Twilight…Goodbye Old Friend

MMM. Sparkly vampires.

 

Of course I saw Breaking Dawn 2 this weekend.  Thought I’d give you my two cents, because really, you can’t judge the critics’ reviews, because they have no idea what they are talking about.  Only fans of the book in my opinion have judging rights. 

 

Yes, I am the typical demographic for an older Twihard.  Mid-30s, married, mother of two, voracious reader.  What pulls us in?  For me, it’s pretty simple.  Total and utter escapism.  A man who craves you, who is so intensely in love with you he watches you sleep.  He would rather die than live without you.  He’s beautiful and sparkly and never ages.  And Stephenie Meyer creates such a new and interesting vampire folklore, you become entrenched in these new vampires and the all the new rules she presents.  Admit it fans, you really wanted to be a vampire when you finished Breaking Dawn amirite? 

 

Yes, in real life Edward would be super annoying.  Watching me sleep?  Not letting me hang out with my friends?  Having to suppress a constant desire to eat me?  Yes, in real life his intensity and blood lust would be worrisome.  But I say relax feminists.  It’s escapism.  It’s for us women who have grown up, become responsible, had children who are constantly needing something, a husband who, shock and surprise, is human with feelings and needs of his own.  We pay bills, are constantly making hard decisions and always doubting those that we make.  So, Twilight for me was not Bella submitting to Edward.  It was a fantasy world where she is worshiped and has a devoted partner.    One who has tons of money because your sister in law can see the future and plays the stock market.  Whose only worry (at the end anyways) is finding a deer or mountain lion to eat for dinner.  Sounds like fun right?  Let me have my fun people. 

 

Ok, back to the movie.  Yes, I know girl at work who hates me and makes passive aggressive side comments about how stupid the movies are, the movies are kind of cheesy.  They had a tough time developing a respectable werewolf.  The werewolf telepathy in BD1 was cringe-worthy.  I know they are cheesy.  And this movie did have a few laugh out loud at inappropriate moments.  Aro’s Pee-Wee  Herman-esque glee at meeting Renesmee was hilarious.  Bella running in front of a very obvious green screen as a new vampire.  Renesmee’s aging was a bit creepy, but they did what they could.    But honestly, Bill Condon and screenwriter Melissa Rosenberg took an awesome second half of the book and translated it perfectly for us fans.  I kept wondering how they’d take the most anti-climatic fight scene in book history and make it interesting on screen, but they did it.  Slow clap, Breaking Dawn, slow clap.  It.  Was.  Awesome.   And yes, this introvert yelled “WHAT THE WHAT?” in the theater when “the twist” happened.  I was freaking out, as I am always totally sucked in at movies and never have them figured out before it’s totally spelled out for me. 

If you haven’t read and loved the books, you probably won’t like or even understand this movie.  For me, this was a final love letter to the books’ fans.  It wasn’t meant for anyone but us.   Would I drag my husband to it?  No, but I will make him do a Twilight DVD marathon sometime in the not too distant future.  You know, to make up for the August through February football season, where every TV in the house is on from Thursday through Monday, with that annoying crowd cheering, ridiculous ever-changing rules and hilarious commentators filling time with asinine comments, such as this gem…”If Villa got another goal now it would change the scoreline completely.”  (Yeah, I totally googled that.)   I’m not going to waste my $10.50 to hear him make side comments the whole time.  Last time I took him to a girl movie was Titanic (the first time, not the 3D time).  At the end (SPOILER ALERT, but then, if you haven’t seen Titanic by now, forget it), when the whole theater is sobbing hysterically and I am beside myself with grief because of that stupid Celine Dion song, my husband, who after seeing old Rose throw the Heart of the Ocean into the sea, yells out, “What the heck? Now, that’s something to cry about!”  So, yeah, not wasting my money taking him to the theater.  I’ll take the side comments at a much cheaper and more intimate place thank you very much.  But, don’t worry my dear, 50 Shades is coming, and that movie you will be drug to.  But don’t worry honey, it will be worth your while 😉

Getting Old

For the first time the other day, I really felt old.  I was checking out at Kroger, buying my ton and a half of veggies and fruits for my crazy diet.  Which, by the way, since it is now defunct, does anyone want a head of cabbage?  What the heck am I supposed to do with that?  Is sauerkraut hard to make??  It’s the only thing I can think to do with cabbage that at least one of us will eat.

