Inner Fat Girl

Miles and Miles and Finally Smiles

2010-07-28T09:33:00.000-05:00

So I spent the last year and three weeks hiding my smile. I did it in some extremely clever ways.

There was the old "wedge your face against a kid's head" trick...

...the smug, phony half-smile...

...the "tilt my head just perfectly when the camera comes out" smile...

... and the not-at-all obvious "cover half my face with my hand" smile. Subtlety, I have mastered it.

So anyway, after 55 weeks and four surgeries and three months of not chewing, including a Christmas of only eating mashed potatoes and whipped cream, my smile is finally back.

What a relief!

Fashion Plate

2010-07-23T08:12:00.000-05:00

Remember when my friend Kate decided to depend on me for fashion and shoe advice when we room together for our upcoming trip to BlogHer in New York City?

I'm wondering how panicked she is right now. Please note the Crocs, non-matching purse, and the hair that has not been brushed in six days. I am going to shake up the town at BlogHer, let me tell you.

In my defense, I am wearing plastic knock-off Crocs purchased hastily at Walgreen's in Florida because I got eleven blisters on my feet wearing new shoes the day before. One of them got infected and was nasty. I'd like credit for not posting pictures of that. SEE, MOM, I DO HAVE FILTERS.

The hair and the purse I have no excuse for, other than when I go on vacation I go on VACATION. I didn't shave or brush my hair for the entire trip and I wore the same dress three days in a row. Just in case one of my oral surgeons are reading this (and I should really just bang my head against a brick wall for having multiple oral surgeons, but I'm sure that would damage even more of my teeth) I did brush my teeth and wear deodorant. A lady has to have standards, after all. No comment on how often I changed my underpants.

So, Kate my buddy, are you sure you want to room with me? There's still time to fake a kidney stone!

Thirty Minutes in the Happiest Place on Earth

2010-07-22T12:40:00.000-05:00

Do you guys want to see my picture from Disney World? Yes, I did say picture, as in singular.

Don't we both look so happy as we stand outside the home of Cinderella? And my beautiful goddaughter Jamie doesn't look at all close to death, does she? It's amazing what can change in just twenty minutes.

Minutes after exiting the lovely parking lot ferry boat, Jamie started acting funny. She said that her head hurt and her stomach felt weird. Because I am compassionate and not at all selfish, I lovingly said, "You'll be fine. Come on, the Haunted Mansion is over there and it was my favorite ride when I was ten." Hello, Peace Prize Committee, you have a real humanitarian on your hands here.

While we were in line, Jamie again said her head hurt. As we gazed out at the tombstones surrounding the waiting area, a thought occurred to me. "Hey Jame, when was the last time you drank anything?" Answer: milk, at breakfast, six hours earlier. It was 95 degrees, a billion percent humidity and we are fair skinned Midwestern people who wear SPF 8000. So yeah, not good.

The best part was that I forced Jamie to stand in line and get on the ride before allowing her to sit down and drink water and not, oh, I don't know, die of heatstroke.

After the Haunted Mansion, where Jamie saw ghosts that were both Disney-created and near-death-experience created, we sat in the shade and drank water, but Jamie still felt terrible, so we boarded the monorail and headed back to the parking lot. So yeah, less than an hour in Disney World, one ride. We did get Dole Whips, though, so I am considering the price of admission absolutely worth it.

Oh, and Jamie ended up being fine after two days in the hospital intensive care ward. Kidding, kidding. Several bottles of water, an ibuprofen or two and a couple of hours in air conditioning cleared that pesky heat stroke right up.

Among the Living

2010-07-22T08:33:00.000-05:00

Sorry, internet people, for my radio silence on this end. I came home from the Bahamas with some weird new strain of tropical sickness. I have a feeling the New England Journal of Medicine will probably christen it Taryngitis. Fingers crossed.

Anyway, between that and dealing with moving my work from an office to my home, it's been a busy couple of days. I'm going to try to write about my forty minute visit to Disney World and my fight with a seven year old boy on an airplane sometime soon. Thanks for your patience.

Hello from the Future

2010-07-17T18:04:00.001-05:00

Remember when you were a kid and you'd watch "The Jetsons" and figure that by the year 2000 we would all have spaceship cars and robot maids and be dating Fred Savage? Yeah, none of that happened. The future so far has been a rip off. I don't even own a spacesuit or a treadmill for my robot dog. How unfair is that?

Well fear not as the future is arriving. I am typing this thousands of feet in the air between Orlando and Chicago because I am on the Internet (whoa, according to spellcheck internet is capitalized) on an airplane!!!

I am thinking I'll arrive home and discover that Chrysler is releasing a new line of flying cars and aliens will have landed and will allow us to adopt them as adorable slave pets to help with household chores.

Our vacation was fun. I will write more later. It is difficult to be coherent at this altitude.

The Ugly American

2010-07-09T08:07:00.000-05:00

In 2001, my sister Annie was studying in Europe for the summer and she asked me to come over and meet her. We went to Italy, Austria, Switzerland, Germany and France, taking pictures like this and in general falling into every stereotype about Americans that Europeans hold with such disdain.

