I'm So Excited and I Just Can't Hide It

I am sofa king excited for Breaking Dawn to come out! I'm rereading Twilight right now and reveling in the deliciousness of Edward Cullen. For now, I'm overlooking the fact that Edward and I permanently broke up in New Moon for reasons I won't reveal in case anyone who reads this actually listens to me and reads these awesome books.

Slightly Less Heavyweight

I have currently lost 7 1/2 pounds on Weight Watchers. I think I may have lost more than that (not tons more, but maybe as much as 10 pounds total), but I didn't have a scale at home until about two weeks into the diet.

It is both easier and harder than I thought it would be to make this change. On the one hand, it feels good to do something healthy and positive for myself. Weight Watchers doesn't have a policy of starving participants, so I'm not any hungrier than I used to be. I also like a lot of the foods on the list of "core foods." On the other hand, eating at restaurants is a minefield. Even the salads contain forbidden cheeses, bacon bits and fatty meats. I also have to eat foods that I don't like, such as dairy, in incarnations I like even less, such as the vile substance known as plain non-fat yogurt. The biggest "other hand" of course is that I feel like I still have a long way to go before I get to a weight I'm told is healthy for my height.

The point of Weight Watchers (and of all good diets) is to effectuate a lifestyle change, not to reach a magic number on the scale, so it's wrong-headed to focus so intently on getting down to a certain size. But still, it's daunting to think that I've only come about one-sixth as far as I want to go.

Look Me In the Eye and Tell Me You Don't Find Me Attractive

I returned from my friend's house this morning after a great weekend. None of my concerns about how the weekend would go came to fruition. On the contrary, my friend and I had a great time, did some sight-seeing and laughed a lot.

I had worried that my friend and I might make a mistake and sleep together, but I wondered whether we might rekindle a relationship. We did not. I figure that if you get drunk with someone, sleep in his bed (without him) and swan around his apartment in your jammies and nobody tries to kiss anybody else, you have made the transition to friendship successfully. He looked great, as always, and he was as funny and charming as ever, so I asked myself why I didn't feel that tug toward him that signifies the yearning for romantic closeness, particularly in light of the fact that both my friend and I have tried very hard to keep the friendship together through a lot of ups and downs.

The reason, I think, is because he and I are very much alike in ways that enable us to understand but not complement one another. We have the same insecurities, so we can feel protective of each other and identify with each other, which makes us love each other very deeply. We understand each other in a way that only people with the same soft spots can. But we can't bolster each other. We can't be a team the way a boyfriend and girlfriend or a husband and wife should. I'm glad that I have learned that and that I went to visit him.

Mamma Mia, Does It Show Again? My, My, Just How Much I Missed You.

Tomorrow is the big day -- I'm off to see my friend, or whatever he is. I forgot to buy new pajamas to wear, which is probably a good thing, as I couldn't quite figure out how to be sexy enough to make him regret breaking up with me without being so sexy as to make him think I'm trying to lure him back into my sweet embrace. I really need to get busy packing my suitcase but, for some reason, I can't quite get the motivation to do it.

What I really want to do is read The Vampire Diaries, which arrived from Amazon today. They are not as good as the Twilight books (if you have not read them, I need you to explain why that is), but they will slake my (blood)thirst until the final book in the saga comes out.

Mamma Mia, Here I Go Again. My, My, How Can I Resist You?

Friday, I'm going to visit my ex-boyfriend, who I haven't seen in three years since we graduated from school. As I have probably mentioned (I'm too lazy to review my own archives), we were friends, we argued for six months over whether or not to date, we dated for a hot second, then we fought about that for another year and a half. We know how to make the magic last. When we graduated, we were not speaking, but we patched things up that fall, and we've been more or less in touch since then. We've also been living on opposite sides of the country, which has probably helped us get along better, but it means we haven't seen each other.

I'm excited to see him, but I'm nervous as well. In the fullness of time, I concluded that we were better off as friends, but he broke my heart when we were in school. Repeatedly. He broke my heart right before I met Doug Funny, but that wasn't the only time. I once cried about him every day for a month. He probably changed me more (through knowing me and being friends with me, not through active efforts on his part) than anyone else, including Doug Funny, I met in that phase of my life. We loved each other desperately, but in a platonic way, I guess.