As I was paying, I overhear the tail end of a conversation between two co-workers.  Two girls were talking and must have realized they both attend/attended the same high school.  The younger girl asked when the older girl graduated, to which she replied 1996.  The younger girl was all like, “OMG, that was the year after I was born!”  What the what???  You are old enough to work and you were born when I was a sophomore in high school?  If I had had much worse luck and God truly decided to punish me for my mischievousness, this girl could feasibly be my daughter???  Holy crap!

Then a few days ago, I drove by my alma mater, Bowling Green State University, on my way to take my son to a doctor appointment.  It’s been 12 years since I graduated and I started waxing nostalgic.    Sometimes I really miss those carefree days.  Although, to say college was not stressful would not be fair.  The stress of being an adult and when I was in college is just different.  I remember the killer math and science classes, which almost put a stop to obtaining my useless degree, because as Barbie would say, “Math is hard!”  These were not my forte for sure.   I remember feeling the pressure that at 20 years old, I should have what I want to do for the rest of my life figured out before college ended, which honestly, I didn’t figure out until 6 months ago, and I’m still not sure.

But I do miss the absolute freedom and the ability to be completely self-centered and responsible for only me.  I think of college as a summer camp to life.  All the freedom of an adult, but 1/3 of the responsibilities.  (Yes, I am very lucky and had VERY supportive parents who made the hard decisions and big tuition payments (mostly), but to my credit, I didn’t disappoint them…right Mom and Dad??)  My life consisted of the following decisions:  Skip class and sleep til 11?  Check.  Eat Spaghetti O’s for breakfast?  Check.  Sleep over with your boyfriend who just happens to live one floor down from you in your dorm?  Check!  God it was great.

I miss the days of smoking weed in some random cornfield with my best friend and his roommate, who got all New Agey when getting high.  This was fun because while he wanted to pass the energy ball (read: nothing) between friends and ooo and ahh over the Earth’s aura (read:  lights from Perrysburg), the rest of us were stifling giggles and naming and making out with cornstalks.  PSA:  WEED CAN MAKE YOU STUPID!  I miss having all my friends in one apartment complex, fondly referred to as Melrose, and the Halloween party thrown by my best girlfriends my first year.  Getting totally drunk in our matching couples’ genie costumes for which we totally won the bottle of Absolut for Best Costume, and then recovering the next day with a nice greasy cheeseburger.  If I drank like that now, I’d be in a coma.   Sitting on a couch for the entire day with your best friend watching the crazy Christian channel where everyone got healed and redeemed and you just made fun of the dramatic screaming and jubiliation.  Playing jeopardy so competitively that no one wanted to be your friend afterwards.   Watching endless hours of Golden Girls and realizing that each of your roommates was one of them. Yes.  I was Dorothy, as I have never been the fun one.  Someone, who shall not be named but who now lives in San Fran was Blanche, one very smart nurse was our lovable Rose and my husband fit perfectly as Sophia, the wise-cracking older person who just made fun of the rest of us.  God those were fun days.

College could be hard, but the stress now sucks way more. I have a mortgage, a car payment, a low-paying but comfortable job (therefore little motivation to achieve higher success), an unemployed husband, and a house I desperately want to scour with a magic eraser the size of a car.  I have two kids who are growing up in a world where kindergartners are expected to be able to publish something on-line by the end of that year (seriously, next year’s new standards), where they can’t play alone in the front yard, and bullying has reached new and terrifying levels.  I have no time for anything because dishes are piled in the sink, the kitty litter needs cleaned, and apparently my daughter needs clean underwear every day, and I only have around an hour a night to do it before falling into an exhausted heap in my bed because I’ve spent the evening after getting home from work making dinner, doing homework and catching up with my kids and husband who I haven’t seen all day.  Heck, the only reason I’m typing this is because I am ignoring the dishes in the sink and my husband has been banned from any 50 Shades action tonight because I have my annual check up tomorrow and I don’t want the doctor to get all judgy down there.    Too much?  Sorry.  That, and he just got Black Ops II because, under the guise of “looking at some cool lamps he saw online,” he took us to Target after dinner and just  happened to see it on the shelf, and just happened to suggest it be my Christmas present to him.   Lamps?  Really, was I born yesterday?  It took staring at the Black Ops shelf, a quick tour through Christmasland and then another run up the boy toys aisles before I had to remind him why we were there.  “Lamps honey remember?”   “Oh yeah! umm, uh, yeah…these!  These right here!  I really think these are awesome!” (insert fake enthusiasm here).

