The Beginning Of The End

I haven't written here in 3, almost 4 years.

When I started this blog I wanted to exist. I didn't feel that I did in the real world. I had become invisible. Nothing I did or said mattered. I felt like a shell of a girl who once was, and likewise, someday will be. I didn't know how to fix myself or my surroundings, but I knew that for a brief few minutes, when I put words out into the internet, I felt human again. No one could take away the words inside my head. It was the only place that was truly... me.

These 8 posts below have been viewed by almost 7 thousand people. That's ridiculous. They were written about nothing at all and were a last ditch effort to save my sanity and prove that I had value and worth as a human outside of the fragile personal life that I was trying desperately to duct tape together.

Rational people would delete the blog all together.
It's been well documented however that I, am not always a rational person. I do things the hard way and learn by doing. So these posts will stay to act as a reminder that sometimes all you have is yourself and that's ok. That your life doesn't have to make sense to anyone else, but that everyone will be watching. So it's ok to screw it up, but you better pull yourself up, brush yourself off and be brilliant the next go round.

Here's to the next 3, almost 4 years.

On A Sunday Night

My world seems rather secure and downright fragile right now. I'm the strongest I've ever been and right with many things, but my heart feels like a glass of milk, left on the edge of the table by a child, just waiting to be knocked off the table by the next passer by. Hopefully it's scooped up by a watchful eye, but who knows.

Someday I'll be able to explain the process of gaining yourself, losing your old ways of life, and selecting a future that's exactly what you want it to be. Until I have words for that story, my time here might be short as it's often hard to write when you're feeling down.

Down isn't even the right word. Because that's untrue. It's hard to write when you're listening so closely to other things, so for now, I'll look at the world from afar and just say hello to everyone.

Last One Out Of Liberty City Burn It To The Ground

There's a certain smell to the Midwest at 9:30pm at the end of July. The sickening sweet smell of blooming trees has faded and the whir of mowers catches your ear. This stretch of the country is plagued with heat and although folks might hide away indoors — once the sun starts to set it's a whole new ball game.

The cicadas drone on along side the John Deere's and the warmth of the pavement from the afternoon sun is reflected back upon your ankles. The sensory of a July evening is enough to make even the most hardened heart wax nostalgically.

I spent the better part of my youth trying to escape this part of the country. It's not that I hated it, but it always felt like quicksand, for everything. For life, for love, for art, for a career. It still holds those feelings for me, but I'll always be appreciative for the light breeze and the squeal of the bats overhead once the sun fully sets.

Most of my friends and classmates never left and their lives carry on just fine but part of me is still drawn elsewhere. I moved 9 times in 6 years and although that sounds extreme, the adventures and self-discovery that happens when you're away from family, and away from friends, and forced to be happy, and rely on life and love to show you a good time is comforting.

Here's to a fresh start. May we be guided on the next leg of the journey.

I Can Ride My Bike With No Handlebars

Starting tomorrow at 5am I am taking control of my health. For the last month I've changed almost all of my eating habits and as a result I am now clear thinking, level headed and without blood sugar or mood swings. Is this how the rest of you live? 'Cause it's awesome!

I used to ride a great deal and then my bike was stolen. I made excuses and never quite had the will power. I fell off the wagon and it's time to make a come back. I miss the high of exercise. I miss the time spent working on yourself, to better so many things. So I'm announcing here that tomorrow morning at 5am I am back in (or rather on) the saddle. I don't think I need a record of such things to keep me motivated this time. I'm ready to be a better me and this is just one more thing. Any guesses how hot it will be at 5am?

Big Girls Don't Cry

I'd like to take a minute to address the idea of clothes shopping when you're a plus size gal. I've never been a bean pole and clothes shopping is always more along the lines of "buying what fits" instead of "buying what makes me feel beautiful as a woman." Sad but true.

Clothes should empower you and make you feel strong and confident. They should dress your canvas of a body to be attractive, and there isn't a person out there which doesn't deserve the confidence that comes from being well dressed. If you're a plus size lady however, well let's just say we might not be empowered as easily.

During the last several years, stores have finally started carrying clothes that don't look like they're geared for the elderly and have some sort of shape. For years all you could find were giant cotton sacks that had sunflowers or American flags screen printed on them. It felt like a conspiracy between the American Health Association and the clothing industry. Like they got a deal on materials or labor if they only made unattractive fat people clothes. You know, to encourage us to slim down so we could wear awesome things again. Jerks.