Annie had me pretend to be Quasimodo when we visited Notre Dame in Paris. I think she was trying to humiliate me out of frustration because she was so annoyed with me by then she wanted to leave me at the airport and pretend we never met. When we walked into Notre Dame, I kept saying, "Wow, this is beautiful but it's nothing like the movie." Finally, Annie said, "You're talking about the animated Disney movie, aren't you?" Yes, yes I was.

Annie is smarter than me and more cultured. She filled every day of our two week trip with museum visits and carefully researched excursions. Since my attention span rivals that of a fly, I had a hard time with this. I insisted we tour the Louvre in fifteen minutes, for instance, holding up a camera from the back of the line to take a picture of the Mona Lisa. Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed her plans for the most part, and she definitely catered to my interests in many of them.

That's me with the gazebo from "The Sound of Music!" We went on a five hour tour of sets and locations from that movie, and I think Annie wanted to die inside a little but I was in heaven.

On the last day of our trip, Annie allowed me to pick our itinerary. We were in Paris, and she suggested we see Moulin Rogue or visit another museum or see another priceless work of art. I considered these ideas for maybe nineteen seconds before deciding where we would spend 1/14th of our time in Europe.

Yes, we went to Euro Disney. Yes, my sister was disgusted with me and humiliated by my terrible sense of history and art, but we had a great time. Even Annie will tell you she had fun, although I'm sure she'll say the Sistine Chapel was better. Yawn.

Anyway, next week I am making my triumphant return to visit Mickey Mouse in Florida. I'm taking my beautiful goddaughter Jamie to Disney World and then on a five day cruise to the Bahamas. Annie is going too. She still travels with me, can you believe it? This is just a heads up that if I don't post next week, it doesn't mean I'm dead, although you never know what will happen if we take too many trips on the "Small World" ride.

Written in the Stars

2010-07-06T08:29:00.000-05:00

Back in my wild teenage years, I used to love to go to Borders to look at this gigantic astrology book called "The Secret Language of Birthdays." The basic gist was that your personality was formed in large part by the day you were born. It was fun to read and to see tiny details of myself in the (vague) descriptions that the author gave, but I myself doubt this birthday-personality link. Why?

Today is my birthday. It is also the birthday of:

The Dalai Lama
George W. Bush
Nancy Reagan
Tia and Tamara Mowry (the stars of "Sister Sister." They were born on the same exact day as me. I just googled them to see if I am aging better than they are. I am a bitter and sad older woman today)
50 Cent
Sylvester Stallone
Della Reese
Ned Beatty
Jennifer Saunders
Geoffrey Rush

So if you can tell me what me and all of the above birthday girls and boys have in common, maybe I'll put some stock in "The Secret Language of Birthdays." Until then, I'll be eating cake for breakfast and wondering how eleven years have come and gone since my 21st birthday. Time flies when you've got the same personality as Sylvester Stallone.

Land of the Free, Home of the Doggy Downers

2010-07-04T20:32:00.000-05:00

Independence Day is two days before my birthday. (Yes, this is a blatant reminder to family and friends not to forget. My self-esteem can't take a "Sixteen Candles" kind of birthday). When I was a kid, we used to go to a suburban fireworks display with my aunt and my cousins. I had a very healthy ego and thought for years that people were coming to see fireworks not to celebrate the birth of our nation but rather to celebrate my birthday. I used to go around thanking people for coming. Now I think that borders on child actor obnoxious, but I've been assured it was very cute.

This year, I am at home because my dog is a lunatic and freaks out for hours after hearing any loud noise. A couple of weeks ago, some kids were throwing Snaps down the block and Cooper shook uncontrollably for hours. You should see how he reacts when the Chicago Marathon runs past my building. If I could somehow harness his nervous energy, we could keep the Las Vegas strip lit up for several nights.

Anyway, he is thoroughly medicated and loopy, so hopefully that will do the trick. I'm also bird-sitting for my sisters' cockatiel, who is twenty years old.

Please note Coop's glazed eyes. I think he's seeing fireworks that have nothing to do with the 4th of July.

Hope everyone has a great day! If you're like me, you get goosebumps listening to "I'm Proud to be an American" and your sisters make fun of you and call you a hillbilly because of it. I bet you don't offer to sit at home on a holiday with their birds, though. That takes a special kind of crazy.

Ahhhh Chew

2010-06-30T07:45:00.000-05:00

Well, things got a little REAL at the end of the month of no chewing. I started to get desperate and crabby and began to have dreams about lovingly chewing a BLT. One afternoon I went to the grocery store and bought a bunch of crap I wouldn't normally eat just because it looked delicious. Once it left the blender, it really wasn't as appetizing.

This is blender Cap'n Crunch. Like I said, things got intense for a few days.

Yesterday I had an appointment with the oral surgeon to find out if I needed yet another surgery and another month with no chewing. If that had happened, I would have changed the name of this blog to "Random Pictures of Me Punching People." But good news, I can chew and I don't need to have a fifth surgery. In three weeks, the fake tooth will finally be in! That's right, Kate! I won't be your embarrassingly hillbilly-esque roommate at BlogHer! (Well, appearance-wise anyway).