So, would I go back to the easy days of college?  No.  I love my life.  With the crazy hard responsibility comes a strong happy marriage, two hilarious and adorable kids, a good chunk of life experience under my belt and a comfortableness with who I am that at 20, I had no idea even existed.  What I do miss was that all my friends were just a stone’s throw away (we used to call our apartment complex Melrose), and are now scattered across the country as well as the sense of freedom and self-centeredness.  Maybe, we could compromise and just meet back for one week a year and relieve the glory days?  Anyone?   How fun would that be?  Though, I am not sure our 30 something bodies could handle all the alcohol and weed, so we might have to cut it back a little.  And close the bar?  Please no, it just messes up my sleep schedule and the kids will still be up at 6 no matter what time I go to bed.  So – maybe some slight adjustments. Hey, I can dream can’t I?

Ah, good times.  I miss you my friends.  This one’s for you.

Caved

All right.  I made it until 4 p.m.  I was STARVING and light headed.  No one can just eat fruit.  Fuck fruit.  Sorry, but it’s just a stupid crash diet.  BUT, in my defense, I haven’t eaten badly, just something other than simple carbohydrates.  I had a Greek yogurt and then a big salad for dinner.  Do I want the Little Caesar’s that my mother-in-law brought over for the kids?  You bet your ass I do, but I know the shame spiral that I will face after I eat that pizza.  Pizza that’s not even good.  Pizza you buy just because you don’t have to plan 15 minutes ahead.  Guess I won’t be getting any Little Caesar’s endorsements anytime soon.

Anyways, I am still trying.  I ate a freakin fruit plate at Star Diner this morning.  I turned down my favorite Mexican food and margaritas tonight.  I have to stay strong.  The new pants I ordered optimistically yesterday will not fit comfortably around this body.

Wish me luck… I’m going to need it.

Day 1

I am 7.5 hours in and I feel like Alex the Lion in Madagascar.

Image

Yep, this is how I see everyone right now.  I am just hungry, no matter how much fruit I freakin eat.  Can’t wait for my potato tomorrow morning.  That is going to be one delicious pat of butter.  Pat = Stick right?

This better be worth it.  If my Pastor can fast for a month for the good of mankind, I can certainly last 7 days to take some junk out of my trunk right?

GM Diet Plan

So I found this on Pinterest this week and became intrigued.

 

http://www.gmdietplan.com/

 

Basically, it’s a 7-day “cleanse,” which I am thinking is just another name for “Cranky, hungry and pooping my brains out,” but it’s basically 7 days of fruits, veggies, tanker trucks of water and some lean beef thrown in, so it’s not totally unhealthy or crazy.  I did about 10 minutes of googling opinions on it, and basically I got the feeling it wasn’t something you should do long-term, but it’s a good way to kick start a diet.  Right before the holidays.  I am a freakin genius I know.

 

So just a fair warning, if you see me over the next 7 days, chances are I will not be the happiest person, as I tend to gain emotional satisfaction from food, and fruits and veggies just don’t calm me down quite like a brownie sundae might.  This old school skit from SNL will be pretty much constantly running through my head.

Wish me luck.

Cravings

Fat Guy in a Little Coat….

Just sitting here on a Saturday night, watching my husband play Modern Warfare with his geek virgin friends also gaming on a Saturday night.  I am trying to get him to change his avatar name to RPatz4eva, but he isn’t buying it, so I thought I’d write about my ongoing obsession with food.