Although the clothes have changed a bit, the brick and mortar stores still have much work to do to make me feel truly comfortable shopping there without wanting to gouge my eye out with a spoon. And no, online ordering isn't an option. Well, technically it is, but sizing is always different and 9 times out of 10 ends in returning things and reordering. Sucky. But I digress...

PROBLEMS WITH PLUS SIZE CLOTHING STORES

1.THE LIGHTING

The rule of thumb that most women abide by is the darker the better. It's a little more forgiving and slightly more sultry. This is usually the case in many regular clothing stores, but for some reason, they seem to think that chubbies want to see it all. One might actually argue that it would be bad for business. If we actually paid attention to what we looked like in all that shining glory, it would be enough incentive for us all to stop eating. Permanently.

2. THE HEAT

Clothes look their best when they're being displayed and illuminated and I get that. If your product doesn't look good on the rack, then there's no reason to pick it up and want to try it on. The heat from the ridiculous amount of spotlights however is just insane. As is, women of size are already loaded down with enough extra pounds to be the eqivellent of wearing a parka in the middle of summer, but add the lights, and it starts to get sweaty — and not the glisteny, hot momma, I wanna get with that, kind of sweat either.

3. THE PRICE

Obviously it takes more fabric to create a plus size garment. For one pair of my jeans, you could probably make two size 0 skinny girl jeans. That would stand to reason that they would be twice the material cost, though equal amounts of labor costs. When the garments hit the rack at the store, most items push the $75 mark each time. Apparently we're all rich too (which is a memo I did not receive). It's like they know we have no other option than to buy from their store and truth be told... we don't.

4. THE COMPLIMENTARY YOU-GO-GIRL CLERKS

Clerks at many retailers are pushy. It's not just a fat lady thing, but there's something different about these stores. When you're skinny, they're all about just making sure you're finding what you're needing, but when you're plus size, it's like they have to give you a pep talk before trying anything. For instance...

I was in the mall (shudder) tonight looking for a new top. Here's how the conversation went:

CLERK: What's up girlfriend, anything I can help you find?

ME: Nope, just lookin' thanks. I'll give ya a shout if I need something. Thanks!

CLERK: What brings ya in today, looking for something special?

ME: Nope, just lookin' around, thank you.

CLERK: Ya sure, these pants would be super cute with those new tops up front in the window and they're on clearance even.

ME: Naw, thank you though, I'm looking for a top for a date.

CLERK: Hive Fives Girlfriend (note: these were words, not actions), a date for you, rockin' awesome.

ME: Yup, thanks. (*I now try to look interested in a rack of clothes to make her go away)

CLERK: Where'd ya meet him? Online?

ME: Well he's my husband, I just wanted to look my best.

CLERK: No way girlfriend, you're married (she then looks at my mohawk and turns her head in a puzzling manner like she has no idea how I'm married and she isn't)

ME: For several years, thanks. I'm gonna go check out this rack up front, thanks for your help.

CLERK: Right on, let me know if you need anything, I can custom fit you for lingerie. Just let me know and we can get those girls strapped in, pushed up and dressed for a night of fun!

It was at this point that I ran away. I had horrible visions of her actually trying to high five me in the middle of a bra fitting. Those are embarrassing enough, there doesn't need to be any additional cheering going on. Yeah boobies! You go! Rock! Awesome! High fives! Where my girls at? *sigh* Barf.

5. LACK OF MODESTY

When you go big girl clothes shopping, two things become quickly apparent.

1: We are supposed to show off our boobies.

2: It doesn't matter how short your skirt is (or you can forgo one all together and wear a longer shirt), as long as you wear jeggings.

It is almost impossible to find clothes with necklines that won't make you blush or hemlines that are flattering for legs that might *gasp* rub together. Although I greatly appreciate the diversity of clothing you find now, there are some styles and fashions best left to those whose bodies are slightly more attractive than mine. Sex appeal can happen with modest clothes assuming they fit correctly and don't boast the aforementioned sunflowers or flags. I mean yes, I know the entire world wants to see my jiggly underarms, I have read your emails, they're in quite the demand, but I just don't want to show them off. Sorry.