So last night I ate steak fajitas.

And I chewed them with great gusto and life was happy again. And that's the last time I mention the word chew in this blog. Thanks for bearing with me for 28 miserable days. Excuse me while I go throw my blender down the garbage chute.

Cold Hearted

2010-06-29T06:46:00.002-05:00

It's summer and I am currently sitting at work, wearing sweatpants, a t-shirt, a sweatshirt, big fluffy socks and a throw blanket. I do have gloves in the closet here and don't think I haven't considered putting them on my hands as I slowly ruin the economy with my reckless speculation trading (you're welcome, everyone! Enjoy your Hooverville box). This is typical attire for me when it's 100 degrees out and the air conditioning everywhere is set at sixty. Sometimes I walk into grocery stores and wonder why I can't see my breath. If I were a complainer, I'd moan about this daily, but thankfully I am perfect so I suffer in silence with a smile on my face and a song in my heart. It's a gift.

I HATE being cold. When I had my mouth surgery this month, I complained to my friend about pain and swelling in my cheeks. He asked if I had put ice on it. Ice? On my face? I wouldn't do that even if it swelled up so much I needed a special face sling to support the massive weight of the swelling. (By the way, I have an appointment with the surgeon this morning and if all goes well, I can start eating normally again. Watch out, Chicago. None of your solid food is safe today).

So I found this column by Esther Cepeda in the Chicago Sun-Times to be laughably ridiculous. Ms. Cepeda and I are kindred spirits in that we both wear sweatshirts in the summer and bring throw blankets to movies. I blame my cold aversion on thin skin and the fact that I'm an extra sensitive little snowflake, but Ms. Cepeda has a different idea. She thinks that the temperatures are set to arctic levels indoors because so many darn obese people demand it to help with their disgusting sweating and the heat that just radiates off their massive bodies.

I'm not one to get offended very often by people who rally against the fat people of the world. Life is short and I have better things to do than get worked up about people who might hate me just based on the number on the tag on my dress. However, I find this column offensive and not because of Ms. Cepeda's bias against the fat. It's offensive that someone who is this crappy of a writer is being paid to write a column in one of the nation's biggest newspapers. I mean, really. This thing reads like my thirteen-year-old cousin wrote it at the last minute for debate class. I have so many friends from college who majored in journalism and who can't find jobs. They are supremely talented and do not litter columns with bizarrely flawed logic, refute their own arguments and end with the powerful rallying cry of "Skinny Grumblers unite!" Please, Chicago Sun-Times, hire some of them and maybe we wouldn't be hearing so much about the death of the newspaper industry.

Haters of Crap Writing unite!

An Awkward Period

2010-06-25T08:44:00.000-05:00

In fifth grade at Christ the King elementary school, we learned sex education with a curriculum called "Gifts and Promises." I think it was a two week program and the first twelve days were spent learning about how Jesus loves us so much and the very nicest thing we could do for Him would be to wait for marriage to even smooch and how if we ignored this advice, we'd burn in Hell. This was par for the course in Catholic school, but everyone held on to our seats because we knew from older friends and relatives that the last two days of "Gifts and Promises" included graphic details about puberty, sex and childbirth. What ten-year-old wouldn't be excited about that?

On one of the last days, they separated the girls from the boys and told us all about how our bodies were temples of the Holy Spirit and, oh, by the way, enjoy bleeding out the vagina once a month for forty years, ladies. This was the first I had heard of this period thing, and I was absolutely devastated. I ran home after school and very dramatically told my mom I hated being a girl and that this whole thing was unfair and nothing I would ever sign up for. She patted me on the head and told me that boys go through puberty too.

"Yeah, but what happens to them? We have to have PERIODS. What happens to boys in puberty, Mom?" I thought of my boy cousins, five of whom lived directly across the street from me. I tried to remember if any of them had experienced dramatic transformations like Michael Jackson in the "Thriller" video or if they had whispered about secret once-a-month penis bleeding or anything like that. My mom was (and is) shy about talking about sex, so all she told me was, "You'll learn all about it in 'Gifts and Promises."

The next day my mom was sitting on the front porch with a couple of our neighbors. I came around our corner coming home from school, looking like a Catholic Laura Ingalls Wilder with two braids in my hair and a perfectly ironed uniform. I was walking slightly ahead of a big group of kids from our block, and I was very very excited. As soon as I saw my mom, I screamed out, "MOM!! GUESS WHAT?? BOYS HAVE WET DREAMS!!!"

The Butterfly Effect

2010-06-23T08:49:00.000-05:00

I was walking Cooper on Saturday afternoon when a little old lady crossing the street yelled, "Yoo hoo! Excuse me, Miss?" She wanted to know if there was a bakery nearby. I told her about one that specializes in cupcakes that was four or five blocks away, and that was the one she meant. After trying to give her directions for several minutes, I asked her if she wanted me to just drive her. She agreed.