Given all the emotion I invested in this person and all the emotion he invested in me, I'm anxious for this visit to go well. I'm also anxious for it to remain strictly at a friend level. I have not had any indication from him that he hopes for anything more significant, and he was the one who ended the romantic phase of our relationship, but we are both single right now (I think), and we used to date, and accidents happen. One of my Muslim friends says that when a man and a woman are alone together, the third person in the room is the devil, and I'm hopeful that that won't be true in this situation.

It's really me more than him that I worry about. I talked to him on the phone today, and his voice made me feel a little fluttery. (He has a mellifluous, radio-friendly voice well-suited to his career, which involves a lot of public speaking.) Part of me was all twittery, and as my mother would say, "That part of you needs to shut the fuck up." We're friends. That's it. (I'll keep telling myself that.)

Heavyweight

I finally got the scale today that I ordered to monitor my weight loss progress, and I already hate it. I told myself when I ordered it that I was getting it to measure my progress in a quantifiable way, that it is merely a scientific instrument, and that I would not let it dictate my self-esteem. I have not really succeeded in holding onto those ideals. For starters, I weighed 16 pounds more than I estimated I did when I entered my starting weight on the Weight Watchers web site. That was discouraging to begin with. I was even more depressed when I realized that to get to what the scale's handbook and the people at Weight Watchers consider the "normal" weight for my height, I need to lose 63 pounds.

It's hard for me to imagine losing 63 pounds. I don't feel obese now, just that I'm a little bit heavier than what I'd like to be. I was thinking that I might want to lose 10 or 20 pounds. I look at myself in the mirror and wonder where 63 pounds would come from, or whether I would look like a scarecrow if I lose that much weight. There's obviously no law that says I have to get down to the weight anyone else says I should be if I feel healthy and look good to myself, but it's disheartening.

I'm also starting to feel discouraged about how much time it's going to take to lose weight. Weight Watchers (in agreement with most other diet sources I've read) suggests losing no more than two pounds per week, which seems like an agonizingly slow pace at which to slenderize. The thinking, I heard, is that the longer you remain in the process of changing your body, the more completely your brain will process the change. That would explain why crash diets rarely succeed in the long run -- not only is your body in an artificial state of starvation but your brain isn't processing the healthy change. So, I get why you should take your time losing the weight, and I get that it isn't healthy to lose 20 pounds a week, but two pounds a week just seems like nothing. I could lose two pounds going to the bathroom or sweating profusely. To lose 63 pounds would take, at a minimum, 31 1/2 weeks, which is just over 7 months. I wouldn't be done losing weight until next February.

Mostly, I'm just whining right now. The truth is that February is coming whether I lose weight or not, and it would be nice to be feeling better about myself when it gets here. I'm not saying that I think I need to lose 63 pounds to get to that point, but even if I just lost the 10 or 20 pounds I originally had in mind, it would be a good thing. And I know that I need to take my time losing weight or else I'll be right back to where I am now before I know it. I have to remember that it was my choice to do this and I can stop anytime I want but that it is a decision I have made to live a healthier life and do something good for myself. I'm showing myself how much I care.

I was thinking today that dumping The Only Living Boy in New York was one of the best decisions I've ever made because it spurred me to make some big, positive changes in my life. I'm eating healthier and trying to lose weight, and I'm having some surgery to aid my, um, social life. I'm just taking better care of myself over all, and I'm trying to be more attuned to what I need and show myself more respect. I'm sorry that I couldn't get what I needed from The Only Living Boy in New York, but I'm glad that I used the end of that relationship as a launching pad to do something nice for myself. It isn't easy, and it isn't usually fun (plain non-fat yogurt is one of the most disgusting substances I have ever eaten), but it is worth it.

Things Are Getting Desperate When All the Boys Can't Be Men

I'm still thinking about the theory I arrived at last night, and I can't believe I never thought of it before. It makes so much sense. All this time, I thought I was attracted to emotionally unavailable guys, but now I realize that they weren't emotionally unavailable, they were sexually unavailable.

When I think back to a few such relationships, starting with The Only Living Boy in New York and moving backward chronologically, I realize that these guys were emotionally very much there for me. The Only Living Boy in New York was, in fact, a very good and supportive friend when that was all I was asking from him. It was only when I started to push for a real relationship -- a relationship that would have, by definition, contained a sexual component -- that he resisted. The Only Living Boy in New York, not coincidentally, has an injury that I would assume makes sexual activity difficult or maybe impossible for him. I already mentioned the issues Doug Funny and the virginal guy I dated had.

