When in Rome [Part 1]

I have returned. Actually, I returned a week ago but I was super busy. Since it’s been awhile, an update on my post-graduate life.

- I have a job. I start Monday. I will be a PR assistant for a major TV network. For anyone going “Wait, I thought she was a journalist,” check out Sophia’s post.

Anyhoodle, I returned from Italy. And was already wanting to sneak into the nearest plane heading back. I went to Rome and Naples, but now I have a mission to go to Venice in the fall or winter (two of our beautiful drivers described Venice in winter as “darkly beautiful, and just a little bit sad.” Totally up my alley). I also want to hit up Florence and Tuscany. Basically, I’m in love with Italy. For a perfect vacation, I’d want to go to Germany and Austria for the musical theatre and culture, then tool down to the Mediterranean. Now I just need to find a sugar daddy who will pay for it.

For the next few post I will be recounting my adventures. It won’t be in perfect order. And before anyone asks, yep, I prefer taking pictures of things to being in photographs. The most amazing part of Italy for me is the history. I’m a history nerd, so the following posts will have a lot of historical notes. Despised AP Euro? Don’t read. Or give my saucier take a chance.

My stepmom is the most awesome travel agent ever. That’s not her job, but she always arranged our trips. So we tool up to our hotel…which is located right by the Pantheon. And 20 thousand gelato shops. We stayed at the Hotel Albergo del Senato. It was really fantastic. The concierge service was flawless, the location was bar none, and it had free breakfast. What more can you ask for?

The temptation was there to throw things at helpless passer-byes.

The Pantheon is a remarkable building. Normally I grouse when Christians take over Pagan monuments and rebrand them. In this case, however, the Catholic Church saved it. See, the Renaissance peeps were great lovers of art, but they had no respect for ancient monuments. Tons of Roman stuff was torn down and recycled. As you can see from those holes, people didn’t hesitate to cut out bricks. Because the Church owned it, it didn’t get looted, and remains one of the most intact monuments in Rome. It used to be a temple that hailed all gods. Now it holds Mass. Pretty weird evolution.

Another interesting part of the square is the obelisk. It’s authentic Egyptian–Rome has a handful of obelisks throughout the city, with some being Egyptian and others being Roman copies.

The Romans were smart: when they came across foreign gods, they usually respected them and built temples. After all, you don’t want to piss off the guardians of the people you subjugate. It’s also funny because, as a Mediterranean society, some Roman, Greek, and Egyptian gods were already shared. Isis was worshiped in the Roman-Greco world, but the goddess Ceres/Demeter is very similar to her anyway. To stretch her roots even further, Isis and the Virgin Mary share a ton of parallels. Though I don’t think Mary ever sliced Jesus’ hand off.

When my dad and I recovered enough to do more than shamble like zombies, we went for some dinner. I laid down the law: it was pizza time. The hotel recommended La Focaccia. Tucked in by an alley, it was raining and an adorable, dark-haired waiter ushered us into a cozy below-ground seating area. The waiter recommended a pear, Gorgonzola, and walnut pizza. That sounded good, but I was determined to get my tomato on. My first meal in Rome:

Prosciutto and mozzarella!

The next day we toddled over to the Col0sseum. It was a rainy week for Italy but as it wasn’t cold, I didn’t mind. This masterpiece is pretty synonymous with Rome.

Thing is, the Colosseum wasn’t called that during Roman times. It was called the Amphitheatrum Flavium, after the Roman dynasty. However, a bigass colossus statue stood just outside the building. Originally the statue looked like Emperor Nero, but since Nero was a crazy mofo, subsequent emperors redid it. Eventually the statue got recycled because it was made of bronze. Again, those Renaissance peeps, no respect for historical preservation.

That labyrinthine structure was the “backstage.” Gladiators hung out, chatted up babes, and polished their swords. Oh, and they kept lions and tigers and crocodiles in the darkness, so they’d be pissed and manic for the arena. Starving too. The arena covered it. Because of all the bloodshed, it was always filled with sand. After all, can’t have gladiators slipping on gore puddles halfway through a match.

Female gladiators did exist—the gladiatrices. They were rare, and a lot were from wealthy families. They’d ride around on chariots and fight each other, usually shirtless. Some emperors tried to ban them but it never really took, until the Christian Roman emperors decided to be killjoys and banned gladiatorial combat for everyone.

Anyway, a time spent roving around the Colloseum made me hangry, so we popped over for some lunch. I’m not normally a big pasta fan but I saw this delivered to another table and just had to have it.

Stuffed with spinach and ricotta

Another huge ruin is the Forum. In Roman times this was like The Grove, only with a lot of pillars and fewer dumb tourists.

See those purple pillars? They are outrageously valuable. The stone is Egyptian porphyry. It’s all been dug up and it’s worth way more than gold. The reason the pillars still stand is because the temple they flank was buried. A rather nice Roman emperor loved his wifey so much that when she died he had her proclaimed a goddess so he could build a temple for her. That’s devotion!

This is the Arch of Titus, the inspiration for the Arc de Triomphe. It’s sort of a “look guilty and shuffle” momument though—it features a scene called “Spoils of War,” where the Romans curb-stomped Jerusalem and demolished the Temple. They marched back with all the fancy stuff, like the Menorah and Silver Trumpets. In modern times it probably would have been returned, except when the Visigoths sacked Rome they threw it in the Tiber or melted it or something. But hey, no animal sacrifices since the temple was destroyed!

Skylines. Rome has them.

The day after, we snagged a guide. My dad’s been to Rome before, but the thing about Rome is that you can walk around it for months and still stumble upon new stuff. This is a friggin’ old city and it hides its secrets.

One neat place is the Piazza Navona, built over the old Stadium of Domitian. It has shops, restaurants, artists, and a really neat fountain.

This Fountain of the Four Rivers is awesome. Crafted by Bernini, its meaning wasn’t clear to me until our charming guide Fabio explained it. The four corners represent the four major rivers of the world — the Ganges, the Danube, the Nile, and the Plate. The people and animals represent their respective rivers. The dude closest to us is the Plate; the snake’s scaring the guy, who’s sitting on a pile of coins, representing the wealth of the New World.

I was walking down the Piazza when I noticed a dude spraypainting. I did a double take because holy crap I’d seen this on Youtube. A handful of spraypaint artists sit around crafting masterpieces. My dad was not impressed but I was entranced.

Rome has gorgeous streets. It also has great spas. I wanted a massage and the hotel recommended a marvelous place, Acanto Day Spa. Unlike the common “airy relaxation” theme, this spa was like a temple of relaxation. The dark, soothing interior was beautiful.

It was funny to note the differences between American and Italian full-body massages. Slightly different techniques and whatnot. Also funny are the different standards of prudery. In most American massage clinics, the therapist leaves the room while you hop on the table and crawl under the sheets. This has always struck me as silly because the therapist sees your nekky (or near nekky) body anyway. “OMG moving naked flesh, we must avert my eyes!” Here, the therapist told me to disrobe and get on the table, and went to warm some  massage oil. It is pretty funny how a lot of America gets so touchy about body parts.

Anyhow, it was a lovely massage. The therapist didn’t speak English but it didn’t matter. She understood my French and I could string together enough context and cognates to understand her Italian. It was a fantastic hour+. Massages, people—they rock.

For our last night in Rome, I dragged us back to La Focaccia. The same cute waiter ushered us downstairs. This time, I took his pizza suggestion. For an appetizer, I had this yummy black rice and salmon dish.

When the waiter came back, he goes, “I had them do something special.” Awww, heart melt!

It was an amazing pizza: a great blend of salt, sweet, sharp, and nutty. Holy crap, a metaphor for me!

The next day, we took the train south to Naples, but more on that later.

To Forgive if not Forget

Very delicate surgery. Stay strong my ugly child!

My car went into the shop last Monday (from a wreck I had in August — not my fault) and will be ready today. That’s meant more downtime. No work,  no Crossfit, and no long errands. Just me bumming around campus.

Oh wait, I don’t bum around on campus. I’m a senior; I pop by campus for classes then hightail it out of there. So in the meantime, I’ve been cleaning my apartment, catching up on books and movies, studying, and — wtf — exercising.

Ever since I got back from Christmas vacation, I’ve had the strangest shift in perception. Things are so much clearer. I’ve been twenty times better since I went on Wellbutrin, but post holiday, I’m even happier.