Food.  I love food.  Unfortunately, I am surrounded by people who also have the same problem as me, and a husband who has no idea what healthy cooking is, and let’s face it, his way of cooking is delicious and irresistible.  Plus, when he cooks, I am not, and I hate cooking, no matter what my Pinterest page says.  He cooks bacon by the pound and thinks that if he tells me not to eat it, that will somehow stop me from punching him in his junk to get past him to the bacon….or the cupcakes…or ice cream….whatever.  The stuff just can not be in the house.  So that way when the time comes, like now at 10 p.m. at night and I am desperately rummaging through my cabinets in search of crap, I find none, and have to eat a Nutrigrain bar or worse, an apple.  But no, I have approximately 5 lbs. of Halloween candy that I totally pushed my kids to trudge up and down blocks and blocks of soggy wet, cold weather so I could eat it all when they go to bed.  And I don’t just have a piece, no, I eat until I am slightly nauseous.  The day after Halloween, I ate three pieces for breakfast.  Breakfast.  Seriously.

I have this really annoying guy at work, who’s all into working out and eating healthy, telling me on Friday that I should eat Chia seeds (yeah, like the Pet, which by the way, totally sells me on EATING them (sense the sarcasm), which are super healthy and delicious and he feels great all the time and has great energy.  This guy also doesn’t eat the donuts on Tuesdays and “splurges” on the bagels on Friday, and always frowns and gets all judgey when the rest of us are gorging ourselves on the free chocolates a vendor dropped off, or the awesome spinach artichoke dip our co-worker makes.  Grrr.  Insert eye roll here and sarcastic comment about the ability to put the seeds on a donut and I exit the conversation.  Healthy people are annoying.  People who don’t exist to eat annoy me.  Don’t talk to me about being healthy.  I know how to eat, what to eat and how much to be a healthy, energetic, happy, fit woman.  I know this.  I know that when I work out I feel better.  I know when I drink tons of water, I crave less sugary junk.  I know that de-sugaring gets easier after the first week, but I always fall back into it.  I love it.  I love food.  I am the fat kid with cake.  It’s like my crack, except at least you can give up crack and never see it again.  Food you need to live.  I should eat to live right?  No way, I come from a long line of living to eat.  Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday for God’s sake.  How fat is that???  Forget presents, family time, just give me Grandma’s homemade stuffing and some pumpkin pie and I am in heaven.

I want to be like you healthy people.  I don’t want to eat candy like it’s my job.  I don’t want to crave crap food like Chef Boyardee and Swiss Cake Rolls.  I don’t want to love regular Pepsi, which btw, is free at work.  They are accomplices with my husband in the conspiracy to kill me.  (To my credit, I have kicked this habit.  I still love me some pop, but at least I can tolerate Diet with the help of transitioning through Coke Zero.  God bless you sugar substitute, BUT, have I lost weight?  Negative.  Annoying.)  But, I still drink pop, at least 2 a day, and I hate water with a passion.  Yuck, so boring.  And apparently the aspartame in Crystal Light negates the water I am consuming (so says healthy work guy), so that’s not a good compromise.  No, it has to be the boring flavorless water, or nothing.

I don’t want to go into serious depression for the two months that Netty’s is closed to sell Christmas trees, even though I am lactose intolerant and spend most of the 2 a.m. hour cursing my medium swirl soft serve cone.  It’s totally worth the pain, and I will do it again and again.  But then, do I feel working out is worth the same pain?  Not enough to do it more than 3X in a row.   Just ask my sister, who when I told I was running in the mornings, laughed out loud because I had only done it twice so far, and she knew, just knew, it wouldn’t last much longer…and she was right.  I didn’t do it again.

So anyways, here I am fighting the good fight.  Problem is, my cholesterol is still sky-high and I keep gaining weight.  I have to do something soon or my husband will be raising my kids alone, which scares me because I see zip ties as Gracie’s ponytail holders and Will never being able to pursue dance like I totally know he wants.  So, therefore, I have to do SOMETHING.  Any ideas?  Mark has offered to punch me in the face when I open the fridge in a Pavlonian-dog type of training, but I think the outside world would frown on my  black eyes.  And really, if there is anything pumpkin in that fridge, I’ll take the black eye.  I’ve thought of hypnotism, but that hypnotist has be freakishly good at their job for my subconscious to out talk my conscious brain heading for a late night Ben & Jerry’s.

Well, writing this helped curb my current obsession with eating, maybe I should just post an ode to food every night I get these cravings?  …Wait, nevermind.  Just re-read and really want some Ben & Jerry’s.

Night of Horror

I was going to post last night, but I had to Xanax up at the kids’ Halloween Hop at school last night and it knocked me out cold. So, sorry. Maybe tonight.