I always heard that guys are sexual animals, and that it's easy for women to find men to have sex with them because men want to have sex all the time. I never found that to be true. In fact, I was always puzzled by the fact that most of the guys I liked acted like they liked me too, but they never seemed to want to have sex with me. It just seemed so strange. Why would they want to have this deep, emotional intimacy with me, but never even want to kiss me? Why would they act like they were attracted to me (and have this deep, emotional intimacy with me), but never want to take it to the next logical step? Their answers to these questions was always that I had misunderstood their intent, and that they had never wanted to be more than friends. They may have believed that to be true, since it would be easier than admitting that they couldn't perform sexually or were afraid to try. I took them at face value, and I blamed myself for reading more into the situation than was called for or not being attractive or appealing enough to make them want to be with me in a more physical way. Women blame themselves for impotence or male sexual dysfunction all the time, and it isn't anyone's fault. By the same logic, it wasn't my fault that these men had sexual difficulties, and it really wasn't their fault that they wanted emotional closeness with someone they liked very much and thought was special nor was it their fault that they couldn't weave sex into the relationship. I always thought they were cads who were leading me on, and now I think that, at least for most of them, that probably wasn't true. (For a few, it probably was, but not for the major guys.)

This conclusion frees me. I see now that these relationships were not my fault nor were they the products of my imagination. I also see that the guys I chose didn't have emotional availability problems but rather sexual availability problems. (I should note that some of these guys had girlfriends, which complicates things, but Doug Funny's girlfriend, as mentioned, had her own sexual dysfunctions, Puffy's girlfriend lived in a foreign country, and The Only Living Boy in New York's girlfriend...well, I don't know about her, but I'd be willing to bet there is something going on there.) I also see that I did not imagine their feelings for me, just that I did not understand everything that was going on with them. Men are more sensitive than women, I think, about sexual problems because an inability to perform is an indictment of their masculinity whereas women are almost seen as more feminine for being reserved and indifferent toward sex. I can't believe it never occurred to me that as I was choosing men to suit my own issues, they were choosing me to suit theirs. To paraphrase Mimi in Rent, each of us was looking for baggage to go with our own.

This also solves the big mystery of why, after years of therapy to stop choosing men like my father, I still couldn't find a healthy relationship. My mother kept saying that it was because I was still choosing men like my father (emotionally unavailable), but that rang false to me. My father, like everyone else, is a complex individual, so there are certain traits of his that could be found in other guys I liked, but only in trace amounts and only coincidentally. The Only Living Boy in New York, Doug Funny, Puffy and many others were not at all like him. Now I see that I was right in thinking that my mother was misunderstanding the situation in some fundamental way. I wasn't choosing men like my father. I was choosing men who wouldn't make sexual demands on me, and who didn't want me to make sexual demands on them either. (I don't really want to tie that last part in with my father because that goes to a gross place.)

Now that I'm resolving the physical problem that made me sexually unavailable, I'm excited to see what happens. At whatever elemental level that attracts humans to one another, I will be different. Instead of giving out a vibe of sexual unavailability, I will be giving out the opposite vibe. It stands to reason that I will start to attract men who respond to the new signals instead of men who would have responded to the old signals. (It really is incredible the way that we, as humans, sense these things about each other. It's like how, in Twilight, Edward Cullen initially didn't think much of Bella Swan until he got close enough to smell her blood, and then he fell in love with her. Could someone please read the Twilight books and then email me so we can discuss it?) I think it's going to be a new chapter in my life, a new adventure, and I welcome it.

Raspberry Swirl

I was walking Teh Doggeh tonight and thinking about my upcoming surgery when something strange occurred to me.

I was considering whether (and this is not the strange part) my predilection for emotionally unavailable men is tied in with my physical difficulties with sex. It seems certain that this would be so. Back in high school, you could date someone for months, maybe longer, while not needing to consummate the relationship. As an adult, the general rule of thumb is three dates, which could mean anything between a few days to a few weeks. Knowing that the issue of sex is likely to arise quickly (heh), and also knowing that it is likely to be a painful and frustrating experience for both parties, it is understandable that I would be drawn to men with whom I unlikely to reach an intimate point because of their emotional unavailability.

The strange part is that it occurred to me that as much as these men are a pattern for me, I might be a pattern for them.