Mimi History: I have despised cardio machines with a burning passion ever since freshman year of college. I guess it’s burnout, or my growing suspicion I’m a closeted ADD case. Music helps but I still don’t like it. I do love weights, but I also love being a lazy sod.

I’ll be blunt: it makes no sense, but when I was thinner, I had more motivation to maintain my physique (and improve it), because there was no vast journey ahead of me. Thus, getting back into a non-Crossfit workout routine has been haphazard. The best way for me to workout has been my Crossfit classes. However, I doubt I’ll be able to continue them when I first start working. That stuff’s expensive. So it’s been weighing on my mind.

But then I got Joker, my iPad. And suddenly cardio rocks! I can put my movies on it, including my musicals and Netflix. Suddenly, it’s my top stress buster.

Vastly more entertaining than football or Food Network (what's always playing on the gym TVs)

I actually look forward to heading down to the gym to do my workout. Still with weights, but the cardio is necessary since I can’t move around as much as I could when I was younger and had fewer obligations.

"And I stood upon the sand of the sea, and saw a beast rise up out of the sea, having seven heads and ten horns, and upon his horns ten crowns, and upon his heads the name of blasphemy." Yup, always sounded about right to me for a long time.

But as much as I love Joker, I can’t attribute my sudden zest for ellipticals all to him.

On my way back to LA, I read Jillian Michael’s book, Unlimited. It was an unexpected Christmas present. Silly fate — finding stuff that seems to congeal everything that’s been running around my head.

Unlimited isn’t actually a weightloss book. It’s more about psychology. I don’t agree with Jillian on everything fitness and nutrition related, however, I’ve always felt a kinship with her. We were both fat kids, and both stumbled into hobbies that improved our self esteem. Mine was equestrian, hers was martial arts. I’ve spoken with Jillian a couple times before, and she’s just as passionate as she seems on TV.

Anyhow, reading Unlimited, it was like a gong rattled in my head. One of those “Ding fucking DING” moments. Thoughts that were murmurings in my mind suddenly came into resounding focus.

A few points Unlimited makes:

• Forgive — not for the good of the other person, but you
• Shame is useless and stupid
• Affirmations and gratitude are freakin’ powerful

I’m a very forgiving person. Long-term hate just doesn’t stick on me. It’s too time consuming and too pointless. Except for a strange event a few months ago.

Stopping by Starbucks, I stood in line for my drink. Then I saw someone out of the corner of my eye. It was one of my old roommates — from that traumatizing situation last year. My reaction surprised me.

Right down to the pointy ears.

I was seething. If she’d noticed me, my eyes might have shot blood at her.

That kind of reaction threw me because it’s one I just don’t have, not that long after something’s happened. My temper flares easily but it’s the flash-in-the-pan spark that recedes quickly.

After awhile I forgot about it, figuring there are some people you just stay pissed off at. Then I read Unlimited. It made me think back to people I couldn’t forgive.

I believe it’s very true that your interactions are a reflection of your inner conflicts. So when you flip a mirror around…

As silly as it sounds, I never forgave myself. When my life got bumpy — when the roommate thing happened, when my boyfriend and I broke up, and when I started sinking again into a depression — I was furious with myself for being so weak. Cue emotional eating, cue increasingly erratic behavior.

When I got to London I thought I’d magically feel better. But knowing I’d given up what I really wanted (New Zealand) for something more practical and sensible hit me way harder than it should have. Poor London, please don’t think I hated you. But cue emotional eating. Cue hating myself for gaining weight and cue again emotional eating to deal with my unhappiness.

My depression lifting was a wonderful weight leaving my shoulders. But as I’ve said before, antidepressants aren’t “happy pills.” They putter around in your neurological system and rattle things around. This ended my feeling of futility and my incessant apathetic grayness. It short-circuited my OCDness too. Yet Wellbutrin, as helpful as it is for me, is not a panancea, and nor did I ever see at as such.

I’ve been a lot happier these past few months. Yet there was still that insidious, festering anger at myself. The body responds well to acute stress, like sprinting. A short rush of self-anger can be effective: “Oh my God I can’t believe I forgot my friend’s birthday! Time to make amends!” That’s good. But lingering rage is useless. Even in biology, chronic stress leads to inflammation and a repressed immune system.

Watch Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street if you need a real-world example of why forgiveness can save you a lot of sanity.

So ends the last of my increasingly melodramatic postings on my headgames and hamster wheels. I was so very silly.

Looking back and wishing things were different is silly too. It could turn you into a pillar of salt!

When I got back to LA after Christmas, I puttered down to the gym with my iPad and had an awesome time just chilling out and watching Sherlock. I was working hard but it wasn’t a toil. I felt so friggin good afterward. Both physically and mentally.

I love Crossfit because it gives me more confidence in my physical abilities. Even if I’m not the fastest or the strongest I can get it done. But doing something on my own, with no cheerleader or encouraging coach, is something different.

Feels slightly more likely within the next year (...or year and a half)

Of course, when I say you can’t look back at the past and wish things were different, there’s no reason to never look back at all. Your past is a web, not a line, at least in my eyes. Everything connects to something else. Events are strong because of everything else surrounding them.

Being confident in myself and taking things one day at a time is close to my mindset when I started college. I’d gone from a size 14 to a 10 over the summer. Easily. I ate less and did  the elliptical and weights a few days a week. In and out in an hour tops. The hardest thing was turning down a slice of pizza. So my confidence was a cannonball into the school year.

I didn’t give a fuck how much weight I had to lose. I knew I’d get it done. I took it one day at a time and remembered everything counted.

Toward the end of the school year I was burnt out and disordered. But I definitely didn’t start out that way. I pushed myself too hard, for too long, with no breaks or more than 5 hours of sleep a night. No wonder I wound up a headcase.

This time I’m smarter. I know the necessity of taking breaks and resting. I know everything counts, but that I can easily compensate or work in an indulgence. Yet an intelligent approach is only part of the equation. For me, the confidence and goals are what push me from smart planning into smart acting.

This summer I’m going to Rome and Naples. I am not going to look unhealthy and propagate the stereotype Americans are all fat and lazy. I’m graduating in May. I don’t want my college graduation photo to be as chunky as my high school one.

Yeah, not going there without a swimsuit I feel sexy in.

Another comment Jillian made in Unlimited was that one needs tangible, precise goals. On The Biggest Loser, she wails on people who say “I want to be healthy!” as for why they want to lose weight. It’s never the main reason (I’m  counting “not die” and “live to see my grandkids as separate entities).

Agreed, my dear. Of course I want to be healthy. But for me, the more tangible desire is wanting a tight butt for my jeans, sleek shoulders for my tank tops, and a flat stomach that I’m happy to flaunt in a bikini. Or, as Jillian has said in a podcast, “We all just want to get laid and have sex with the lights on.” True words, dear one.

I had a real knock on the noggin in German class. I wound up sitting next to this gorgeous Russian. He was quite friendly and amused I knew about those weird and awesome Russian monarchs. A year ago I’d have felt totally confident in asking if he wanted to get coffee (or vodka, since I’m culture-sensitive). Today, hell no. I don’t delude myself. I’m charming and kind and thus people like me, but right now I’m not my hottest.

I didn’t let it get me down though. It’s basic biology. And it’s just further impetus to get serious and stop dicking around. I’m in better shape and a few pounds lighter from Crossfit, but I have a long-ass way to go, and it’s not going to get any shorter by lazing around and not putting some effort in.

That doesn’t equal “lose weight as fast as humanely possible.” For one, I’d look weird, sick, and flabby. Two, I’d shoot myself in the foot. It does mean consistency and a lack of second-guessing and quibbling over semantics.

I’ve set myself up some rewards as my weight drops and my clothes loosen. Nothing fancy. New workout clothes, new nail polish, etc. Nothing food related obviously. Jesus, I hate it when people set up binge-worthy dinners to celebrate a weight loss.  Way to reinforce positive life changes.

The other thing I really took to heart in Unlimited was that affirmations are powerful. Make tangible goals, but also tell yourself your making positive changes now. Instead of thinking “Urgh I’m tired I hope I get through this workout,” think “Fuck yeah I’m going balls-to-the-walls because I’m a badass.” Or something of that nature.

Thoughts are very powerful. Using them properly can be very empowering.