I ran upstairs to drop off Coop and grab my car keys. The lady got in the car and immediately asked me if I knew the owner of the bakery. When I said that I did not, she told me that the woman had recently committed suicide. I expressed condolences and the lady told me she knew her "from Starbucks." She changed the subject immediately and started to ask me about my job and my neighborhood and my car, and I figured this would be a quick drop off and the lady would buy some cupcakes and I'd get on with my life.

We arrived at the bakery and the lady, who told me she was 86 years old and that her name was Mildred, asked me to go in with her. She walked up to the woman who was working behind the counter and said, very matter-of-factly, "Excuse me, I know one of the co-owners of this place. Could you tell me why she killed herself?" The woman paused, looked at me then said, "Hold on, ma'am, I'll get a manager." I wanted to sink into the floor. Suddenly I realized this wasn't a cupcake-buying excursion at all but rather a "Harold and Maude"-esque information-gathering mission by an octogenarian looky-loo. I pretended to be interested in the cupcakes and hoped people wouldn't think Mildred and I were together.

The manager told the woman she didn't know why her boss had committed suicide. Mildred told her that she had heard she jumped off the Golden Gate Bridge. The manager nodded sadly. There wasn't much else to say so we expressed our condolences and headed back out to my car.

Mildred sat down in my passenger seat and immediately burst into tears. I had no idea what to do. "Mildred, I'm really sorry, but I think if she was in that much pain that she decided to do that, you have to concentrate on the fact that she isn't suffering anymore," I said, grasping at straws.

It turns out that Mildred lived all by herself, having lost her husband and daughter years before. Margot, the owner of the bakery, had struck up a friendship with her at Starbucks. When Mildred was in the hospital, Margot visited and brought her cupcakes. She had just seen her a few days before her death and Margot told her she was going to California. Mildred told me she had to stop thinking about it but she just couldn't. She replayed what Margot had said in their last conversation and couldn't figure out how someone that seemed happy and care-free would jump from a bridge a few days later.

It got me thinking about suicide. I would imagine that someone at the end of her rope starts to doubt that there are people out there who care about her. She starts thinking that no one would miss her if she died and that the world would be a better place without her. I am sure that when this poor woman went over the railing of the bridge, she felt alone in the world. That has to be a terrible feeling.

But really we don't know what impact we have had in the lives of people around us. Here this little old lady boarded a bus on an afternoon when the temperature outside reached ninety degrees and came to an unfamiliar neighborhood just to find out answers about the death of her friend. Mildred was just devastated about this loss; I can't even imagine the pain that the closer friends and relatives of the bakery owner must be experiencing.

No man is an island, and no woman is either. We all have lives that stretch further than we can even imagine, and when we're gone, people will mourn and remember us, even people that we would never expect would care. We're never alone, even when we think we're at our most friendless. To me, that's something to grasp onto if I feel like I'm at the end of my rope.

Baby's Day Out

2010-06-22T07:27:00.000-05:00

Remember a few months ago when I married my cousin Bizzy and her husband Mike? Well, yesterday they had a baby. I am a little offended that they didn't ask me to perform the c-section, as I am sure I am just as qualified to operate on someone as I am to be a minister, but alas, they did not.

This is Mick. I am in love with him. I held him yesterday afternoon, just hours after he was born, and he felt like absolutely nothing in my arms. Every little bit of him is perfect.

Seriously, I could look at those feet all day, and his perfect little knees, and his tiny lips... you get the idea.

And of course, his big sister is pretty cute too, the world's smartest 3.5 year old, Maddie.

Non-Chomping Chump

2010-06-21T14:04:00.000-05:00

One more week until the Great Non-Solid Food Month of 2010 is finally over. I have decided to spare you from pictures because not everyone is as fascinated by gross stuff as me, but here are a few examples of things I have put in the blender and consumed in the last three weeks.

Steak, potatoes and corn at a Father's Day BBQ. Topped off with a bowl of whipped cream.
Chicken Fried Rice
Potstickers (note: not a good idea. May never be able to eat these again)
Gnocchi and tomato sauce
Macaroni and cheese

Everything came out basically looking grey and unappetizing. The good news is that eating real food instead of just pudding and chicken soup has made me a lot less hungry and therefore less homicidally cranky, but still. I am looking forward to real food. I have been fantasizing about fajitas and chips and salads for three weeks now. I'm ready to move on with my life and chuck the immersion blender out the window.

Weight wise, I'm down about eight lbs, but again, I wouldn't recommend this diet plan to anyone unless you like feeling like you would kill someone for a bag of popcorn.

Father of the Pride

2010-06-21T08:01:00.000-05:00

This is how my family spent Father's Day yesterday.

Yes, we watched the US Open with my dad and pretended we all cared about the result of a televised game of golf. It was the least we could do for our patriarch, the man who cut off his toes with a lawnmower and who once blew up our front lawn with dynamite in an attempt to get rid of a beehive. Oh, and there were gifts. Boy howdy were there gifts.

My sister Annie presented a wrapped present to my dad, saying that it might be the last Father's Day gift he would ever get from her. Inside was a DNA Paternity Kit, a la Maury Povich. Wishful thinking, Annie. You have his stubby little hands and love of boring books about wars and stuff. I'm afraid you're stuck with him.