Doug Funny, during our brief romantic entanglement, told me that he and his girlfriend of four years had never had sex because it was painful for her even to try. Looking back on it, it sounds like she had (or perhaps has) the same problem that I have. I didn't then and don't now understand why she didn't go to a doctor to find out what was causing this pain, but that is neither here nor there. What I noticed is that he was in love with two women who had the same sexual dysfunction, two women unlikely to make sexual demands of him. Maybe our patterns (emotional unavailability and sexual unavailability) dovetailed, bringing the two of us together.

I initially dismissed this idea, reasoning that it is unlikely that Doug Funny could know at a glance that I would be sexually unavailable to him. But then I thought of something Humbert says in Lolita, talking about looking at a photo of young girls and knowing which one is the nymphet, and I realized that we all use subconscious cues or psychic impulses or scent or something to choose the people who offer us what we need. If someone who did not have my set of particular weirdnesses saw Doug Funny in a crowd of other men, he would not turn her head, but something in me recognized something in him and vice versa. I dated another guy once who turned out to be very sexually withdrawn because he was still a virgin in his mid-twenties. I would never have assumed that, but I was drawn to him for some reason, and maybe that was it. It makes me wonder whether some other guys I've liked, like The Only Living Boy in New York, have sexual issues of which I am unaware. It would explain a lot.

I made that last remark in jest, but it really would explain a lot. Most of the men I like share an atmosphere of emotional intimacy with me, but they are willing to go only so far with it and no farther. As soon as I want some kind of real investment from them, they tell me that they like me only as a friend and that they are sorry if I got the wrong impression. I am left feeling rejected and slightly crazy, as if I somehow imagined that there was something between us. But now it occurs to me that I may have trod on a major insecurity and that by pressing for an emotional commitment, I made these guys think I wanted more from them sexually than they could give. This may not be true in every case. Some of these guys may genuinely have seen me solely as a friend and unintentionally given me the wrong message, but not all of them. I can't believe it never occurred to me before because it makes so much sense that these guys would be choosing me because I could offer them the right amount of emotional closeness without physical demands and that they bolted when they discovered I wanted more.

It's weird and oddly comforting to think that my romantic problems could have a physical solution, or could at least be given a strong shove in the right direction by a procedure on my body. If I feel like I could have sex comfortably, what would that do to my confidence or my demeanor with men? Maybe I'll turn into a big ho. Here's hoping.

The Vagina Monologues

If you don't want to have too much information about me, I suggest you stop reading immediately.

I went to the gynecologist today, which is never happy fun time for me. I suspect it is not happy fun time for any woman in a non-pregnancy situation, but I have particular difficulties on which I will elaborate in a moment.

I used to see a gynecologist regularly in high school because I was getting my period twice a month for 8 days at a time (meaning that I was menstruating about 50 percent of the time -- yay for me). I went on birth control, so I had to keep up with my yearly visits to keep getting the prescriptions. By the time I was a senior in college, I had been on and off of birth control pills for about seven years, and my periods had normalized. The last type of birth control I used made me so depressed that I threatened, in all seriousness, to kill myself, so, needless to say, I am wary about ever going back on them. After I stopped taking birth control, I pretty much stopped going to the gynecologist. I didn't go for over five years -- maybe more -- until last summer when my mother finally filled my head with enough concerns that I could be secretly dying of cervical cancer to make me go. I was not rewarded for this. The "doctor" I saw examined me with fireplace tools and generally did not seem to be on the up and up. But this time, I went to a doctor who came recommended by three different friends.

My problems with the gynecologist are not the fault of any doctor in particular -- not even ol' Fireplace Tools and certainly not the competent medical professional who examined me today. My problem lies in the fact that the exam is incredibly painful to me, and I'm usually choking back (or not) screams throughout the pap smear. Today's doctor basically told me that my, um, lady area is very narrow. It's so narrow in fact that it hurts me for her to be poking around in there even with the smallest instruments. This explains a lot about my rollicking social life, let me tell you. Anyway, she suggested that I have some minor surgery. She's going to put me under and do an exam while I'm anesthetized and see if there's any excess stuff down in that area that she can snip away to create more space. So, now we've gone from assaulting my lady-bits with a fireplace poker to taking actual knives to the area. Poor lady-bits. I'm not thrilled about this idea even though I agreed to her proposal, but I am hopeful that the benefit will be worth it in the long run. At the very least, I would like a gynecologist to be able to do a real exam without being distracted by the sounds of my shrieking in pain. If she isn't able to hack away at the underbrush down there and clear a path, I'm going to have to use a dilater, which basically works the same way as those expanders people put in their ears to make the earring holes bigger. I am truly the luckiest girl in the world.