I would add to that — thoughts of gratitude help a lot too. I have so much to be grateful for. I have friends and parents who love me. I’m accomplished. My classes rock. I have great hair. I have 24-hour access to a decent gym, meaning there’s no reason I can’t work out. I have an iPad so cardio is enjoyable. Just running through that list makes me happier. When I’m feeling good, I do good things.

Of course mental changes aren’t always immediate. They take work. When I think back to last year, I do get cranky. But it’s not the palpitating pissiness I’ve felt before. I sometimes do get frickin’ pissed at myself. Yet I’ve been able to gently deflect it. Fat is just stored energy, as Jillian put it. Shame over how I let myself go is pointless. It’s not like I got an STD after a crazy weekend in Cozumel. I’d be sheepish over that.

Fat loss takes commitment. There’s no getting around that. But while it’s a focus during my semester, I’m keeping occupied by other things. I’m learning how to get really good at painting my nails, something I’ve never done. I’m studying German fastidiously. I should probably be frantically looking for a job, but I’ve got a couple of months before things get serious.

And there’s no reason getting healthy and having fun should be mutually exclusive. Today, for example, Sophia and I went for a hike to the Griffith Observatory. She skipped and bounded, I slogged and huffed. Even though I’m in better shape than I was, I’m still working on cardiovascular endurance. And lugging myself up a steep hill gets tiresome. But so what? I had tons of fun just hanging out with my girlie. LA was beautiful this morning, swathed in fog and raindrops. There’s nothing wrong with being slightly uncomfortable. It’s the best way to challenge yourself.

Awesome weather! I'm not being sarcastic.

I never noticed it but Griffith Observatory looks like a fantasy book citadel.

Afterward we went to Costco, then to Bricks & Scones for scones and a study date. Usually I hate scones. Dry, crumbly, stuffy things. These were awesome! They were like muffinish biscuits. Lovely and doughy. Ok, so now I’ve tried a scone I like besides Sophia’s.

I drink too much coffee. Oh well, one thing at a time.

Last Monday, my friend Mere and I went to Cafe Gratitude. I love this place. They put so much love and care into the food. Our waitress was kind of pokey, but it was a gorgeous day and we had fun catching up.

"I Am Humble" -- brown rice and quinoa with curried lentils, yams, roasted veggies, tamarind sauce, and mint chutney. Nom.

Oh, and Jason Schwartzman was sitting behind us. Teehee. No, I would not have snapped that pic if he was facing us.

Most people are way meaner to themselves than anyone else, or in more pain or insecurity than they dish out. That includes bullies. I say most because we’ve all encountered a little sociopath on the playground. As for me, I’m harsher on myself than anyone else. There’s no gold medal for that though.

Anyhoodle, I’m moving forward from here on out. I’ve gotten what I’ve needed from the past. Now it’s time to create the future. Oh, and it’s now time to make the elliptical my bitch.

Moving between the unknowns

How was everyone’s Christmas/Hanukah/Yuletide/Solstice?

My winter holiday has been contradictory.

The Best Of List would go like this:

- My iPad. This thing is awesome. I named him Joker. His adoptive brothers are my laptop, Sherlock, and my iPod, Mephisto. Yes I name my electronics. I’ll be getting an iPhone in a few months and its name at the moment is reserved as Kefka. I love Apple…except their computers.

- My Merrell Barefoot shoes. I love running around barefoot but I’m too self-conscious right now to buy a pair of Vibrams. Merrells are great though.

"Are those rock climbing shoes?" my German prof asked.

- New haircut/highlights. I got my hair highlighted years ago but couldn’t see the highlights. Wha? No way I’m paying for something I can’t see. So I told my stylist, “No stripper highlights, but I want to see them.”

- New manicure obsession. Crackle nail polish. Addicted. Let’s move on.

Now I just need to figure out how to paint my own nails without looking like I had a seizure mid- brushstroke.

- Deep tissue massage. Oh, how I’ve missed you.

- Facial. Oh how I’ve needed you.

- Serendipity. I got locked out of my house one night. I didn’t have a key and my parents were at the Messiah. So I toddled down to my favorite coffee shop, Antidote, and reacquainted myself with their Cajeta latte. I also took the time to start studying German, to prepare for my class. I’m even more in love with this language than before!

- My sister. It’s so weird how she’s grown up. We must have watched 20 different horror movies. My favorite  was Tucker and Dale Versus Evil. SEE IT!

- Hachi: A Dog’s Tale. To quote my favorite policeman, Inspector Javert, “My heart is stone, and still it trembles!” I don’t cry at movies. This film had me and my sister sitting there with tears streaming down our faces. It was so good though, and based on a true story. SEE IT!

It may seem like my holiday has been full of jollies. It’s always nice to be home, but not all was merry. My grandmother was in the final stages of her life when I arrived home. The day before I left, she died.

I’m weird when it comes to death. When my dogs die I go into keening fits. When people die, I shrug and move on. Except one. I cried some when Heath Ledger died.

It’s not that I don’t care. It’s just death in and of itself doesn’t really bother me when it’s expected. When life’s run its course, it’s over. An atheist friend and I used to wonder why it is people flip out at the thought of oblivion. It’s nice to believe there’s something after death — heaven, reincarnation (my personal fav), or Valhalla. But one wouldn’t be aware of oblivion, so it’s kind of moot.

I understand why most people are sad, I just don’t get that way. Memories don’t make me mournful; they make me happy because they were of times before my grandmother had Alzheimer’s, back when she was a feisty lady.

You didn’t piss off Gaga or she’d smack you, call you a baby for crying over it, then finally apologize…maybe. But she was kind too. My grandparents’ house was my only place  of true calm during my parents’ divorce. It’s not anymore. For the last few years the house has reeked of decay.

I was trying to explain to my mom why I’m less grieved. She said it was because I was young and thus never really felt the closeness of death.

Heh. Wrong. Not that I’d tell her that.

In high school I was on a vacation at my stepdad’s mother’s farm in Pennsylvania. The neighbors had four-wheelers and took me and my sister out for a ride.

All was well, until we drove along an incline. Suddenly my four wheeler flipped and I rolled down the hill. I was aware the whole time — a branch whipping across my face, the vertigo of inversion, and the snap decision not to bail for fear the ATV would slam me down due to gravity. The worst was the very end. It landed on my head. I stared up at the handlebars, my neck yowling in pain, wondering why it wasn’t crushing my skull. Then I remembered I was wearing a helmet.

Kind of like that but more like a barrel roll...ok, more like rolling down a hill with an 800 pound ATV

As I scrambled to my feet, one girl I was with started screeching about my face. I seriously thought I’d ripped it in half; it was numb and my hand came back covered in blood. In reality, it was just my nose that was gushing.

We told my parents I’d bailed just as it flipped and I’d faceplanted into the ground. I was sore for weeks — I’d gotten a black eye, a broken nose, and was hobbling like an arthritic hound dog. Technically, my nose was just messed up, then my sister fully broke it when we got into a bitch fight the day after. C’est la vie. 

I was reading A Farewell to Arms while recuperating. I’m pretty sure my physical discomfort played a part in my loathing of that book. Or maybe it’s just Hemingway.

I’m pretty sure my parents eventually figured out the truth of it. But I don’t think they ever realized I was several inches of plastic away from snapping my neck.

I was thinking back to that day a lot over Christmas break. And thinking of some of my best memories of her.

Gaga liked to pull together a big shebang for Easter. When I was a tot, Easter was just as cool as Christmas and Halloween because of egg hunts and baskets overflowing with gifts and candy. We’d go to church as a family, come back to her house and have lunch, and spend the day enjoying company.

Her backyard was awesome. My cousin and I would swordfight. I’d accidentally hit his knuckles and he’d cry, so I’d call him a pansy. She would coddle him, send him off back to the house, then roll her eyes at me and say he was a big crybaby. My cos is a quarterback now so I like to think I toughened him up.

She wasn’t big on baking if it wasn’t a mix. But we did make meatloaf together. She was a good cook but she was never above popping in fish sticks. My grandfather’s specialty was cream of wheat — he and I would eat it but Gaga would grimace. I think she was lactose intolerant.

My grandma wasn’t perfect. She never believed me when I said “That sucks!” meant something other than fellatio. She wasn’t one for cuddly grandma-isms. She did like to make people breakfast in bed…but mostly because she hated anyone moseying around in her kitchen in the morning. Beyond everything else, she was the boss.