I also discovered this 80's era picture of my dad. The hair is just incredible. He looks like he should be doing ads for the Men's Wearhouse.

So Happy Father's Day to all the dads out there, as well as the father figures and the single moms and the Fathers of Rock and Roll and creepy older dudes who call themselves Sugar Daddy. I hope your daughters are a lot nicer to you than we are to my dad. His self-esteem has deflated in volume more than his hair in the last twenty years.

Green Acres

2010-06-18T07:36:00.002-05:00

I've mentioned before that I have a lot of free time on my hands. Kind of a ridiculous amount, if you want to get technical. Also, I am kind of a dork when it comes to projects. I flutter from one to the next, getting a little obsessive and then occasionally abandoning them to the dark recesses of my brain, never to revisit again. I'm looking at you, knitting classes.

Eighteen months ago, I saw a book on the new arrivals display and I picked it up on a lark. "The Eco-Chick Guide to Life: How to Be Fabulously Green" was the title, and I think I picked it up because the author's name was Starre Vartan. Sometimes I like to imagine what my life would be like if I had a more glittery name like Starre. I'd like to think I'd have blonde hair and wear a lot of carefully draped scarves. Anyway, it was a good book and I got inspired to get secretly obsessed with becoming more environmentally friendly. It became almost like a contest for me. Like I said, I have a lot of free time.

So here is my very smug, holier-than-thou list of the ways I am honoring Mother Earth on a daily basis. Please read this and know how vastly superior I am to you plebeians who still use Dow Scrubbing Bubbles to clean your shower.

THE GOOD

I reduce, reuse and recycle. I've also spent the last two years dramatically reducing they amount of stuff I have. During my remodeling debacle of 2008, I was told I had to pack all of my stuff up and move out with two days notice. My family had just finished moving my parents and I didn't want to bug anyone else, so I packed and unpacked all by myself. If that doesn't make someone want to get rid of half of the crap in their lives, nothing will.
I use all natural products to clean. Think vinegar and baking soda. I clean my stainless steel appliances with olive oil, which works shockingly great. It took some getting used to as I used to be the world's biggest fan of the smell of Mr. Clean, but my house is clean and eighteen months in, no one has noticed the difference.
I don't use paper products. I have a ton of rags that I use instead of paper towels and I bought a boatload of reusable napkins at Target. This is something I thought would be really hard to get used to, but to me, the rags seems to clean much better and I've even saved a ton of money. EDIT: I do use toilet paper. Yes, this has to be said because some people do not. These people are weird. I try not to judge, but come on. We all have our limits.
A couple of years ago, I went to the zoo with my friend Anne and she told me she made her own laundry detergent. I smiled at her and humored her and thought she was nuts. Now I use her recipe. Yes, my clothes are clean and they do not smell. I do sort of miss the smell of Tide and Downy, I will admit that.
I've replaced regular light bulbs with CFLs and have unplugged chargers, appliances I don't use all the time and other sources of phantom electricity. My electric bill is $25 bucks a month.
I turn my air conditioning on maybe seven days a year. I live close to the lake so that helps with the heat, but I also didn't grow up with central air and don't really enjoy being super cold in the summer.
I use a Diva Cup instead of tampons. Please enjoy that TMI, male friends. I was really reluctant to even try this but honestly it works so much better than tampons, has to be changed less often and is so much cheaper it's ridiculous. I am a big fan. This makes my sisters queasy to even think about and you do have to be, um, comfortable with your um, anatomy to use it, but if you're on the fence about trying one, I really do like mine.

THE FAILED EXPERIMENTS

I tried to do the whole no shampoo thing. Three weeks in, my hair looked good but I just missed the smell of clean hair. I'm snotty about smells. Honestly, though, this worked great as far as making my hair look better.
Diet Coke is my nemesis. I've tried to quit approximately 40000 times. I do feel guilty every time I toss a can into the recycling bin, if it makes you feel any better.

THE BAD

I drive. I thought about getting rid of my car but I am a terrible person. I also drive a very hip car for the eighty-and-over demographic, a Buick Century. It gets 23 miles to the gallon. Ed Begley Jr is shaking his blonde locks at me right now.

My Frienemy, Summer

2010-06-17T08:31:00.000-05:00

I have written before about how much I hate winter and cold weather and snow. Chicago is not a happy place four or five months out of the year, and every time autumn rolls around I start questioning my sanity in living here. However, summer in Chicago is just about perfect. It's gorgeous outside, there is lots to do and I don't have to trudge through six inches of dirty snow in order to walk my dog three or four times a day. I wake up in the summer feeling happy and ready to go, a stark contrast from winter where I wake up and immediately check my countdown to spring. Summer truly is my favorite time of year. Well, for the most part.

My problem with summer is that although I love it with all my heart, it is my natural enemy.

For one thing, I have Vitiligo. A few years ago, some of my preschool students pointed out that my eyelashes were turning white. I chalked it up to some weird spoke in the aging process and ignored it. Then I noticed splotchy white marks on my stomach and arms and immediately consulted my personal physician, Dr. Google. I diagnosed myself and called my mom.