Aside from that, the visit was pretty good. She put me on a low dose of anti-depressants to help regulate my moods during my menstrual cycle. I hate to admit that I am pissier around my period because it's something men and my mother like to bring up to evade blame, but it's true. I'm curious to see how the anti-depressants will work and whether I'll actually be a little more stable throughout the month.

Interestingly, she also tested me for a thyroid problem. I don't think there is anything wrong with my thyroid, but she thought she felt an irregularity of some kind, so she ordered blood work. If I do have a thyroid problem, it is probably causing me to have a lower metabolism, which would explain a lot. I looked up the symptoms indicating a thyroid problem online, but, like most medical symptoms, they are sufficiently vague that I have them all depending on when you ask me. (I could probably look up testicular cancer and have all the symptoms for that. Honestly, how do doctors ever manage to diagnose and cure anyone?) I should have the test results back on the thyroid early next week. Like I said, I doubt there is a problem, but if there is, at least I would know so I can start taking medicine or whatever I need to do to cure it and maybe get the old metabolism up to speed.

Will You Be My American Boy?

So, no word from Irish Toffee. It has been a few days with no response, so I conclude that I'm not going to hear from him. Realistically, it's the summer and he works at a demanding job, so he could be on vacation or just really busy and may fully intend to respond. I doubt that an unsolicited email from a friend of a sister of a friend ranks high on his list of priorities. But usually, if people don't respond to an email within a day or two, they kind of forget about it, or they worry that too much time has passed and feel awkward about responding, so they don't.

I don't know why I'm so bummed about not hearing back from this person I have never met. Certainly it would have been nice to, as Blanche Devereaux once said, get him on a couch made out of Corinthian leather. It's also the fact that, as I mentioned, friends of mine are moving away, and I haven't replaced them as fast as they're leaving. And it's also the fact that I really meet very few heterosexual males, and it's almost too exciting to have one dangled in front of me and too cruel to have him snatched away.

Maybe this is a sign that I need to find a way to put myself in the path of more straight dudes. This is something that is a constant problem for me (me and every other single girl) because I haven't met anyone at work, my volunteer group is exclusively for women, and I don't go to bars or church. I have tried on-line dating several different times, most recently last fall, and I did not find it to be a rewarding experience on any of those occasions. I'm just not an on-line dater. My ideal situation would be to meet a guy through friends because then I can be pretty sure that the guy is who he says he is and is neither a rapist nor a serial killer. The problem there is that if my single female friends knew any great single guys, they would be dating them (and I cannot fault them for that). My paired-up friends tend to know only guys who are also paired-up because couples attract other couples. The other guys I know are not interested in me for reasons ranging from a lack of interest to religious differences. Given how hard it is to meet someone, it's a wonder that the human species hasn't died out.

Anyway, this line of thinking is kind of dumb because there was never an expectation that Irish Toffee and I were meeting to make a love connection (as far as I know). The expectation was that we would help each other pass the time. I said yesterday that I didn't think he probably needed help whiling away the hours between waking up and going to sleep since he has an exciting job and has lived in this area long enough to have a solid coterie of friends, and it seems that I was right. I'm just feeling lonely and bummed out about not hearing from him.

I'll Show You to my Bedroom, I'm Liking this American Boy

A friend of mine is trying to fix me up with her brother's college roommate. I'm not sure whether her goal is for us to be friends or to date (she did not mention if he has a significant other -- she may not know -- but I'm certain that she would have mentioned it if he was gay), but I sent him an email anyway.

This friend and I have known each other since our freshman year of college and, over the years, I have developed a small but independent friendship with her brother. Both of them are very nice people, and it should be mentioned that her brother is a hot piece. (Okay, it wasn't strictly necessary to mention that, but he is.) Based on the brother's hotness, I suspected that the target of this fix-up would be attractive as well since the comely tend to be pack animals. I researched the target on a prominent social networking website where he has posted photos of himself (yes, that is slightly stalkerish, but since he posted the photos himself and erected no barriers to prevent the entire world from viewing them, I assume that he would not mind), and...damn. That is one tasty piece of hard Irish toffee. I was practically fanning myself. I'm not sure if Irish Toffee is everyone's flavor, but he is most definitely mine. It doesn't hurt that he bears a resemblance to my friend's brother who, as I already mentioned, is good-lookin'.