There is a lot of family carnage surrounding her sickness and passing, stuff I won’t go into. It’s stuff I don’t entangle myself in anyway.

I consider myself quite grown out of my emo stage. Still, death was on my mind a lot as I headed back to school. Like I said, natural death doesn’t really bother me. But at the same time, I can’t help but think of a line from Game of Thrones:

“What do we say to the god of death? Not today.“ 

Some day in the future I’ll kick the bucket. Hopefully while defending a litter of German shepherds from a bear or leading the resistance during an alien invasion.

Until then, I have things to learn, adventures to have, and video games to play. I still need to get famous and do something cool. And oh, it seems Shakespeare agrees with me:

“Of all the wonders that I yet have heard,
It seems to me most strange that men should fear;
Seeing that death, a necessary end,
Will come when it will come.”

So as I go into my final semester of college, I’m grateful. I know tons of wonderful people. I have a trip to Rome and Naples this summer. I have the exciting adventure of a job hunt. There’s a vast span of opportunity in front of me and the only enemy is my motivation.

Not today.

Amor Fati

The Godiva Giveaway ends tonight so if you have finals next week and need a caffeine kick to the rear, enter!

As graduation looms closer I feel a frission of anxiousness. Not anxiety per se as I would not say I’m worried, but a wary look at the uncertainty. An uncertain future isn’t bad. Schrödinger’s Cat shows that, in an uncertain reality, the cat can be alive and dead. You’ll never know until you look so until then it’s both. But the future does make me wonder.

Publicity. Journalism. Los Angeles. Texas. A million possibilities or one.

It’s not a bad feeling. There’s uncertainty when you wonder if a zombie’s lurking outside your door, but there’s also delicious uncertainty when you’re dressing up for a hot date and you don’t really know the guy.

Right now I have a date of my own: Italy!

I iz psyched.

For years my father and I planned to take a vacation to Ireland right after graduation. It’s our ancestral home. But I’ve wanted to see Italy since forever. It was my #1 destination of choice when I was in London and, as the cards fell, it didn’t work out.

My dad and I talked it out. I knew he preferred Ireland even though he loves Italy. So I was thinking about going to Ireland anyway and told him such. First, my step-mom called me out — “Why would you want to go to Ireland over Italy?” I hemhawed. But then on the phone with my dad, he suddenly said, “Hey, I can tell from your voice. You want Italy. And that’s great! I love Rome!” 

I don’t know why it’s still hard for me to choose what I want over what I think I should want or what I should do. I got that lesson hammered into me with London. Old habits die hard?

It’s refreshing to act on want and not duty. Immanuel Kant’s cool but he’s not always my homie.

So, late May, I’m heading to Rome and Naples! Hopefully I’ll get to climb Mt. Vesuvius on horseback.

It’s nice to have something to look forward to. I’m in a much better place than I have been in the past year.

Because I’ve gotten a few comments about it, I wanted to talk a little bit about Paleo. I don’t want people to think I’m grabbing throats and shoving it down, or championing it as the scion of a healthier future.

"Grain eaters better GTFO!"

I will say right here I don’t think there’s a definitive right way to eat because everyone’s different and everyone is at a different place in his or her life.

All I ever mean by posts mentioning Paleo is n = 1. A Paleoish approach works for me in terms of keeping me satisfied and feeling good. I don’t get as many random cravings and I have good energy levels.

That said, Paleo-ishis the key term. Even if I eat more meat and veggies than beans and quinoa it doesn’t mean I consider them “bad.” To label food bad is ridiculous because food is inanimate. If I even say “bad food,” chances are it’s spoiled and I’m referring to the bacteria growing on it, or it’s made my palate cringe. Ok, trans fats are pretty bad. That’s my line in the sand.

Haters gonna hate

Ultimately, I’m curious. I like to try new things and experiment. I used to experiment with vegan and vegetarian eating. I love the nut pates, desserts, and artistic salads, but I wasn’t as keen on the energy drops and some of the ethical argument. Paleo was something else I have fun playing with. I like the animals, satiating fats, and food quality, but I’m not as keen on the black and white dogma  I see in some places.

Extremes are bad; extreme regulation is just as uncontrolled as extreme excess. Of course I come back to this because it is something I struggle with. I’m an all-or-nothing person by nature. It’s fine in my professional life — it gives me passion and drive. I get shit done and rarely make stupid mistakes.

It’s a problem everywhere else. So slowly I’m learning to rein in that side of me. Not always easy when my OCD kicks in (ahem, Elder Srolls: Skyrim) but I’m learning.

These days, I don’t think about food very much, which was often a problem for me. Sure I enjoy the stuff I eat and I find cooking immensely calming, but most of the time I’m thinking about other things. Right now my chief food thoughts are how awesome Italy is going to taste. I hear those Neapolitans knew how to toss a pizza.

That’s one reason I haven’t posted as much. I started this blog as a food blog but I tend to be more interested these days in film and television. Playing around with Paleo stuff is about as adventurous food-wise as I get and thus has probably popped up in a way that implies disproportionately what’s going on in my life.

That said, I am heading home in a few days. I always love thinking of fun meals for my parents so I’ll probably be posting a few new creations.

Speaking of holidays, what’s on everyone’s Christmas list?

I know some people put abstract things on their Christmas lists, like world peace and family. Eh, I’m selfish and pragmatic — family is a given for me on Christmas, and you can’t gift-wrap world peace.

-snerk- That bear is so going up in flames.

It’s funny; there are a lot of rumors about the Christmases for children with divorced parents (zomg two Christmases!). But no one really talks about the football-like logistics of coordinating where I am at what part of the holidays. Luckily that’s a few years behind me but there still is some finagling with schedules. I love seeing both of my parents though; that’s well-worth some micromanaging.

So here’s my Christmas shortlist:

• iPad – I feel so out of the loop not having a smartphone. I’m getting an iPhone in March but I have my eye on an iPad too.
• Merrell Barefoot Shoes – I love Vibrams but I don’t love froggy feet. These seem like a good compromise.
• The Last Werewolf – a book I’ve wanted for awhile, by Glen Duncan, the awesome author of I, Lucifer.
• Immersion Blender – I have undying envy of Sophia’s. Sometimes I just don’t want to power up the Vita Mix.
• Tigana – another book I’ve wanted for awhile, by the lovely Guy Gavriel Kay.

But when I’m not being a materialistic hussy, I am grateful for more than books and gadgets. I’m ready for a break where I can read some good books, work on a few short stories, and catch up on TV shows. It’ll be nice not to drive for a month (the car stays in LA, score!). And I have really awesome parents. I can’t wait to see them.

And since I am all into TV and film these days, here are a few Christmas films you should really check out:

Christmas is not complete without this gem.

• A Christmas Story
• Gremlins 
• The Nightmare Before Christmas
• Home Alone
• Tokyo Godfathers

Peacing out to study for Law of Mass Communications, the final act of my Fall 2010 semester.

Working

Life is kind of cray-cray right now. Midterms, internship, and the million other things I’m trying to do right now make things chaotic. What makes me happy, however, is that I haven’t had a single breakdown or flood of helpless tears. Instead, it’s been a pretty even push of get ‘er done. I’m tired and need to catch up on teh Zzz juice, but other than that I’m content.

Way different from how I was during my finals while in London. How I got so worked up for classes I didn’t care at all for was rather silly.

In short, the Wellbutrin is definitely working. I’m pissed that I refused to admit I needed it until the beginning of the school year. I wasted a lot of time boiling in my own misery. Yet I want to draw a distinct line here. The Wellbutrin is the instigator of my uptick, but it’s not a magic happy pill. I am still more than capable of self-doubt, sadness, or hesitation. Or, as when I saw an old enemy at Starbucks, blood-vessel-rupturing rage.

What is different is that I no longer feel as if everything is futile. Just that ray of hope, that brief swath through the dark, is what I needed to reassert myself. I’ve always been morbid and sardonic, but as a kiddo even if I felt life was a dark comedy, I never saw the future as foreboding or depressing. That outlook came unbidden; I didn’t even notice it creeping up.

I looked forward to things, like study abroad or, later, coming back from study abroad, not so much as an optimistic future but as a desperate escape from my current situation. The worst part was that this wasn’t me — it was no mordant philosophy or embittered realization. It was something I felt for no reason at all. As much as I tried to grasp why I felt so entrapped, I could come up with nothing. Call it a neurological imbalance, or a genetic crapshoot. I prefer to call it suckiness.