ME: "Mom, I think I have that Michael Jackson disease."

MOM: (Long pause) "... You're a pedophile?"

No, no I am not. I went into the doctor and was diagnosed with Vitiligo. Let me tell you, if you have to have an autoimmune disorder, Vitiligo is the one to get. There are no symptoms other than white splotches and white eyelashes, plus it's kind of cool to watch it slowly spread across your body. It's kind of like having a tattoo you can't control. I know, I'm weird. I also like to put Chicken Fried Rice in the blender and blog about it, what can I tell you?

Anyway, in the summer, I have to be really careful in the sun because my spots have no pigment and burn easily. This has lead to my mom buying me honest to goodness safari clothing for me to wear in the urban jungle of Chicago. She also suggested a sun umbrella. I am not dainty or cute enough to pull that off, so I turn to my old friend, sunscreen.

Aside from my sun issues, I also am deathly allergic to bees. Those little buggers can kill me in one sting, which lead to interesting childhood memories of being rushed to the ER by my friend's mother, who was not wearing any shoes. I think if I am ever a parent, I will bar my children from befriending kids with life-threatening issues. It's just too much to worry about. Anyway, I carry this little number around with me constantly as soon as the temperatures around here hit fifty or so:

Once, in college, I was flying a kite on the quad (because I am a grown up) and I had the shot in my pocket. I sat down and accidentally injected myself in the hip with epinephrine. I went to the ER and had a heartbeat of over 220 beats a minute. Since then, I carry a purse and am a little more careful with a fully loaded syringe filled with adrenaline. It only took one ER visit, which I'd say is an improvement on collateral damage from my normal embrace of life's lessons.

So anyway, I love summer but it hates me. I am willing to forgive it, though, in exchange for long sunny days, outdoor concerts, the smell of grass, sitting on the beach (in an iron lung, don't flip out, Mom) and sleeping with the windows open. It may be an abusive relationship, but I wouldn't trade it for anything, and every year I mourn it with great gusto when it leaves me.

Letters from the Homefront

2010-06-15T07:18:00.000-05:00

My college years were not an easy time for me. I have never dealt with change very well and that combined with homesickness and some depression issues made the experience not exactly worthy of a "Saved By the Bell" type spin-off series. Every once in a while I revisit those years by reading the letters I got from my family while I was two hours away in the grand ole state of Indiana. These are a couple of my absolute favorites.

My goddaughter and her twin brother were just starting preschool when I left for college. Now they just graduated from high school. Holy heck I am old. Also, I am sad to report that their penmanship never did get any better. Public schools fail another pair of sad sacks.

Looking at that one, you'd never guess that my sister Kerry would one day be an art major. She could write for Hallmark, though, with clever lines like "How is college treating you? SNOW is fine for me!" GENIUS!

I'm thankful that Jamie used her personalized stationary on this one. I would have definitely thought this really did come from some random dog.

Johnny's always been a man of few words. Also all that writing tuckered him out and he couldn't actually finish writing his name. That Y is always a time-killer.

Finally, here are some quotes from letters from my baby sister Kerry. She was in fifth grade when I left for school. These are too good not to share.

I wish I had a horse to ride up anytime I want to you college.
I was thinking that I send a ribbon and I sign it and I send it to you. You sign it and when we can keep doing that.
I didn't mean that I hated you. I just got frustrated. I should have held my tongue and counted to 3 but I didn't. That's the past. The future matters. And in the future and present I will try my hardest to be Christian.

Kerry, I hope you're still working on that last issue!

Food, Ick

2010-06-14T08:21:00.000-05:00

So last month I finally got with the program and watched Food, Inc. I would definitely recommend that everyone should see it, but please don't settle down to watch it with a McDonald's value meal on your coffee table. It is not an enjoyable dinner film, unless you have a thing for dead chickens, stories of babies being poisoned by e-coli and ridiculous government regulations.

There will be issues addressed in this movie that will make you angry, no matter what your hot-button issues may be. If you love animals, you'll be appalled at the factory farming practices employed by the major food companies. I personally am not a gigantic animal rights person, but since seeing the movie, I can't get the picture of baby chickens falling off a conveyor belt out of my head. If you hate the government, you'll be appalled by the way lobbyists have changed the way food gets to our tables. It truly is all about money, and these people are putting our health at risk to turn a profit, which is just appalling. This movie will make you think, guaranteed.

At the end of the movie, they make a big point of saying that consumers cast their vote for the future of the food industry by voting with their wallets. I really took that to heart, and it's made it difficult to feel good about going to McDonald's or buying Rice-a-Roni by the case. I'm lucky enough to make a pretty good living and I have the luxury of being able to buy organic produce and meat. After seeing this movie and doing more research about factory farming, I've been eating less meat in general, buying organic and trying to eat local. I realize that this is not feasible for everyone, but hopefully as outrage over these practices and the results they've shown in the world grows, this will change. Hopefully.