I doubt that Irish Toffee is going to respond to my email. He has a demanding job in politics and he has lived in this city for five or so years, so I doubt he is really in the market for a new friend. But I'm sitting here thinking to myself, "I am dieting myself into an even more hotter body! I am lots of fun and a sparkling conversationalist! Please email me and perhaps also touch my butt!" Hear me, Irish Toffee. Hear me.

I've Been Trying to Get Down To the Heart of the Matter

Heather Graham played a psychiatrist named Dr. Molly Klock on Scrubs who chose her profession because of her ability to zero in on people's insecurities. A college roommate of mine was her evil counterpart.

Kolly Mock and I were best friends for probably two or three years in college, and we lived together for a lot of that time. I'm not totally sure why I was friends with her because she enjoyed making me feel bad about myself way too much. I'm sure she only did that because either she was jealous of me for something or because she was covering up her own insecurities, but it was still hurtful. By senior year, I had started to throw myself into therapy pretty intensively, and as I started to gain more respect for myself, I stopped wanting to associate with her as much. Almost simultaneously, she started dating the man she ultimately married a few years ago and I left for my study abroad program. Strangely, even though we were inseparable for years, I haven't laid eyes on her since I left for my study abroad. We didn't even talk all that much after I left. We had been growing apart for awhile, and I decided I had lost patience with her superior attitude toward everything I did when she was considering going to graduate school for the same thing I went for and I emailed her to share some of my thoughts with her about it, and she was incredibly snotty to me. Right. Like, why would I know anything about that type of grad school program considering I fucking got into one of the five best programs for it in the country? Anyway, she didn't end up going to grad school for anything. Then, she got into a huge fight with a few mutual friends of ours, and that pretty much cemented the severance of ties between us.

Today, I got a wild impulse to Google her, and even though I am certain that I would rather be leading my life than hers, she managed to make me feel bad about myself. That's right. The bitch managed to make me feel bad about myself from another state, using only the internet, without even needing to talk to me. I have a good job, I am a home owner, I have a cute dog, I make sweet moolah (without even needing Uncle Rico), and I basically do whatever I want. But she has two things that just stick in my craw: she's married and she's thin. Mind you, she is married to someone I would not look at twice (and I'm not saying he is or is not a good guy or right for her, but I met him once, and he was just not doing anything for me personally, and the mutual friend Kolly Mock had a fight with said Mr. Mock was a fucking asshole), and I am now doing Weight Watchers, but of course that bitch would have lost weight since college and would be married. Fuck her. I can't even believe I'm so annoyed about this.

It probably wouldn't even annoy me as much (yes it would) except that even earlier today, I had another wild impulse to Google my very first boyfriend. I sort of expected I wouldn't find much about him because I didn't think that whatever gas station employed him probably posted personal information about its employees online, but to my chagrin, the motherfucker is in a sketch comedy troupe. It's not a sketch comedy troupe of which I have heard (meaning, it is not The Kids In the Hall or Upright Citizens Brigade), but they have DVDs of their work for sale on Amazon, and they had a film accepted to a film festival in New York. The last time I talked to this guy, he was a jerk and he smelled like Pert Plus. Now, I'll grant you that that was when he was 15, and he may have changed some in the ensuing years, but still.

I don't know why I'm so annoyed by the successes of people who I once cared about. I'll admit I'm not so fond of either of the above-mentioned people anymore, but I once felt close to both of them. And yet, I begrudge them their successes when I should be wishing them well. After all, it's not as if I'm doing poorly and it's not as if I want to trade lives with them.

In the case of Kolly Mock, I think part of it is being angry with myself for having such a long-standing (i.e., longer than five minutes) friendship with someone who treated me so shabbily. This is not to say that Kolly Mock spent all of her time punching me in the emotional gut; there were times when she was really there for me, and she could be a lot of fun. But overall, she just was not that nice to me, and I probably should have found a way to bow out of the friendship long before I did. By the same token, I should not now hold an image of her in my mind as this relentless bitch when there were lots of times when we had fun together. Being friends with Kolly Mock was a lot like being in a shitty romantic relationship, and even though I've had more than my fair share of those, I have not found a way to accomplish the goals of letting myself off the hook for participating in the dynamic and to accept the other person as a complex individual possessed of good and bad qualities who just was ultimately not a health association for me. If I could say anything I wanted to Kolly Mock now, I would probably tell her that I didn't like the way she talked to me a lot of the time, that she should have treated me more respectfully, and that I think she beat up on me to feel better about herself and that that was a crappy thing to do, but I would also thank her for the fun times and the laughter and the listening to me complain about the loser guys I dated.