When I feel the future is futile, I fall apart — after all, if life is not an adventure or an infinite expanse of opportunity, what is the point of it all?

But as I’ve said, being satisfied and confident takes a lot more than a low-dose antidepressant. For that, I had to assemble a team. If I have actual “happy pills,” these would be the ones.

Caffeine

Caffeine and I have one of those relationships that looks torrid but is actually quite tender. My resistance to stimulants is crazy high, even when I’ve been off it for a long time. It never really makes me jittery. But it does give me a pleasantly charged “get shit done” attitude. My standard is two small cups in the morning, with cream, almond milk, and stevia. I also like taking a small EC stack before a hard workout. I’m positively spitting puppies and unicorns afterward.

Cold Showers

And I promptly lose all six of my readers. Don’t knock it. Cold showers are great for giving you a jolt and they make your skin look great. I don’t hop straight into a freezing torrent though, as I’m using an acne wash and I want to make sure my pores are open. So I start warm, get myself clean, then jack it up to cold. It’s a totally badass feeling to stand there with cold water coursing down your chest and just not giving a damn. Then as you hop out, instead of cringing in the cold air, you feel warm and tingly.

Selfish Rituals

You know that image of the Victorian lady sitting in front of her vanity, indolent and careless as she applies her beauty products? Probably the only way women survived all the suppression throughout the years. The Abrahamic religions were not good for feminine empowerment. Particularly where vanity is concerned. It gets a stigma, or is added to the image of someone who’s lazy and selfish. Vanity takes work. While it can go too far, bumping shoulders with avarice, I would say most people aren’t selfish enough. Mothers especially falls into this trap of caring for herself last, and being a cranky bitch by the time she gets there because she’s so exhausted taking care of everyone else. Remember airplane safety — your own oxygen mask first, then others. There is nothing wrong with putting time and effort into one’s appearance. It’s a mark of self-care and love.

We don’t need to all become Catherine Howards, but you get the drift.

My kindly mother got me a set of Origins skincare products. I’m also having fun with a book called Naturally Beautiful: Earth’s Secrets and Recipes for Skin, Body, and Spirit, which contains recipes for at-home beauty products. Yes, it is just as tree-huggery as it sounds. For me, it’s so calming at night to take 10 minutes to tone, moisturize, and get rid of eyeliner marks. Great way to wind down.

I’m usually laissez-faire toward natural products. But lately I’ve done more research into what the ingredients and standard products are and it kind of grosses me out. I don’t know if they are actually harmful or not. I just don’t like the thought of some of that stuff on my face.

Intermittent Fasting

Smoking gun here! I can feel the whiplash. But hold the horses. As I mentioned, Wellbutrin blunts my appetite. I have no desire to force food down my throat, so I wait until I’m hungry, which is usually later in the day. I have a few cups of coffee in the morning with splashes of grass-fed cream and almond or coconut milk. That gets me rocking and rolling and provided I’ve slept well, I’m a racehorse. Pair that with good hydration and there’s no stopping me.

Anyhoodle, I feel good for two reasons. One, I have heard that autophagy can give one an energy boost. But more so, it’s just invigorating to respect my appetite and not feel anxiety about food. Brad Pilon and Martin Berkhan really know their stuff.

Not to say all my cravings magically vanished. Habits are powerful. The only way to break them is to not do them. So sometimes I do have to say “Suck it up” if I’m getting stressed and my knee-jerk reaction involves Yogurtland. I keep sugar low besides fruit and eat pretty Paleoish, but that’s about as complicated as I make it. And if I genuinely want some froyo and it’s not out of stress or habit, then sure, I get some.

It was also nice to be ordered in to the doctor for a followup. My bloodwork came back way better than two months ago. No more liver hi-jinks, wildly fluctuating triglyceride levels, or sketchy platelet counts. Woot.

Video Games

Don't deny it, you want to play too.

I’m a geek and proud of it. Lately I’ve been hitting up Assassin’s Creed 2. Call it daily catharsis. Video games are probably why I never hauled off and bloodied some noses in my younger years. Anyhoodle, it finally hit me one reason I get that wonderful “calm but energized” feeling from my favorite video games. It’s rather like listening to Mozart, for those who believe it improves mathematical capacities. Essentially, the video games I like tend to mirror how I think best. I’m a fan of “main plotline, open-world” type games. There’s a main story, but there are side quests and things to go after when the main quest gets tiring. Assassin’s Creed 2 is a perfect example.

And it's purdy

For much of the game you play as an assassin on a rampage through Rennasaince Italy, uncovering a conspiracy and getting vengeance on the bastards who killed your family. This quest takes you through Florence, Venice, and beyond, and hooks up up with sexy characters like Leonardo da Vinci, Niccolo Machiavelli, and Catherine Sforza. Yet you can also peace out and work on restoring your family’s dilapidated villa and adjoining town. It’s awesome.

Trusting the Process

You know why I liked counting calories back in the day? It was no love of math. It was proof. Weight doesn’t fall off. It melts away millimeter by millimeter. It’s easy to not even notice it and it takes time. How do you know you’re on the right track? A scale is one way but scales are finicky and I’m too much of a pussy to weight myself regularly. Some people know exactly when they are in a deficit because their physical reactions are severe — hunger, paranoia, sleep disturbances, etc. I don’t seem to have them. Ergo, counting calories is a way of proof. Stay consistent and eventually you’ll get there. But that also means everything counts. Cookies and bites add up. Too many and the process is not being trusted. Granted, I know I’m in a deficit and don’t see the need to log things everyday. I spot check my calories once a week or so, just to be sure I’m not fooling myself. Even when eating less often it is easy to fool yourself — for example, a candy bowl at work. So it’s a system of checks. No need to meticulously keep track of every bite, but a weekly checkup keeps me calm, knowing that eventually I’ll be slim and hot again. It’s trusting the process. Which accompanies the eternally true adage “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.”

Friends

Cheesy but true. I’ve been hanging out with friends more often and it’s good for me. I dunno if it’s the increased social interaction or the pot though . Considering the latter is part of the former, let’s call it a bit of both? I’m also psyched to be heading out to FoodBuzz this weekend! For those in attendance, see you soon!

Draußen ist Freiheit

I have a semester and a half left of college. I think is worthy of the classic Heathers line — ahem, the one about fornicating with a chainsaw.

And it kind of hit me. I’ve never really liked most of my classes at USC. I love USC itself and I love the community, but most of my actual classes have always bored me. I would much rather be at my internship. At University of San Francisco my freshman year I felt much more intellectually stimulated — I went to classes with a song in my heart and a skip to my step. Probably because of the small classes and the deliciously eccentric professors.

And skipping up Lone Mountain is no flighty whim

But that’s not to say I regret transferring. It just made me realize I was looking at this all wrong. I took up a minor that sounded interesting only to find it a worthless string of pop culture classes. Communication in the Entertainment Industry. Fun, no? Not when you know everything they discuss and it just takes time away from more stimulating activities.

Even the rampant sexism and borderline spouse abuse of The Honeymooners fails to move me.

The other day I was faffing about in my room, singing in German. Yes, I sing in German. No, I haven’t studied the language. I always wanted to but it never fit my schedule. However, I love German musical theatre. Tanz der Vampire, Elisabeth, Mozart…the list goes on. I know the German contained in the songs and I’ve been told my pronunciation’s pretty spot on, but if I listen to material I don’t know the context of, I understand maybe one word in five.

Elisabeth > 90% past and current Broadway

German is a gorgeous language — don’t judge it by Hitler speeches on the History Channel. Seriously, just check out this ditty:

So back in my room I’m gushing about my linguistic lust, my hatred for my minor, and my disillusionment with class. My roommate, a wise girl, answered back.

“You can always just drop the minor and take German.”

WTF?! I have a semester left! Heck no I’m not wasting all the credits I spent to come so close to getting the bloody thing.

“Yeah, a semester,” my roomie chided. “You can totally take German 101. Why stick with something you hate?”

Ich bin überrascht. I could drop it. Not throw in the towel, but cut my losses and do something I want for a change, instead of something I feel I have to do.

It’s also hard for me to just stop something. I bite down like a pitbull until something breaks my teeth. To give up because I’m in over my head is one thing. To end something just because I don’t want to do it anymore is entirely another. And for me, completely unnatural.

