Confessions, musings, and sordid details of a Generation Y redhead.

I apologize in advance for the sheer length of this post. I went off on a few healthy tangents. Don't hate me, please!

Yesterday was quite an adventure. I decided early on that I wasn’t going to ask to see Nick. I’d talk to him, but I would give him some space and give myself some space. I find that if I surround myself with a person, I get clingy, bored, or too comfortable. Clinginess is just plain unattractive. Boredom is unacceptable with someone as awesome as Nick. Comfort? I’m already too comfortable with him for my own good. I actually forgot to thank him for doing something (if you know me, you know I’m shuddering in abject horror over this—I’m nothing if not painfully polite to enemies, crushes, and unknowns). Fortunately, I remembered later, thanked him profusely, and apologized for forgetting to do so earlier. He hadn’t really noticed and indeed apologized for forgetting to thank me for letting him stay the night before.
(Side note about politeness—I’m, as I said, unerringly polite with enemies, crushes, and unknowns. I’m more than tolerably polite to almost everyone else—friends, people about whom I don’t care to have an opinion, family, etc. But I don’t expect the same courtesy. At least not to the same extent to which I hold myself. You can forget to thank me for a lot of things and until you piss me off, I’ll never think anything of it. But should I do the same and realize it, I can’t have it. I like being appreciated for what I do, but when I do get a thank you, it’s so unexpected and heart-warming that I’m likely to go into a fit of favors for you—don’t try to work that system, please.)
ANYWAY. If I don’t give myself some space, I’ll let him see the cynical, pessimistic side that I work so hard to overcome. I try to be upbeat and generally positive—aside from my dry humor and cynicism in its light form. But I have a very pessimistic side that I despise. I expect very little of people because I find it easier to trust them to let me down, which is why these last few weeks have surpassed my expectations by miles.
((Side note: my dog is being adorable right now. She started out about five feet away, laying on the ground. She has slowly belly-crawled under the coffee table and is now laying as close to the couch I’m on as humanly—err, caninely possible. She paused about two feet away, looked up at me, and laid her head down like she was done moving. A minute later, she was [what I’m sure she thought was] sneakily crawling closer. She stopped just short of being against the couch (note: she also had to turn about 90 degrees to get up against the couch), looked up, and rolled over against the couch. It was pretty cute.))
ANYWAY. I decided that I was not going to seek Nick out. So I went over to my mom’s house, checked on my kitties, used her internet for a while, grabbed a few more things, and headed back into town. I re-dyed my hair and had just resigned myself to pacing the house all day and not-calling/texting Nick when Natalie came to my rescue.
Instead of me driving myself crazy all day, we went Thrift-Storing. There are about 7 really good thrift stores in our town and the town that’s closest to ours (they’re sister cities: Nevada City and Grass Valley), and so we don’t go thrift-store shopping; we go Thrift-Storing. I got the BEST deals. I got a red tie with white polka-dots (good for interviews if I’m rocking the badass office professional woman, great if I’m just rocking the badass chica, serves in addition as a belt and a hair scarf) for 54 cents; a pair of really cute brown professional heels, a strand of pearls, and some great tea cups with saucers for $14.85; and a dress that usually costs (this was my best find of the day—I’m super proud) about $200 that I got for $19.85. It looks SOOO hot on me. It’s a light turquoise color, about knee-length, and a halter. It’s hot hot hot! I need a reason to wear it now. It’s a little dressy for just wearing, but if we went, oh, I don’ t know…DANCING, it’d be PERFECT. Especially with the gold silk shoes that Natalie found and said I could borrow any time.
Anyway, I actually had a great day. I wasn’t expecting it to be (see? Pessimism in the raw!); honestly, I expected to have to go walk twelve miles with my music on full-blast just to keep myself distracted. And I started to go a bit crazy in the evening, but there was a bathroom to clean. And dishes and laundry to do. I have busy work to keep my hands on something. Away from my phone. Sometimes I wish I could intentionally lose my phone so that I can’t be tempted into connecting with the outside world. (note: in this scenario, The Outside World is mostly just synonymous with Nick)
Another thing that made me really happy was when I weighed myself. I have a rule about weighing myself. I don’t weigh myself more than every two weeks. It’s actually been more like 6 weeks. The last time I was into the doctor. And I was up a few pounds. Made me not too happy with myself.
I guess you have to know the full story for it to make any sense as to why a few pounds piss me off. I’m not anorexic. I don’t have any other eating disorders. That would have been easy for me to do with my mother, but I’m actually really smart about food. Now. I’m smart about food now. Anyway. I was never…huge. I was about average for most of my life. At least until middle school. I got sick a lot, had a few surgeries, and was just generally inactive. I got up to about 165 by mid-8th grade. Over the summer, I freaked out, went on a soup diet. I actually did have an eating disorder at that point. Freshman year was a rough year. I dropped down to about 115 and still thought I was effing huge. Sophomore year, I went to the other side of the pendulum and gained it all back. By the end of Junior year, I was at an all-time high of 178. I wore it well, but I was pretty chubby.
And then the best thing happened to me. I went to Europe for 10 days, dropped 15 pounds because I was too hot to eat and was walking a good 20+ miles a day. When I got home, I had pneumonia and I couldn’t eat and breathe simultaneously. Between these two things, I got back into a healthy amount of eating. (My mom’s diet is perfectly healthy—except on the portions end of things. Portions for her are almost twice what I eat) So the weight kept dropping. From June to November, I dropped about 25 pounds. It was coming off slowly enough that I was getting a good shape on me. All this was while taking a birth control pill that is notorious for packing about 20 pounds on its victims.
I was actually pretty good at 153, and I got stuck there for a while. Holidays, I suppose, do that to people. But I didn’t gain any of it back, which made me really happy. After Christmas, I started taking Doxycycline and a new birth control pill that worked in conjunction to keep my skin clearer. The other effect was that it jump-started my metabolism at the same time. By March, I was at my then target weight of 145. And I look fantastic at 145. Without any extra effort, I got down to about 140, and decided that 135 might be better just because I’m hippy, and I wanted trimmer thighs. So when I went to the doctor in May, I was back up to 148. I had a mild panic attack, scared that I was going to gain it all back (that’s what happened between freshman and sophomore years), and started eating healthier again.
So I weighed myself yesterday, and I’m back down to 141. I wasn’t really expecting to be. I actually thought I’d gained weight. I actually kind of should have. I’ve been partying three or four days a week and eating like crap. Unless I’m at work. Then all I eat is fruit and a little dairy. But I’m back down, closer to my target weight. Without starving myself. And without crazy work-outs. I’m very pleased with myself. The other thing is, my weight now is more muscle mass than it was before. I’ve got rather toned arms (working at Jamba Juice did that to me—I’ve never had arm muscles before, and now I’ve got bona fide guns. They might be pistols, but they’re still guns) and my legs are actually pretty lean now. And I’ve decided I’m not going to stress about getting down to 135. I look fine where I’m at, and sure, 135 would be nice, but I don’t need to be 135. If I did, there might be a problem. Part of the problem with losing any more weight is my pants. I have long legs, and I wear a little bit less than an 8 in the jeans I like, but only at my waist. I’m more like a 10 in length. I actually wore 10 Longs for a little while. And the 8 Longs work for me, length wise. But if I get down to a 6, the Longs might be a little shorter than I like. It’s quite a conundrum. Not really, but it’s something I think about.
I’m done thinking. This is an extremely long post. I don’t know why I had so much to say today. But I’m done. The Epic Post of Epicness is done.