For some reason*, I have not been able to keep anything down since Sunday morning. Vomiting made me think of my teenage years.
Those very few friends who read this blog (step it up, bitches!) might not know I fought an eating disorder for years starting when I was a teenager. It wasn’t Karen Carpenter Bad, but I’ve always been obsessed with how much I eat.
(Note: I did starve myself when I was 14. Hid food. Threw up what I ate (which wasn’t more than 100-200 calories a day). Wore baggy clothes. Ate laxatives like they were candy. Then my mom rubbed my back one day and felt my McRibs through the sweatshirt I was wearing to hide how much weight I’d lost – in the summer, in Texas, for fuck’s sake! She threatened to put me in a hospital where they would “hook an IV up to your arm and you’d have to gain weight,” so I started mainlining tubs of Pillsbury chocolate frosting. And boxes of Ding Dongs. I finally went from 85 pounds to 105. And got five cavities.)
I never really did get over it completely but I generally manage to talk myself down from the ledge these days. And while I am pretty small, I am not in any way skinny (but feel free to tell me, “Oh, but you ARE” because I love compliments and am not one of those idiots who won’t accept them. Okay, “skinny” might not be a compliment to some, but it is to me. Hence the eating disorder. Well, that and the control freak part of my personality.) People have asked me, “Aren’t you embarrassed to tell people you have/had (whispered – St. Elmo’s Fire reference, wonder who will get it) an eating disorder?” I feel like everyone who knows me already pretty much already knows I’m a nut job anyway (or realizes it five minutes after meeting me), so what difference does one more thing make to that reputation? Does a heroin addict tell others, “Oh, I’m sorry, I have to shoot up now?” NO. So why should I hide my crazy light under a bushel? Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine!
Even though I’m not on that crazy train anymore (it’s more like a crazy cross-town commuter bus these days, or a quick crazy taxi cab ride), I still study labels like a motherfucker. I wrote in an earlier post that I had to Google “how many calories in a bottle of wine” – that was part of the 80% made up shit. I’ve known for YEARS how many calories are in a bottle of wine. I also know that it’s a huge mistake to drink sweet alcoholic beverages (more sugar, dumbass! plus a really nasty hangover) and that a really good bar will carry diet tonic water. I tell people I typically don’t eat my carbs, I drink them. (P.S. Someone told me about a carb-free vodka. I may be doomed to buy a liver off the black market.)
I mentioned going on my Austerity Campaign re: food and drink – that was supposed to happen after vacation. Of course (very predictable!), it did not. That reunion was coming up and I knew I’d cheat (not on food but yeah, booze). So tomorrow I am attempting to go on the straight and narrow. Again. Lofty goal: three months (the non-BF can stop laughing now). More realistic goal: one month. No bread, no booze and I have to start eating salads again (I love veggies – should not be a problem). I will miss those fucking Pillsbury Grands biscuits in the mornings, though.
It’s not like I’m one of “those people” who keep a bottle in their car (not like you could in Texas anyway) or in their desk drawer. Hell, I don’t even have a liquor cabinet. Or a liquor shelf. (The non-BF says it’s because I would drink it as soon as it got there, but he’s just exaggerating. A little. Hon, those two bottles of white wine you left here on Saturday? Well, they are gone. I swear, the dogs must be drinking again!) And I won’t drink something just because it is there (proof – five bottles of red wine sitting next to my Vita Mix for over a month now because I really cannot stand that shit. The red wine, not the Vita Mix. I like my Vita Mix.) I just love dry white wine. It’s like grown-up Kool-Aid to me. I’ll drink vodka but I am not as crazy about it as I am about gin (see Evidence below). In fact, I may name my next pet Juniper Berries just because it would make me smile to yell out its name for shitting on my floor.
So tonight, wine is having its Farewell Tour at my house. After this past high school reunion weekend, my Check Liver light came on and I really need to lose some weight before vacation later this year.
Oh hell, my cousin reads this shit. Now he will think I’m a lesbian as well. Not that there is anything wrong with that.
Since this is in no way a diet blog, going forward, my detoxing/weight loss program will be the elephant in the room. We will all be aware of it but no one is to speak of it. The bitchy mood I’ll be in could cause me to go off on y’all. But since I’m from the south, I’ll be all polite and shit about it.
[I’m proactive for the most part, so anyone who wants to send me hate mail for making light of a serious subject like aneroxia nervosa or heroin addiction, feel free to do so. firstname.lastname@example.org If you can’t laugh about something bad you went through, you’ll really go crazy. Besides, sharing my story might help someone else and I’m all about that. Feel free to email me about this if you want to talk about it. The eating disorder, that is, not the heroin addiction. And if you are addicted to heroin, talking to me won’t help at all. I’m not licensed and I don’t really want to deal with all of that, sorry! P.S. You haters better use correct grammar, punctuation and spelling, or I’m going to have a field day with your ass!]
Oh, and on a totally different subject…for the record, proof that I am and always will be The Original Non-Girlfriend. Look at those little fuckers! Aren’t they cute?! And yes, the swirly dog is the dead one. RIP Buzzy. Sadie is still hanging in there but she is blind as a bat and about five pounds thinner. She is still the most beautiful dog I’ve ever seen. Bitch.
It so fucking SUCKS dogs don’t live as long as we do.