< /complaining> (or as I like to call it issue identification)

This post in it's entirety is actually quite ridiculous. Here I sit, in front of a laptop, with internet access, complaining about having enough money to go an air conditioned store and buy clothing. I don't have a job that limits my shopping time. I was able to drive to the store of my choosing. I don't have to make my own clothing. Yes, I know this is a 1st world problem and while I'm grateful for the life I live and the freedoms I've been granted, deep down I still hope someone from the fat-woman-clothing-industry reads this.

Asleep At The Wheel

Your 20's are a time to make something of yourself. You set out into the world and the movies tell you it's the time to find your footing in life, the time to gather interests, act on passions and test the waters so you can settle down later on.

I left college after two years. I'm a quitter. I had no reason to be there and little desire. I wasn't prepared and I didn't really know what I wanted to do with my life, so it just felt like I was wasting time. I went to school for photography and it was during the exact few years that the world made the switch to digital.

We were declared to be the last class to

learn with SLR cameras (you know, the kind that take actual film), and that's not what I wanted.

I had grown up with a professional photographer for a Father and had a darkroom in my basement. I knew how to work with film and I wanted something different, something new. I wanted a challenge.

So I left. I was bored and at that point I didn't know if I could make a go at being pro without digital knowledge, knowing I'd have to learn it all on my own after I paid a ridiculous amount of money to get an "education." See: quitter.

For the next several years I bounced around the country looking for something to grab hold of. Waiting for something to catch my interest. My friends knew they wanted to be architects, doctors, lawyers, and teachers from the moment they set foot on campus, but not me. I was still clueless. I had lots of likes. I liked cooking, I loved baking, I like saving a buck and doing something myself, and I loved the process of creating. With paper, with wood, with paint, with a pile of old paint chips. Nothing I did was great, I wouldn't land any gallery shows and the underground arts and crafts movement had yet to get off the ground (which would later be the perfect showcase for my style of creating and crafting). When it finally did I would later find myself saying, "I could make that... but I choose not to." Like it was some sort of elitist badge I wore to tell everyone that I was awesome, but my time was more important than sitting around and make cool plushies all day. Little did I know I would later yearn to be one of those crafters, content with what they did, because after all they were actually doing something.

For the next decade I stalled out. I spent my time being good enough and never actually doing anything. Well that's only partially true. We'll say for now that I didn't have the drive to make that part of my life succeed. In the mean time I had gotten married and was attempting to learn to clean a house and keep things in order. It was a new challenge and I welcomed it with open arms. Which was of course before I found out I was really horrible at it.

I'll be the first one to admit that it took me far too long to figure things out. To get a routine and to really stick to it because you cared, not because your bathroom might swallow you whole if it wasn't cleaned today. My husband and I moved for work a great deal (remember kids, being an artist means you go where the money is), and each time I would get the hang of the routine at a new house, it would be time to move again. Because of this, I perpetually sucked at all things a wife should be doing and my frustrations for lack of knowledge about such routines made things worse. That said, I was grateful for the adventures that we had together moving around the country, even if it meant I found it difficult to keep up with new wife-like responsibilities.

Wife-like responsibilities. That's probably a ridiculous phrase. The only responsibility you truly have as a wife is to love unconditionally and try your best each day to fall in love all over again, which should have made everything else go smoothly. Not the dishes, not the laundry, and certainly not walking the dogs. That said, it wasn't how I felt. I quickly became overwhelmed by my inability to be an actual adult and take care of a house, home, bills, all that stuff... and I felt like I was dropping a ball that I never really had a hold of. I had to of been letting my husband down and I was for sure letting myself down, but there is no book at the local shop called How To Not Suck At Being An Adult. I know because I looked.

I had this magical idea that when you get married everything gets split 50/50. That you're partners in crime through and through and I had some weird expectation that we would grow up and figure stuff out together. That couldn't have been more wrong when you're the one who works from home and the responsibility strictly falls on your shoulders. For years I felt apathetic towards adulthood and almost as if something would one day change, like a growth spurt and I would suddenly "get it." We wanted a fun married life, we wanted kids, we wanted a big house project, but paying property taxes, buying cars, those were all scary. It was far too easy to push everything till the last minute and panic when things had snowballed and I always felt like I never had a moment to stop and figure things out.

It was during this time that I realized I had faded. I used to be a bright star that was full of ideas and passion and it had all gone by the wayside. I had been so busy trying to keep up and being frustrated that bits of me fell away. I had a wonderful husband, great pups to play with and fun living spaces in which to create and I had turned into the shell of a person I had previously been.