With an independent, devil may care joy I hadn’t felt in years, I strode forth to meet my destiny. A.k.a I called my dad and ran it by him. Turns out he’d dropped political science in college and agreed I should do what I want.

What I want.

That’s hard for me. I’m so use to doing what I should do that sometimes I have no clue what I really want to do. I feel pulls toward certain things — namely writing and storytelling. But when I think about what I want, I don’t see a road. I see a hazy object on the other side of an untouched valley. That thing involves writing. It involves the entertainment industry. But beyond that I haven’t got a clue. Maybe that’s ok. Effective war machines don’t plan things out like clockwork; they put themselves in positions where they can easily react and advance.

Yeah, somewhere past the Christmas ornament castles

Life’s an adventure so it doesn’t bother me. But sometimes I wish I knew what I wanted before I let slip away, like New Zealand. As they say, good judgement comes from experience, but most experience comes from bad judgement.

So I chucked out the chess board. I emailed my adviser to be sure I wouldn’t mess up my credits by dropping the minor. I wouldn’t. Hurrah.

German it is then. Draußen ist Freiheit — outside is freedom. Sometimes you just have to say to hell with it, seize the bit in your teeth, and bolt. Woo, yay for feeling don’t careish.

Wellbeing

SCENE: I’m sitting in a Starbucks, latte in hand, chatting away with the ever-awesome Sophia. We are of course discussing world domination. And family and friends and gossip and restaurants and all that good stuff.

I felt so…relaxed. Even if some of our conversation concerned more dour subjects, I was just happy to be hanging out chatting. WHOA waitaminute. HAPPY.

Smacked me like a chair to the face too.

Happy as in not spending disproportionate amounts of time coaxing myself out of a horrid mood. Happy as in not feeling like I’m teetering on the edge of saying “screw it” and going to live in a cave. Happy as in feeling genuinely optimistic about my future again.

What an amazing feeling — to feel normal again. Better than normal, actually, because I’m grateful to be back.

I am so, so glad I went back on Wellbutrin. It’s a night and day difference even if the shift is subtle. I’m a tad annoyed at my own pigheadedness. Ever since last fall I’ve felt myself grinding down more and more. I’ve felt like I’m sliding down a hill of shale and desperately trying to slow my descent. Granted, these are spurts and spazzes. More frustrating was the endless gray. When life throws shit at you, you deal and keep going. Because there’s always something more. Belief in God or belief in your loved ones or belief in your future — that’s a spark that keeps one going when the chips are down. It sucks then when all of that is overshadowed by a senseless futility.

I shouldn’t feel this way. I haven’t survived some war and watched my family slaughtered in front of me. I haven’t gotten my face half burned off by my crazy older brother. Yet, for quite awhile, I did.

The Hound gets a break for being a cranky jerk, on account of his extra-crispy face and all. My face remains blessedly unscarred thus no special treatment.

Wellbutrin kicks in a faster than a lot of antidepressants because it targets different stuff than SSRIs. I didn’t know this until I called my psychiatrist. Because I just felt…good.

There are some minor side effects but they don’t bother me. It seems to slightly exacerbate my farsightedness. My mouth gets a bit drier. Or maybe that last one is because of the cold I’ve had for a few days.

The shift is subtle. But to me it makes all the difference. It was like a layer of gray was suddenly gone and my normal self could rush through.

My morning today was like, whoa. I had class, then work, then Crossfit, then schoolwork. For a long time, it took all my concentration to focus on one thing. As in, when I was at work, I couldn’t even think about schoolwork or else I’d feel dread eating away at my stomach. That’s not me. I’m spacey, but mentally when I have shit to get done I function at high speed.

As I got ready for work I could see my planner in my head, moving things around like a puzzle. This hasn’t been there in a long time — I’ve been struggling just to keep the basics in line. Introduce a need to return something to Target and I’d be a useless woobie trying to schedule it.

There’s also another interesting aspect to Wellbutrin: it curbs OCD cycles, which have always made my lowest points worse because I keep playing them on repeat. No wonder it’s also sold as an smoking cessation aid under a different name.

Some people joke with me when I get obsessed with things like TV shows. Heh, my compulsions go way back before I ever got obsessive with books and film.

Ok not quite that bad.

As a kid, I went through several “habits.” Tics, one might call them. When I was around 5, I started shaking my head. Kind of like a dog when you blow at its ear. Enough people yelling at me and willpower finally stopped it. But soon after I was clenching my jaw. Again, it eventually stopped. My third and final random-ass habit was gulping. Like Shaggy from Scooby-Doo. My mom and doctors attributed it to “messed up kid in the middle of a divorce syndrome” and little else was said. But suffice to say, I’ve always had compulsive habits.

I want to talk a little bit about habits. It’s something that really shook me the other day.

Wellbutrin blunts my appetite. A lot. I’m not complaining as I need to lose weight. But more than just dulling physical sensations, it diminishes my mental desire for food when I’m not physically hungry. You know the term “bedroom eyes?” I have kitchen eyes. But they seemed to have learned chastity. Me chaste…buahaha.

The other day I was with Sophia at a concert. The PR lady so politely forgot to tell us the starting time was pushed back an hour. I work in PR — this is not acceptable. Stuck with nothing to do, we went prowling for snacks.

I have no problem just eating junk food on occasion. I might not feel so great afterward, but sometimes it’s fun to just sample all the crap they’ve assembled from corn and high fructose corn syrup. We stocked up on Bugles, Dark Chocolate Chex Mix (this stuff is awesome!), apple bars, Dots, and chicharrónes; wandered around looking for neat stuff to see; and eventually headed back to the belated concert.

I was nibbling away. Not crazy INHALE ALL THE THINGS mode, just nibbling. Soon, no more vague tummy rumblings. No more mental desire for munchies. But as we sat down, oddly, I was still snacking away. I hadn’t eaten dinner so I wasn’t exactly overeating for the day. There was no guilt or anything bad with it — I believe I was in what Martha Beck calls “Watcher Mode” where I was simply observing my behavior. Oh, and having a deep convo with Sophia.

Interesting. I wasn’t wracked by junkie-like sugar cravings. No nerves-based desire to hide myself behind a mound of potato chips. And no shame or self-hatred at myself that has, in the past, made me eat way more than I should. Yet, the physical compulsion — the act of reaching for food rather than the compulsion to want to eat food — was still there.

Cue ridiculously simple revelation that made me facepalm. Sometimes the simplest things spit at you right in your face and you don’t see them.

To break a habit, you have to NOT do it. The body remembers. Habits are like furrows. It’s an easy path and your mind is the well-trained pet. No amount of thinking, vowing, or preaching will ever break a habit. The only thing that breaks a habit is doing something else. That’s hard. So very hard. But so is everything else in life.

Of course, it’s easier to parry than block. Instead of smashing a habit entirely, take the sneaky route and replace it with something else. I chose tea, purely because it’s always at the office. At the office, I always snag some candy from my boss’s boss’s candy drawer (it’s scary and epic and a 4 year old’s utopia). Even if I don’t want candy, a few pieces inevitably wind up on my desk and in my mouth.

I swear it's sentient

Today, I made tea instead. It’s sweet and tasty and comforting in our sub-Arctic office. And not grab candy. Once more trying my best to simply observe, it was interesting to see how I was inexorably drawn to the crystal bowl overflowing the Butterfingers and Snickers. Tea time! With effort I pushed myself into the kitchen instead and made myself a sweet cup of peppermint tea. Good for my congested sinuses too.

I don’t consider this restricting. Because I didn’t friggin want the candy. I was full from lunch. I didn’t have any sugar cravings. Yet, by pure force of habit, I was like the creepy dude at the playground eyeing up the little candies. Time to make a new habit.

This meme never fails to make me laugh/creep me the hell out

To be clear, Wellbutrin is not a “happy pill” for me. It does not make me spontaneously happy.

But Wellbutrin has peeled back some of that insufferable gray and made it easier for me to be my normal, happy self again. If I seem slightly manic, it’s only because I’m a self-absorbed trollop and it’s an awesome reunion.

Humanum Agere

I love it when people I like say things I like. It’s that delicious mix of vindication and camaraderie, even if I’ve never gotten within 10 feet of said person. One such dude I like is Mark Sisson, aka the Primal Blueprint guy.

Sisson is almost 60. Silver fox does not cut it.