Adventures in Baby Food

2010-06-10T12:18:00.002-05:00

First of all, the Blackhawks won the Stanley Cup last night! What a year for Chicago. We have the winners of the Stanley Cup, "American Idol" and "The Biggest Loser" all hailing from our fair city, and it's been over a year since any of our governors have been arrested and impeached. That's huge for us.

Also, I know I promised not to do too many posts on blending food, but I just finished eating a blended Chipotle Carnitas Burrito Bowl. It was delightfully gross looking and had the consistency of pre-made salmon salad. Yummmm.

Yes, sour cream and all. Eat your heart out all you food bloggers whose pictures I drool over. Anyway, it was delicious. I think I am getting over my aversion to the texture of baby food. I have been surviving mostly on milkshakes and chili, so this felt like Thanksgiving to me this afternoon. Incidentally, I've lost 6 lbs in the ten days since my surgery, but I certainly would never recommend this as a weight loss plan. It's kind of sort of miserable, although the Vicodin really isn't the worse thing in the world.

Oh, and I have to add this picture from my friend Sarah. I'm crossing my fingers so hard that it actually hurts. Go Bears!

Ice-Picky

2010-06-09T08:10:00.000-05:00

Photo by Jim Karczewski

I do not understand people who aren't sports fans. I think it's human nature to celebrate when a fellow person works hard to become the best and actually achieves their goals. This holds true in every career and aspect of society, but most of these paths, unfortunately, do not award trophies for a job well done. I'm thinking of changing that in my industry, though. I'll let you know how it goes.

Anyway, for me it's easy to get swept up in the drama of the playoffs for any sport. I can tune into ESPN #73, watch four minutes of professional monkey wrestling and emerge with a clear favorite and cry when the other monkey loses. I especially love Chicago sports teams and enjoy the rising excitement that is practically visible in the air when a championship becomes a possibility. Whether it's the Bears, the White Sox, the Bulls or the Blackhawks, any kind of championship series takes top billing in my life when it involves a hometown team. (Where are the Chicago Cubs in my list? I'm a native south sider and therefore can't root for the Cubs without fear of being disowned by my family. Sorry, Cubs fans).

The Blackhawks are in the Stanley Cup Finals right now. This has been especially exciting because I admit before two or three years ago, I really had no idea the Blackhawks existed. Yes, I'm a total bandwagon fan, although due to the old owner of the team, it was difficult to follow them on television before 2007 so I somewhat have an excuse. I've watched every game of the playoffs and I'm amazed at the toughness of these players. Duncan Keith lost seven teeth in a game. Can you even IMAGINE that??? Oh, and he went back in and finished the game. After losing seven teeth. Give that man some sort of medal right now. He wins.

My beloved sister Kerry is not a sports fan. She has taken to Facebook to protest the many Blackhawks-themed status updates on her feed. She doesn't understand why sports take a priority in a world where children are getting shot, people are suffering from diseases and random women are getting attacked on the way home from bars at night. Kerry would rather use her Facebook to talk about Snoop Dog and the fact that Ellen and Kate Gosselin have the same voice- you know, the important issues in life. (Kidding, Ker! Put down that chainsaw!)

There's a place for working for social justice and a place for volunteering to help our society and a place for expressing outrage about BP. However, there's a lot to be said for mindless joy and watching a group of men try to achieve a goal they've been dreaming about since they were kids. I like to close my eyes and imagine what it would be like to be able to move effortlessly across the ice and knock the holy crap out of someone else, all in the race for a win. I'll always be a sports fan, and I'm thrilled to be a bandwagon Blackhawks fan.

Loser Patrol

2010-06-07T10:48:00.000-05:00

Look who I saw last weekend! That's right, Bob Harper from "The Biggest Loser." I do not hide my great love for Bob. I even asked my mom if we have long-lost Harper relatives in the Tennessee area because my dream come true would be finding out Bob Harper is a secret cousin of mine. (For the record, he's not. Sorry to disappoint you, Bob).

Bob was speaking at the Chicago Healthy Living Challenge at Navy Pier on Sunday. He also brought along a friend, recent "Biggest Loser" winner Michael Ventrella.

This is Michael before he went on the show and lost 264 lbs:

So that was pretty inspiring to see, as was Michael's beautiful mother Maria, who also looked incredible.

So it was neat to see all three, but the Healthy Living Challenge itself was a bit of a bust. There were a whole lot of companies advertising a whole lot of garbage, most of which didn't really mesh with my personal vision of healthy living. Sea weed wraps, quick-fix surgical procedures, and magic vitamin weight-loss supplements do not, in my mind, a healthy life make. The whole thing felt like one big infomercial, and that was disappointing.

My vision could have been clouded by the fact that I was still not feeling well. My friend went up to a booth to talk to a woman about races in Chicago. The woman seriously looked me up and down and said, "Now when are YOU going to get active?" Normally I would have laughed this off or made some funny remark, but I was in pain and hungry and not having it that morning. "I'm active. Not everyone is a runner." The woman felt bad and started stammering and all in all it was uncomfortable. I didn't handle it in the most graceful way, but then again neither did she, so I don't feel 100% awful about it.