For someone like me, last night’s shindig was truly a house of horrors. Big crowd, full of kids hopped up on sugar, put into costume,  coupled with at least two parents or family per kid, plus teachers and staff, all equal the sort of mass confusion that terrifies me to my core.

So there I am in the center of a dark gym, being spun around by whirling costumed dancing/running children, trying desperately to keep at least my daughter in eyesight, trying to inconspiciously unscrew the lid of my Xanax still hidden inside my purse, secretly pull out the tiny pill that will help me from not running into the janitor’s closet and locking myself in, ever so slyly placing said pill into my mouth, all while trying to spit swallow it and praying to God it doesn’t get caught in my throat and I choke and die in front of a bunch of kids dancing to I’m Sexy and I Know It. (Except it’s more like serrrrelaiy and I know it, because they blurb out that offensive part, but alas leaving in the fact that he has “passion in his pants and he ain’t afraid to show it,” thank you DJ for keeping my kids safe from the word sexy).

Anyways, still recovering from that traumatic incident. Problem is, the kids (including Mark) loved it, so I will be forced to return next year, but next year I will come pre-Xanaxed and a maybe a bit tipsy. Is that so wrong? It’s called coping mechanisms people.

A Little Piece of Me

I wrote this last May.  A fairly lonely time in my life.  My husband had been traveling for just over 2 years with no end in sight.  We had yet to find a diagnosis for Will’s idiosyncracies and impulsiveness.  All our efforts were not quite solving his problems and I was terrified of what his first year in school would bring.  So – at a pretty wrenching moment, I wrote this.

May 22, 2012

I don’t why I thought I was strong enough to be a mother.  All my life I have hidden from pain.  Pain of being judged, criticized, ignored, laughed at and so on.  I sometimes feel so sensitive (or paranoid) of other people’s reactions to me that I find it mostly exhausting to be around anyone but those that I trust the most.  So as I grow into myself and enter by far the most healthy self-esteem period of my life, somewhat comfortable with who I am, I think it’s a brilliant idea to procreate.   To take my very thin-skinned introverted self and make children that I love and would protect with my life, children who have to once again go through their own childhoods, adolescence, young adulthood and so on.  To learn the hard lessons, to be a bit different or less than perfect, to struggle, to come to terms with who they are, and be near people who don’t understand just how wonderful they are.

After years and years of building a pretty thick shell around myself from negative unhealthy people, I push myself into it all over again with my kids.  I feel their pain and their terror of entering this world.  Not that they are aware of it, but I am acutely aware of how tough life is going to be for them.

I have a son, who’s brilliant, smart and hilarious already at 5, but so sensitive to everything around him, he finds it hard to function.  It’s hard to sit and see all the other kids and know yours is different, albeit in a beautiful, wonderful way that you completely understand, but one that will cause him hardship, pain and struggle.

I have a daughter, who is strong-willed, beautiful and fearless.  How long do I have that before society gets to her to tell her she’s not good enough, not smart enough, not pretty enough to be worth anything?  How long before I hear the fat comments, how long before my opinionated loud daughter becomes quiet and doubting?  Afraid that if she is too strong, she will be labeled a bitch? Or if she‘s too smart, she will be labeled a snob or a nerd?   How long before she dumbs herself down for a guy or a group of girls to fit in?

I just don’t understand why I would do this to myself.  To have something so precious to me live outside of me, where I can’t protect it completely and fully?  How do I begin to regain control of my life, my emotions, my feelings and protect them once again?  I can’t and it’s the scariest thing I’ve ever felt.

God I pray for strength and courage to be that opinionated, bitchy, smart woman I want my daughter to be. I pray she enters the grown up world confident, smart and funny – unafraid to be herself and to pursue what she loves and who she loves.   I pray she never doubts herself or lets herself be judged by her appearance.   I pray to raise my son to control his impulses and take his beautiful awesomeness and become the next rocket scientist or Nobel Prize winner and be able to look back at all those who will label him a bad kid, an uncontrollable kid, a wild one and laugh at how they doubted him.  I pray that I see the path you are laying out for me, my children and my husband and I take the road that terrifies me, but ends up the best path I could have chosen.   I just pray that your plan actually makes sense and is in the best interest of those that I love the most and have the least control over – my kids.