As I mentioned, he has a gig going on at his site/blog, Marks Daily Apple. It’s a Primal Challenge with tons of prizes. I don’t agree with everything in the book but it’s a solid work.

This month his blog posts center on lifestyle adjustments. I’ve always liked this about Primal Blueprint — it’s a lifestyle, not just a dietary philosophy. Basically, eating your steak and broccoli means nothing if you’re not sleeping well, exercising smartly, taking time to play and relax, and not doing stupid shit.

His particular post today really hit me: Are You Living an Active or Passive Life?

Sisson’s first point was that, in the old days, when people wanted to have fun they went out and did stuff. They did not sit idly by and watch hours of the Kardashians. Even going to the theatre or listening to stories takes some measure of activity on the part of the audience. We weren’t injected with entertainment, we found it.

I find this often true for me. On the weekends I tend to veg out and be a lazy bum. Not that it’s bad to relax, but sometimes when I’m jonesing for entertainment I wind up boob-tubing it. It just makes me think I could be spending my time in more productive ways. For example, I used to like drawing a lot way back in the stone age. I won some awards (and scored free rodeo and dog show tickets) but lost a lot of inspiration early in high school. As such my skills withered away and now a pencil feels strange in my hands. It makes me regret I gave it up and never pursued more education in it. I was never really taught theory or basic artistic concepts though; I just drew. It was fun and entertained my sister. Mayhaps I shall unearth my pencils and play around.

Mark Sission had a lot of neat points about being active rather than passive with our play.

“So here’s my challenge for the day: be engaged with the world and those who populate it. Get off the computer and off the couch. Find/do/explore/feel the real thing. How you do so is up to you, but I have a few suggestions.

• Watch TV, sure, but watch it selectively. Set the shows you truly care about to tape and keep the TV off otherwise. And try to stick to shows that make you think. More Dexter, Game of Thrones, Breaking Bad, and Ken Burns docs; less reality TV and Two and a Half Men. Don’t just have the TV on because you’re home.”

Sisson watches Game of Thrones!? Be still my heart! Not to knock Dexter and Breaking Bad though.

Arya stays active by slaying douchebags and chasing cats. What did you do today?

• “Use Facebook, but use it to facilitate real world, face-to-face interaction. Make an event and invite people to it. Catch up with an old friend and meet up at a coffee shop.
• When you read blogs, participate in the comment section. Don’t just consume; produce, interact, discuss!”

I like the idea for Facebook. I use it like that sometimes. As far as blogs, heh, I must admit I cycle my blog reading fervor.

• “Watch a movie at the cinema, or better yet, go to a comedy show or watch a show at the theater. Afterward, talk about what you just watched over coffee or drinks.”

WORD. Love this. Only thing that makes it better is MJ. For some good movies that have come out recently and will come out soon, check out my interview with film critic Emanuel Levy.

• “Join an adult sports league, or organize something with your social circle. You could even just head down to the local park for a pickup game.”

Uh…I do Crossfit! If there was a sport I wish I could get back into, it would be equestrian. After that it would be a toss-up between fencing and archery. I’ve dabbled in both but never enough to really hone a skill.

• “Instead of playing video games, have friends over for a board game night, or maybe poker night. And if you’re going to play video games, try multiplayer games.”

Heh, we fail where we do. Elder Scrolls: Skyrim is coming out Nov. 11. I shall not be seen on that day. True story: when Elder Scrolls: Oblivion came out years ago it was my first Xbox 360 game. I got it in the late afternoon and started playing. Took a dinner break and came back. I looked up and thought “wow, it’s light for this time of night.” ‘Twas 5:30am. I suck.

Compromise: sit on a stability ball and practice bracing. Get up at specific intervals so as to not be a total social reject.

Fuck yeah, dragons!

• “Read fiction. It’s passive, but you have to actively process the words and imagine the world the author creates.”

Need to do this more. I have some lovely books that need reading. After I catch up on my bajillion pages of school reading though.

• “Look for a paleo Meetup group near you, join it, and start attending functions. If your new Meetup group is staid, start suggesting meetups yourself! Don’t wait for others to do it.”

Girlies who know me in real life, drop me a text when something’s happening. I’m still slightly scarred from when I attended a raw vegan meetup in Houston though. Heh, it was for research for an article I was writing. Very nice people, but virtually the only ones who looked healthy were vegetarian or omnivorous and most people assumed I must be an uber raw vegan because I was trim and fit. I got the fuck out of Dodge.

• “Instead of buying all your meat all the time, try hunting. Instead of buying all your produce, try gardening. If you don’t have the option for either, go to farmer’s markets, where you can look the person who grew your food directly in the eye as you exchange money for goods and actually get to know them.”

I loves me some farmers markets. I have no problem with hunting as long as one intends to eat the kill. But I’m not patient enough and would totally scare the deer off with my iPod.

Nov.11 I shall be hunting mammoths!

• “Get a dog (and feed it an ancestral diet). It’ll get you outside and teach you to be more present and aware of the moment.”

*bawls* I miss my dogs so much. As Sandor Clegane from Game of Thrones says, “A hound will die for you but it’ll never lie to you.” Wise words.

• “Make a point to say “hello” to passers-by. Even a smile and nod will usually work, and it’s not a big commitment. It’s just a quick connection, a mutual acknowledgement of another human being. No “stop-and-chat” required.”

Buahaha…I do this a lot. Heck, I do the full stop-and-chat thing too.

• “Stop using porn. Have real sex instead.”

Very wise words.

 

“If you’re complaining that this is all too hard, that everyone else you know lives on Facebook and only text messages, change that. Invite them out. Think about how much you wish you could have more real experiences and realize that everyone else probably feels the same way. Like you, they’re just waiting for someone to take charge. Be that person who takes charge.”

So I throw the question out to you guys! Ever feel like people don’t connect as much anymore? Are our TV shows and Facebooks our tethers to humanity?

The Path of Easy Resistance

There’s a specific mentality in American culture. Actually I think it applies to many cultures but I don’t want to go too far out on a limb.

Pain and Suffering = Progress

There’s this twisted satisfaction in slamming down a sugar-free Red Bull, proclaiming one has only gotten three hours of sleep, and hammering away at an office computer for eight hours. Screw going out for lunch; real men order delivery.

The mortgage on your sleep. And interest is a bitch.

But I want to throw something out there: the path of least resistance is not always the wrong one.

Last Saturday I met with my new psychiatrist, a cheery guy in Santa Monica. We’re meeting for therapy but he also prescribed me a low dose of Wellbutrin. Of course there were questions first — he wanted to make sure I was not PMSing or suicidal. He wanted to know a detailed account of how I came to my current spot in his comfy chair. Ultimately, the day ended with a bottle of bupropion.

There’s research going both ways on antidepressants. I agree they are overprescribed. But Wellbutrin really helped me in the past.

The path of least resistance is not always the right path either. I took the easy path by going to London — it was an easier application and it was easier to get an internship. More people I knew were going as well. London had some great times (and great peeps) but ultimately I wanted New Zealand. Getting anywhere in life takes hard work. But the trick is choosing your battles.

Why walk through snow when somebody's cleared it for you?

Life is hard enough. Why make it harder? 

Say you are in a deficit. But one day you have a roaring fun Indian dinner with a friend as you study for a midterm. This is not a real-life story or anything, btw. You don’t go crazy. You have your nutty basmati rice some decadent butter chicken, aloo gobi, and tikka masala. Cooked with ghee rather than vegetable oil  it’s not an unhealthy meal by any real stretch. But it is heavy.

Worth it? Must you ask?

So what does one do? Do you flog yourself on the stairmaster, burn off a third of it, and cry that you’ll never eat anything with “butter” in the name until you’re svelte? Or do you *smexy whisper* skip breakfast the next morning, have an early lunch, and continue business as usual? Rinse and repeat if you got a bit naan-happy. That’s the easy way to do it. Chances are you won’t be ravenous for breakfast anyway if you bungee-jumped into a dish of chicken korma.

I’m capable of putting in a gut-busting workout. But not every day. Sometimes it’s easier to just eat less and walk more. A deficit is a deficit. Pain and suffering do not in and of themselves burn calories.

You win a war by winning the battles that matter. Not by grabbing at every piece of turf. If there’s a piece of cheesecake that looks orgasmic and delicious but you are trying to stick to a deficit, eat it for dinner. Of course I believe in a diet high in unprocessed food, especially in a deficit. It better curbs hunger and provides more nutritional bang for ones buck. But sometimes life sticks a big leg out in front of you. Do you trip or hop nimbly over? Or just stop to bitch at an indifferent life for being rude in the first place?

