand over leftover cake in the kitchen at work and just cut off little piece after little piece and shovel it in before someone comes through and sees what I’m doing.

I’ll eat even when I’m not hungry. Case in point – yesterday’s plate (though small) of chips and queso from a great Mexican restaurant that was left over from a lunch at work. I was stuffed from the lunch I had just eaten, but still wanted the chips and queso. It’s not just a lack of willpower, it’s an obsession.

I haven’t quite self-diagnosed with food addiction or anything just yet, but I’m just one Google search away from that probably. (Whatever did we do without the internet and the ability to diagnose ourselves with 7 different kinds of deadly diseases in a 5 minute time period?)

So while I wish I could say that I was a skinny girl trapped inside a fat girl’s body, the reality is that I am a fat girl. I think like one. I act like one. I certainly look like one. Even when I am working out daily (ok, so maybe only 4-5 times a week and not a solid 7 times every single week…) and eating well (meaning more fruits and veggies as opposed to that cup of bacon or secret cake binges), nothing seems to change. Oh, my body changes in some ways that are positive, but…well… not enough I guess.

I’m not writing all this down looking for any solutions or advice. I know what’s wrong. I know the ways to combat it, to fix it, to heal it. I’m well aware I assure you. I’m just putting this out there because maybe someone else needs to see it and know that they are not alone.