Caterwauling

So, there were some commercials out earlier this summer for “Keeping up with the Kardashians,” in which Kim was prepping for a calendar shoot and was getting her cellulite massaged or whatever the hell the process is called.

Anyway, she was wearing these awesome leopard-print underwear trimmed in black lace. Dude, I saw those panties in the store that same week and I HAD to have them.

Yes, I know they don’t make my butt look like hers. But I still love them.

So I was wearing them today, and my pants (being just a twee bit too loose at the waist) weren’t always covering them when I was sitting. But I usually pay attention to these things and am quite acclimated with fussing around with my clothes.

Of course, we got hella busy today and by busy I mean “why the fuck did the seven people I am paid to beat into submission crawl out from under their rocks at THE EXACT SAME TIME and send me urgent work that needed to be attended to RIGHT THAT VERY GODDAMNED MINUTE?” I have one lone but glorious staff member, so we divided and conquered and kicked the inbox’s ASS in a half-hour before we were annihilated again shortly thereafter.

Anyway, I was trying very hard to do math once the onslaught abated and it meant staring at lots of flashing, shiny lights and numbers up on my screen as they KEPT FUCKING CHANGING. Oh yeah, good times.

So what I did not realize that my poor boss was standing behind me, waiting to get my attention when I was done doing my little data inputting and percentage-getting and such. And what I realized was a lovely “oh shit” moment as I noticed my undergutchies were quite visible to anyone who might have had a rear view of moi.

Har har har. *headdesk* My apologies for the underskivvy exposure!

I normally wear longer shirts but I fit into one I haven’t worn in a couple of years and wasn’t so concerned when I got dressed this morning. I always forget these days to check my clothes when I’m sitting down in ‘em.

Oh well — I’m wearing a Steeler T-shirt tomorrow ’cause we’re actually allowed to dress like normal human beings (like, with jeans! And favorite-team jerseys!) so I am just gonna hope for the best or, at least, wear undergutchies that sit much lower than the Kim Kardashian-esque ones that I still love so much.

And, actually, belts just don’t help. I was wearing string-bikini-type gutchies on Saturday night, and I accidentally threaded my belt through them. *facepalm* When I went to use the powder room, I couldn’t figure out why my shorts and gutchies were all one unit. Please tell me I’m not the only asshat who’s endured this particular wardrobe malfunction. …

I believe lots of things. Not usually what anyone tells me (a hot stove will burn me? Gotta feel for myself. OK, ouch, heat hurts), and definitely not what the right-wing nutjobs are selling (we’re different than George Bush!! We’re only using his speechwriters; they’re not going to script out the next four years. No siree, not at all!).

But I do believe in me, in fate, in God, in good things someday coming to good people, in love. I am trying to keep up these beliefs through faith, as life hasn’t really shown me evidence of most of these things yet. But I can’t go on if they aren’t out there, so I’m just waiting my turn.

I thought I’d heard everything, but recently I learned that my body has gone into starvation mode.

Humph.

How the hell is that possible?

I seem to have plateaued in my de-pudgifying efforts. Apparently eating a salad a day, along with some rice cakes and maybe some yogurt, isn’t enough nourishment. Who knew?

It’s very strange, because a few weeks ago, I was the one championing the fact that you’ve got to eat to lose weight. Because I was still eating pretty well — just healthier. And I don’t know if I’ve gotten too busy, too apathetic, too broke or just too “I know better than you,” but the less I eat, the less progress I make.

Damn it.

It of course occurs to me that my problem never really was overeating. Poor food choices, sure, but not necessarily always a quantity issue. Cheap food isn’t exactly the healthiest.

And now that I won’t put anything in my mouth that doesn’t have some redeeming nutritional value, well, that means I may not eat at all.

It’s weird to be sitting here at 10 p.m., just home from work, with no appetite whatsoever and mostly feasting on all the thoughts flying around like a weird combination of butterflies and hornets inside my head.

I mean, I’m annoyed because I haven’t felt well enough to do my work at my usual speed. I’m agitated because I got a resolution (more or less) and it just ain’t what I wanted it to be because, hey, maybe he’s just not that into me. I’m thrilled that I stood up to someone for something I desperately need that I may never get. I’m curious about the boy from long ago and far away who seems to want to be in the here and now. And I’ll never stop wondering about something else I just cannot say to anybody.

But …

I’m so much better off than I was. Twenty-five pounds ago, I wasn’t swimming in my clothes and buying new ones. Well, I’m definitely getting new bras, since I seemed to drop a size there. (Damn!) I’m the proud owner of a new workout wardrobe (although my dumb ass still hasn’t bought proper workout shoes).

Twenty-five pounds ago, I wasn’t taking photos of myself just to monitor my progress. I mean, if I’m losing boobage (yaar), then I am clearly losing weight faster on top. Fine. So each week, I’ve snapped a photo of my face. Nothing exquisite — just for comparison’s sake.

And you know what? The girl who hasn’t posed for a photo in years suddenly sees a new light in her eyes. She’s actually picking a photo or two to put on her profile. She’s getting e-mails and private messages from boys she knew from college and beyond who simply take a moment to tell her she looks hot.

Hot. Me!

*blush*

And let’s face it, 25 pounds ago, I would never have called that boy back. I think I stopped taking myself seriously for a long time. And then I had my stupid epiphany in which I realized the heart, she’s still beating. And maybe beating a little faster when it comes to someone in particular. But then the beating stopped, cold in its tracks.

But there’s a new boy, and he jumpstarted it. Now, I’m not going to claim that it is anything or that it will be — it’s still early, and we all know what happens when I get my hopes up. (There goes that “seeing by faith” thing again.) But this is a story that I thought was over, and maybe the book was never totally closed.