Better frame of mind

Of course I only enter topical mode when it’s autobiographical. Wellbutrin takes the edge off but strength and calm do not come in a bottle.

Why block when you can parry? I have a weakness for neat condiments or unusual snacky items. They only end in more food I don’t need. But I don’t enter into psychological warfare either. Instead, I look at my hands. My nails usually need a manicure. So I take the money I save and put it toward that. Manicures make me happy so I don’t wander into punishment territory.

Polish on, not polish off

My life’s a friggin war zone. Between school, work, the Daily Trojan and personal pursuits, I have to pick my battles. I don’t have the luxury of hours of free time to spend in a gym or the simplicity of a school cafeteria stocked with chicken and veggies. And I find I don’t need them. When my head’s on straight and I’m not being an emo preteen anyway.

A worthy goal. I'll get there someday.

Spark and Punch

It's all about simplifying

Eeesh, I’ve been gone awhile. For those that know me well, you can probably guess why. First, my semester is crazy. I go to class, rush to work (still with TLC) and try to fit in a Crossfit workout. Then I bit the bullet and watched all four seasons of Mad Men.

How is this philandering, cranky alcoholic so sexy? I guess because his name is Don Draper.

But full disclosure, I rarely disappear just because I’m busy. Instead, it’s my normal AWOL excuse — big ol’ bite of despondent apathy. But, as those who know me well may also remember, I tend to resurface once I’m no longer trawling in shame and listening to too much melodramatic music.

Music check: “Where the Wild Roses Grow“, Kamelot cover. Creepy but not Phantom of the Opera-depths of melodrama, score!

I said I was making changes. I did bring a halt to consecutively overeating. I got to a point where it usually took a pretty shitty day for me to assault the downstairs Yogurtland. But at the same time, I wasn’t really cleaning things up as much as I should have. Indulgent maintenance, let’s say. I have been building up some decent strength with Crossfit, but no amount of exercise outdoes a crappy diet, unless you happen to be a 17-year-old boy on the football team.

Or you're Michael Phelps.

My mom visited me, which was a huge bright spot in my month. I’m so proud of my mom. In conversations over the summer, we discussed her weight. She wants to lose it, very, very badly. Not just for vanity, but for health. Thing is, she hates counting calories. So I made a suggestion: why not Paleo? It’s easy to follow, difficult to overeat on as long as one keeps nuts moderate, and she’s never liked dairy. My mom gave it a shot and called me up a week later, saying her aches had largely gone away and her energy was up.

We iz hardcore dieters. Just kidding; bacon's nice, but it's not a staple. I haven't had any since summer.

Also through Paleo we figured out my mom has a legitimate gluten intolerance. The poor belle was poisoned after a restaurant we were at switched her gluten-free buckwheat pancakes for regular ones. They did the same to me and I wasn’t feeling too hot either, but not as outright sick as my mom was. So, yay, glad to see I can help someone.

Doesn't take much help with a snazzy chart like this.

But of course my mom always helps me a lot more than I help her. We shopped our legs off, enjoyed lovely restaurants, and met up with my amigos — Sophia, Andrea, and Andy!

Yet her visit also gave me a face-smack of “look the fuck around you.”

I tend to think more like my dad than my mom. But my mom has a good emotional radar on me. Or maybe my near-hysterical episode involving a malfunctioning GPS and an almost-missed dinner with a friend tipped her off.

It’s honestly something I’ve felt ever since the roommate incident last year. It dogged me throughout London. As much as I try hard to ignore it, to hope it goes away, or to shake my head and declare myself totally fine….I’m not. I still deal with a lot of depression. I can cope, but it’s always lurking.

Don't worry, not quite there yet.

For me, depression is not an endless abyss. There are times I’m crazy cheerful. It hasn’t killed my guttery mind or my ability to laugh at True Blood. But much of the time I just feel low. No reason. I feel down and gray, flitting between OCD and extremely difficult concentration. Total apathy. Then something sets me off like a lost wallet or a time conflict and I snap way more than what is reasonable.

This stuff gets rather jumbled

So now I’m planning to see someone. I might go on Wellbutrin again. I don’t like SSRIs after a bad experience with Lexapro, but Wellbutrin is different. When I was on it a couple of years ago, it was not some “happy pill.” Rather, it took the edge off and allowed me to pull myself together. So we’ll see.

In other news, a few more things happened that have gotten me back on a more proactive track.

First, a physical. I was overdue. Remember my “indulgent maintenance?” Fuck that. I finally got a punch in the gut that said “Mimi you stupid ho, get with it.” Basically, I have a low platlet count. As it’s unlikely to be lupus or leukemia, the doc thinks its a mild blood-related autoimmune disease. I shall welcome my new steroid overlords. The second part is where the haymaker comes in: slightly elevated liver enzymes.

That is some bad shit. It implies a possibility of a fatty liver. As we know from James Bond, livers get fucked up by alcohol. They also get fucked up by sugar, particularly fructose.

Don't stay mad at me, pleaseeee

So yeah, sugar’s getting the boot for a little while. I was thinking of allowing myself a once-a-week fro yo indulgence. But honestly, I could only picture my fatass liver screaming for mercy. I think I might just make my own with my handy dandy ice cream maker. Or maybe I’ll occasionally give Yogurtland my custom. But very seldom.

Then I got a second punch in the gut. I’m trawling the internet, minding my own business, when I get an instant  message. “Hey you! What’s up?”

Never has an IM caused me to squeak in such terror. This particular IM was from a guy I knew as a sophomore. We had a bit of a thing, then a bit of a breakdown in communication, then a bit of ignoring each other, then a bit of rekindling things over the warm internet. But yeah, few people have out and out twitterpated me as much as that one.

We chatted on, the boy and I. Until he dropped the random bomb. A dinner invite.

Cue streams of “fuckdamn I hate the world why God why!!!!!”

I couldn’t bring myself to see him. Not when last time I did see him I was lithe and pretty and actually felt good about myself. Cue  grabbing some answer from my bag of excuses. Segue that into a call to my mom.

“You know what to do, you just have to tell yourself to do it. What would Meredith tell you?”

Mere is my sister, my awesome evil little teenage sister. I was amazed when I went home for a weekend recently and found she’d dropped a lot of weight after working at the stables (so said meine mutter). After a discussion on tampons, the sister also snorted and went “I’m so sick of my friends going on about miracle diets. I ate less  and it worked. People need to stop eating so fucking much.”

So says the child whose ice cream bowls could have drowned a small country. But ah well, they do grow up.

Then the final nails on the coffin got hammered in. Leigh Peele posted a new podcast on “Don’t Think, Just Do It”. Stop making excuses or using logic. Just get your shit together and get it done.

Then both Leigh Peele and Mark Sisson started new challenges. Leigh Peele’s is based on back to basics education and Sisson’s is his Primal Blueprint. Two peeps I love, both telling me to get off my ass and make shit happen.

So I’m making shit happen instead of pontificating and making eulogies about my wasted youth. I’ve stopped dicking around on a few decisions that needed making. I’ve started loosely tracking calories, just for awhile, to be sure I’m not being a dumbass. My FitBit’s also helping me make sure I move enough as it monitors steps.

It’s been almost a week and I’ve kept a straight, sensible deficit. I’m counting on the rule of four. Four days to make something seem less sucky and to start putting it in as a habit.

And part of that involves a lesson I’ve always felt unworthy of. Being good to myself. To just do it, you can’t be arguing schematics. For example, I eat pretty primal these days with meats, eggs, Greek yogurt, veggies, some nuts, and fruit, but I also eat rice, potatoes, and corn tortillas. I like eating this way as it blunts sugar cravings and snack attacks. I supplement with a few things so I don’t pick over the nitty gritty. To get it done, eat less and move more. I try to get in as much nutrition as possible with organ meats, dark veggies, fermented foods, healthy fats, and berries, but I’m not worrying about it. A good friend I made in London gave me a lovely piece of advice I still remember — just relax. His words: if you act like a shore, a tidal wave will wipe you out. If you act like an ocean, what can a tidal wave do to you?

Life is for the alive, my dears. Don’t be like me and claim to be alive when you’re just spinning in circles. That’s hamsterdom.

Do you really want to be a hamster?