Was marriage the cause? Absolutely not. So please don't misunderstand. The groundwork that had been laid in my life was shaky. I didn't finish school, I didn't get that chance to figure out how being an adult worked. I didn't have that drive that so many pick up and learn along the way. Was it because I didn't have any? Was I destined to suck at life from then on out. Short answer — yes. That is until now.

Now, like now now, I get it. I get it all and I'm ready to take on life the way I should have been living it for the last decade. My apologies to those that I have let down, to those who might have looked on with worry or concern. It wasn't my intent to falter and maybe I didn't. Maybe this is just the path that my life needed to take in order to be amazing today... and tomorrow. Because I will be — and not just on the inside like your parents tell you when you lost your first soccer game because you scored a goal for the wrong team.

For my husband, for my kids someday and most of all for myself.

Somewhere In The Between

My blogging years started in 2003. Do you remember 2003? Here's a quick refresher. This story must have authenticity after all.

2003 Was The Year That:

• Bush announced the attack on Iraq

• Arnold Schwarzenegger became Governor of California

• Tampa Bay took the Super Bowl, no one cared

• Norah Jones was taking the world by storm and we all bought her album

• Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix came to print — to PRINT

• Finding Nemo happened (P. Sherman 42 Wallaby Lane)

• Scientist discovered a dinosaur with 4 wings — creepy right?

• Johnny Cash and June Carter Cash died and we all cried

Thanks to the internet, that seems like a million years ago. I'm secure in my age and have no trouble saying it was almost a decade ago. The world wide web makes days seem like years and years seem like an eternity away. 2003 was a busy year and it was the year I started my first LiveJournal.

It was one of the first blogging platforms that was not only free, but fully customizable if you knew what you were talking about or had that cool friend who spoke HTML. This was 2003 of course, only a few people really know to do that kind of stuff. Not like now as teenagers can alter code in their LOL sleep.

I had so much so say. It was before everyone and their dog had a Facebook and there was no such thing as a status update, unless you were talking about your AIM status. We might not have had many followers or friends, but we had something to say. We had to work with words and fight for attention. It was a place to hone a craft and a place to vent about all the things we fit into 140 characters these days.

I still keep many amazing acquaintances and good friends from those days. We truly interacted with each other in a way that I will cross my heart and hope to die (ok not really), swear to you, that boosted the blogosphere that we know and love today. It changed the world and we were all on board to embrace the world ahead of us.

From there I began a writing career with Apartment Therapy Media and later Lifehacker. Since then I've been published in print in different books and mags. Just like that, what was a simple desire to gab about spray painted lamps became part of my daily life. Correction, it became my entire life. There wasn't anything about me that wasn't for a post. Photos I took, places I went, things I said, read, and shared. We'll take this time to note that this was truly the beginning of the end for me and I'll refer back to it down the road. You'll get brownie points if you remember and I'll in turn feel special for having loyal readers.

I've written over 4,000 entries and to be quite honest, I'm surprised that I had that much to say. I've tried my hardest to never repeat myself and always have something thoughtful to give back to my readers. I call them my readers, because we all think people pay attention to who we are, but truth be told, aside from a few snide commenters with little to nothing to do all day, no one gives a crap. I did my best to promote my friends, to give them face time on a big website that was sure to send traffic to them. It was the least I could do and I've loved seeing everyone take off. You deserve it. But part of me has always felt like I deserved it too. Does that make me selfish? Probably. I don't really care.

I feel left out of the race that I started running at the same time as everyone else. I became the commentator at a spectator sport instead of the one running past the 50 yard line and headed for the end zone. Guys dig chicks that make sports analogies right? What? All the cool girls nerds now? Crap, I'm so behind on the times. How about I'm Lando Calrissian and although I used to own the Millenium Falcon, now I just sit up on cloud City and keep tabs on everyone. Well until Darth Vader showed up and I'm sure he still feels really bad about Han and that whole carbonite thing.

I've decided that it's time to share my own thoughts once more, outside of a paid blogging platform and back inside my own head. A place full of horrible punctuation, spelling and the occasional misconception of classic phrases. For example, I only recently learned that one "chalks it up." I would have fought you to the death that it was "chuck it up." Yup, like vomit. Seriously, I would have taken you downtown. So that's what you can expect here and why I'm writing. I don't have anything ground breaking to share, but I do have my own words and they may or may not revolve around home decor or even positive experiences. So that's that.