In any case, people are seeing me again. And maybe they always were. Maybe I was the one who assumed no one was looking.

If there’s a good kind of wrong to be, then this is it.

Anyway, so that’s my journey that I’ve been on, and the one I will continue along. With some modifications, of course. The de-pudgification process feels like the only thing I have any control over, so of course I’m frustrated to be stuck in neutral right now. But at least it’s not in reverse, and I can get it moving back in my favor again.

After all, I’ve got a lot of adventures ahead of me. And the ones I can have RIGHT NOW are motivation enough. …

So a friend was sharing a VERY romantic e-mail from a new suitor that was sending our hearts a-flutter with the beauty of the language (and correct grammar!) used. And the conversation is just too good to lose into the AIM ether. …

Notice: All instant messages sent to and from this buddy name will be logged by the IMAuditor and are subject to archival, monitoring, or review and/or disclosure to someone other than the recipient.
Friend: [insert magical prose here]
Friend: he sent that very early this morning
Moi: dear god
Friend: sAwoon
Moi: quick, somebody start fanning me
Friend: the writer in me is near to fainting
Moi: the woman in me would be saving that for later
Friend: ahahahaha
Friend: wouldn’t it be wonderful if there was such a man, with prose like that, a lovely face, who opened your door and held your chair, and then brought you home and slammed you against the … shit we are being monitored.

Oh, gee, you think I should post my (Gemini) horoscope? GREAT IDEA!

A new phase in your life is beginning, Goddess. The previous phase can be interpreted as having taught you to be serious and devoted to professional responsibilities. And you did accomplish some good deeds. Now you can relax and look forward. Let yourself feel the welcome tug of the future…

I’m starting to get that work doesn’t totally define me. I dunno. I think i got nervous for a few years there, that the only way to show my devotion and appreciation for the opportunities was to work constantly. Now I’m seeing where I can scale back, delegate and otherwise preserve what’s left of my sanity.

I’ve started volunteering, socializing and — gasp — remembering some needs that I’ve, ah, neglected in the recent past. Needs that can be filled by something other than the Energizer Bunny.

My friend Scot did a brilliant blog post about human body cell memory. I’m totally stealing part of it because it’s brilliant:

“If the cell is constantly bombarded by the negative peptides, from chronic stress like abusive living situations, war, depression, marital strife, trauma response (from rape, abandonment, homelessness, death of a loved one) even financial stresses or a long period of unemployment, the cells will produce more receptor sites for the ‘negative’ peptides, and less sites for the ‘positive’ peptides.

“So stress (sadness, despondency, anger & aggression, worry, jealousy) becomes the ‘natural state’ of the cell. The cells themselves begin to ‘forget’ how to feel pleasure. The body and the mind’s ability to be happy is actually degraded. And the longer this persists, the greater the shift in receptor site loci. This is why mom always told you it is no good to bear a grudge.”

So, in his summation, pleasure is a forgettable skill. And hot damn if that didn’t just click in my head in a way little else has. I forget what “normal” used to be. I forget what it’s like to be with — really, honestly, presently with — someone of the other gender.

I think I briefly found myself in a groove of “I don’t need anybody; I have a suitcase full of vibrators that don’t talk/date other women/cheat/lie/break my heart/have cooties.” And I’ve been sort of OK with that. But reading Scot’s tome on becoming conditioned to strife, I realized that has become my comfort zone as well.

Oooohhh, noooooo. No more of that. Whether past joy was real or merely an apparition, I’m going to find it and replicate it and do it bigger and better next time around.

Which explains why my little epiphany threw me for such a freaking loop. Because it involved me feeling — nay, feeling STRONGLY — about something. I haven’t felt passionate about much of anything other than the presidential election, and here my heart was telling me, “Hey asshole — PAY ATTENTION TO ME.”

So, that’s exactly what I’m doing. Because that void must be filled, whether it’s the way I envisioned it or whether the universe woke me up so that I’d be alert when opportunity walks into my life.

And, if I may, opportunities are in the air. I’m grateful. And ready.

There’s hope yet. As he noted, we just have to learn pleasure all over again. OK, so the “just” is a misnomer, but I have worse things on my to-do list.

Today’s Astrocenter.com read for Gemini: “A new woman is being born in you; clear the path for her to come through!”

I had a real breakthrough in meditation class tonight. I was focused and happy and really did clear the toxins out of my heart when I was told to do so. I mean, I cried. I felt so good afterward — like, wow, this tree-hugging hippie shit really works!

Actually, it’s been a draining few weeks. But one that’s been punctuated by several blasts from the past. Their timing was strange at first, and impeccable in retrospect. A bittersweet distraction. But that’s the key word: distraction.

There are names I can drop and memories I can share — and many of you will say, “Here we go again. …” — but suffice it to say that stories are never really over.

And I’m glad about that.

I mean, there’s the one I will always wonder what if he’d married me instead, and then there’s the one who wonders why I was present one minute and gone the next. Go figure.

That’s OK. I’ve gotten better with age.

And I’m not the only one.

Anyway, I saw the Cirque du Soleil movie “Delirium” yesterday, and I have some songs from the soundtrack but I have yet to figure out which song had the lyric that damn near changed my worldview:

“Your fate is defined by the questions you never ask.”

So, I’m asking: “Why not?” And I’m not saying it with a pointed look at anyone (*innocent look*) but instead to remind myself to keep asking the tough questions and making damn sure to not walk away when there’s something too precious to leave behind and to definitely close the door (and throw a dresser behind it) if there isn’t.

Train’s leaving the station; last chance to ride. …