I'm not very good at processing the end of a relationship or dealing with the idea that not every relationship, of whatever type, is meant to last forever. I remember that when Doug Funny and I broke up, I told a friend of mine that he must never have cared about me at all. She said that if I needed to believe that to get past it, then I should but that she doubted it was true. She was probably right. Doug Funny broke my heart and he treated me poorly, but, looking back, I believe that he and I were in love and that he cared about me very much and probably still cares about me at some level. Doug Funny and I had a relationship with more than its fair share of tears and whisper-fighting, but we had some good times too, and he made me laugh. But the relationship went as far as it could go, and that's likely the end of it. For some reason, I find it hard to hold in my mind the image of someone who had so many positive and alluring qualities and the image of someone I no longer want in my life and who no longer wants me in his. The same kind of goes for Kolly Mock. It's hard for me to remember that she could be fun and charismatic and yet also prey unfairly on my insecurities in a way that ultimately makes her someone that I don't choose to continue to have as a friend.

I think it all comes down to the issue of forgiveness, which is something I have always struggled with. I think part of accepting someone who has hurt me as a complex individual who had good qualities as well and not just thinking of him or her as a "bad guy" involves forgiving that person. It requires accepting that that person is human, is going through his or her own journey and probably grappling with lots of things, and probably either did not intend to hurt me or did so more because of something going on internally than because of something that I did. And of course, the person I find it hardest to forgive is myself (an issue I want to explore as part of my desire to deal with some psychological things that have gotten me to the Weight Watchers point in my life). It's hard for me to look back at, say, the friendship with Kolly Mock and not think that I was an idiot for letting her mistreat me instead of thinking that it was part of growing up and learning how I would and would not tolerate being treated and that we obviously shared a lot of fun times or I wouldn't have stuck around as long as I did. It's also hard for me to look at the relationship with Doug Funny and not think I was an idiot to get involved with him at all instead of remembering that I fell in love with him at first sight, that I still believe he is my soul mate (bearing in mind that I believe people have many soul mates and that the fact that Doug Funny and I are not going to be together does not dash my hopes for future romantic happiness), and that I would have regretted it if I hadn't made an attempt to see where the relationship could go. Forgiveness has gotten fractionally easier as I've gotten older, but it's still a struggle.

Baby Vamp

I succumbed (suck-umbed?) to the call of the Twilight series this weekend. I didn't have any plans, as per usual, so I bought all three of the books and read them. The books are long, but since they are aimed at young adult readers, they don't take very much time to read. I remain convinced that L.J. Smith's The Vampire Diaries were a major inspiration for this series, but they were entertaining books. My only complaint is that the heroine ends up with the guy I was rooting against (this always happens to me -- I rooted for Felicity and Noel, Joey and Dawson, Sydney Bristow and Will, Jim Halpert and Karen, etc.), but they were pretty good.

Other than reading these vampire books, I ate. I recently (as in, last Wednesday) decided to join Weight Watchers online, and I don't think I've ever been hungrier. Weight Watchers has a choice of two plans, but the one I chose allows me to eat any amount of food I want as long as I choose from a list a of "core foods." So, if I feel like eating a whole jar of dill pickles, that's no problem. I can also eat as much 94% fat-free microwave popcorn and drink as much Diet Coke as I want.

Why did I join Weight Watchers? I don't really think I'm fat, though I have to concede that I'm at the larger end of mainstream sizing. Lately, I've been going to a more challenging exercise class and the changes I've noticed in my body have made me more confident that I've been in a long time. Bizarrely, I think the very fact that I've been feeling better about myself influenced my decision -- like, I felt like I deserved to feel even better about myself than I already do. I would be lying if I didn't also concede that The Only Living Boy in New York played a role in the decision. I don't honestly think that my physical appearance impacted his decision because the fact that someone is aesthetically pleasing does not always mean you want to be in a relationship with that person and sometimes, you want to be in relationships with people who are not traditionally good-looking. However, if and when I run into him again, I don't want him to think, "There's what I'm definitely not missing." It's kind of the same strategy Anne Hathaway is employing against Raffaelo Follieri. Plus, I really need to stop attracting these emotionally unavailable men (The Only Living Boy in New York is just Puffy Redux, but there have been others as well like Doug Funny). Maybe if I felt better about myself, I would attract guys who felt better about themselves. Or maybe I would attract more guys period, and I could weed out the emotionally damaged ones.