By the way, this entry could have been SO MUCH MORE EXCITING if I didn't skip out on a lunch date last Friday. My cousin invited me to come meet Alex from "Real Housewives of New York" but I had to cancel because I felt like crap. For the record, my cousin says she was ridiculously nice and Kelly Bensimon did not lurk in the bushes with a sniper rifle, so I am sorry I missed that.

Blenderiffic

2010-06-06T17:50:00.000-05:00

Observe the Cooking Light La Bamba Casserole. It's been in the freezer for three months but comes out of the oven looking delicious. Well, a little like vomit, but still, pretty darn good.

It was too solid-foody for me to eat. However, after five days I have already tired of ice cream (gasp! This is shocking!), so desperate measures are needed. I shoved casserole into the blender and pureed away.

Somehow, making the food look appealing does not seem as important when you're creating nursing home- style gruel. Anyway, it was delicious and a welcome relief from the milk-based diet of milkshakes, pudding and Carnation Instant Breakfast (thanks, Jess!) that I've been enjoying for the last week.

PS: I promise I won't do many of these photo journeys this month.

Blah Blah Blogs

2010-06-04T08:54:00.000-05:00

I'd love for you guys to share some of the blogs that you read daily and love. As I get ready for another exciting day on the couch, it'd be nice to find some new favorites.

And Then I Was a Mom- written by my friend and soon-to-be BlogHer buddy Kate. Yes, she's a brave soul.
Amalah- I've been reading this one for years and I feel like I know Amy, which is going to be creepy if we ever meet in person.
Poor Lucky Me- written by my friend Heather, who is an incredible writer.
Stacy Grows Healthy- my friend is getting fit by going organic, growing her own produce and working out. Very inspiring for me.
Exactly Paradise- my high school friend now lives in Hawaii. I am jealous.
Everyday Revelry- my old Weight Watchers buddy Lauren, who is becoming a yoga teacher. Another inspiring one.
Is This All There Is?- Kim is dealing with her mother's dementia and she's also hilarious. Nice combo.
Never Trust a Big Butt and a Smile- yet another Kim who's getting fit and planning her wedding. She's lucky enough to live in Chicago too.
Organic Motherhood with Cool Whip: another hilarious blog from a very funny mom. Plus she has nice veins ;)
No Need for Things: My friend Davin has a neat brain.
It's a Beautiful Life: Becca is a former lawyer who now stays home with her adorable little guy Jacob Henry. He makes my ovaries hurt a little.

So typically I either read well-written and funny blogs or total train wreck blogs that make me feel good about my life. The ones above are the good ones. I'm not "Mean Girls" enough to link to the bad ones, but I certainly wouldn't complain if any of you did.

In other news, I drank a smoothie this morning made out of berries and spinach. It was delicious! I still would probably kill my dog for a cheeseburger at this point though. I'm sure 25 days will just fly by though, right? RIGHT??? Heavy sigh.

A Billion Skinny People in China Can't Be Wrong

2010-06-03T09:37:00.000-05:00

During my freshman year of college, I decided I needed to lose some weight. My roommate Anne jumped on the bandwagon to support me.

Anne was my very first friend. We moved in across the street from her family when I was five years old and bonded instantly, running naked through the sprinkler on the first afternoon we met. This is a requirement I have for all my friends.

We roomed together in college and for the first semester, we spent hours wondering why we were having so much trouble making friends. Well, let's see. We had pictures of monster trucks all over our dorm room because we thought they were funny, we grew mold in an old pretzel container as a science experiment and we rarely went to class, preferring instead to sit around in our pajamas all day watching "Hangin' With Mr. Cooper" reruns. Oh, and once we put a hat on my head, sprayed it with hairspray and went down the hall and knocked on someone's door. Right before they answered it, Anne very quickly lit the hat on fire. The poor girl answered her door to find someone standing outside with her head ablaze. We honestly should have written a book about making friends in college.

So how did I decide to lose weight? Diet and exercise? Maybe stop drinking Coke and eating a pound of Reese's Pieces every evening? No no. Way too complicated. We started eating exclusively with chopsticks. The science behind this diet plan was that the cumbersome task of using chopsticks as utensils would slow the pace of me shoveling food into my mouth, therefore reducing the number of calories I would eat. Genius, right? I thought so, and imagined myself going on Oprah, svelte and fit, rich enough to eat exclusively with diamond-covered chopsticks. A lady can dream, can't she?

It worked, for about a day. Then we got really great at eating with chopsticks. We were eating pizza with chopsticks, M&Ms with chopsticks, Kraft Macaroni and Cheese with chopsticks... you name it and I learned how to pick it up with chopsticks. My butt did not get any smaller, but my fingers became well-exercised and slim. If I wanted to be a hand model back in the day, that career door was wide open for me.

Now, fourteen years later (holy crap, how is THAT possible?? I just ruined my own day by figuring that out. I am old) I can eat Chinese food like a champ. It is always impressive on a date when I show him how I can pick up a single grain of rice with chopsticks. That's a great conversation starter.