I have some definite concerns about losing weight. The first and silliest is the feeling that I don't want to date anybody who wouldn't have been attracted to me at my larger size, assuming I succeed in losing weight. That's just dumb, but it's something I think about. The second is that I want to make sure that as I'm effectuating a physical change, I'm dealing with the psychological aspects as well. I mean, I didn't let my weight get to a level with which I'm not comfortable because I was just that hungry. Eating has an emotional component for me as well as a physical one, and I would say the emotional is more important. Food is something I've had a love-hate relationship with my whole life, and a few years ago, I just decided to stop caring about what I ate or trying to go on a diet. The first diet I can remember being on was when I was eight years old, and I was off and on them basically until I went to law school. I think that taking that time just to eat what I wanted without judging myself had the healthy effect of breaking me of the shame associated with eating, but it didn't cure me of the desire to use food to self-soothe. If I'm upset, my first thought is to eat either because I want to feel the comfort of building a protective layer of fat around myself or because I want to punish myself by being fatter. My weight has yo-yoed over the years almost as much as Oprah's, and while I'm not at the biggest I've ever been, I'm probably toward the top end. I think the reason I haven't sustained any of the weight losses I've achieved over the years is because I never dealt with the psychological motivations for eating (well, that and the fact that I haven't always used the healthiest methods to lose weight). It's not something I'm going to resolve in one night, but if I hope to make any kind of lasting change in my life, it must be addressed.

Maybe if lose weight, I can find myself a cute vampire and/or werewolf boyfriend like Bella in the Twilight series.

Suck It

What is the deal with these Twilight books that people like? Are they good? Because I just read about them on Jezebel (in connection with the forthcoming movie), and I realized that I had, in fact, seen some of the books in book stores but never felt compelled to pick one up. Then, I read a description of the series, and I was like, "Um, I read these books in sixth grade back when they were called The Vampire Chronicles and were written by L.J. Smith, and they were fucking awesome."

This Is the End, Beautiful Friend

I think things are really over with The Only Living Boy in New York. It sounds silly to say that since I had already vowed never to speak to him again, but I think he's done too, and I didn't really know that until now. How do I know this? A former co-worker of mine who is friends with both of us gave his notice at my former office (where, you will recall, The Only Living Boy in New York still works), and The Only Living Boy in New York failed to email about it. Normally, he would be diving for his keyboard, fingers afire, to email me such a juicy piece of gossip (in the movie of my life, he's going to have to be played by the voice of Kristen Bell, so great is his love of gossip), but I did not hear a peep out of him today and I confirmed that he knew the information.

I'm Going to Miss You Like a Child Misses His Blanket But I've Got to Get a Move On With My Life

I'm back from my visit to my family, which was restful and fun. It's healthy to get out of my normal routine, especially after the situation with The Only Living Boy in New York.

I haven't heard anything from The Only Living Boy in New York, by the way, which I'm sure was obvious. I'm disappointed but not surprised. I hoped, without basis in reality, that he would reverse his position after realizing his mistake, but that won't happen. I also thought, with some slight basis in reality, that he might try to reach out to reaffirm a friendship, but he's giving me my space. Maybe an infinite amount of space. It makes me sad, but it's also for the best, I think.

Maybe I Will Feel Better Alone, Or Just Feel Something, My Heart is Turning to Stone

Days without talking to The Only Living Boy in New York: 2

Today was worse than yesterday. I almost emailed him, not because I was struggling with whether or not to do it but just because I saw something funny that would have made him laugh, and I almost did it as a reflex before I caught myself. Realizing that talking to him is instinctual was hard and fighting against that instinct was even harder. I'm going home to see my family tomorrow morning, so I think that getting out of my normal routine will make it easier to break the habit of him.

Hey, Let Your Honesty Shine, Shine, Shine...Like It Shines On Me

Days without talking to The Only Living Boy in New York: 1.

How is it going? I almost screamed at an old man to shut the fuck up when he started singing "Are You Lonesome Tonight?" at the pharmacy counter of the drugstore, so I guess it's going great.