Monday, March 30, 2009

I still got it! Ha.

Well, I guess the 30 extra pounds that are making me feel crappy don't really matter to the men that hit on me!

Yes, that's right, I got hit on today. Twice.

When I was in the grocery store a man came up to me and started a conversation with me. He could have benn friendly, but the only men that have ever bothered to talk to me in the grocery store have been hitting on me. I mean, I'm doing my thing, buying groceries, listening to my ipod even, and a stranger starts a useless conversation about meat with me? I'm often really oblivious, but yeah, I really do think he was just trying to talk to me. Strange, but nice.

Then, when I was on my way home on the subway I was totally hardcore hit on! No mistaking. He said I was a "beautiful young woman". He wanted to talk to me. He wasn't even deterred by the fact that I have a boyfriend!! He really wanted me to take his number (I did - it's harmless, I'm not going to use it). He kept saying if things didn't work out with my boyfriend to give him a call. He even tried to get me to go to lunch with him! Even stranger, but also still nice. Made me smile all the way home.

So very strange for me. I really don't get hit on very often. I mean, it's partly because I'm not often in situations where I can get hit on - I often go out with Chris, or I'm out with friends. The other thing too, I very rarely realise I'm getting hit on. I can't really deny the guy wanting to 'get to know me' though. Ha. Strange, strange afternoon!

Thursday, March 19, 2009

Sad... And Angry, And Full of Self-Hatred (RANT)

I've been sad/cranky/grumpy since last night, and I can't shake it. It sucks big time.

I need to make a test cake, and I have no desire to do anything but mope. I want to make a cake for my mom's birthday next week, and I really really need to test the recipe, as I've never made it. I want it to be good damnit. I want it to work out. It's for my mommy. I want her to like it. I've never tried this recipe, so I'll feel a lot better having tested it. The idea was to bring a cake to a party we are going to tomorrow night. But I'm just so fucking miserable I can't even get into the idea of making a cake! And I love to bake!

I'm just too miserable. I've gained weight. A lot of weight. Half my winter clothes don't fit. Today I realised NONE of my summer/spring clothes will fit. NONE. I'm soooo fucked.

Me, loose weight? That's asking for the impossible. Especially here. It was different when it was just me. When I had my own money, and all I had to worry about was making sure I ate 'right'. But I can't fucking do that here. I have to feed Chris, and he's not about to eat the kind of shit I'd need to eat. Fuck, I don't even want to eat it! I did that for two years! I don't think I can do that again.

I know I need to start portion control again, even if I don't eat right. It's so hard though. Especially when I eat with others. Especially him. Just the difference between eating with him and eating with my parents. I feel like they are trying to fucking starve me. But that's what I need to do. I have to eat smaller portions, much smaller, and for a good month or more I'm going to feel like I'm being starved. I'm going to be hungry ALL the time.

I know, because I've done it before. And it was such a horrible, scaring experience that I just don't know if I can put myself through it again. But what's the alternative? Get so fat I can't even walk? I mean, not walk at all, as opposed to now where it just hurts like fuck to walk.


I have to do something. I have to. I hate that I've gained more weight. I hate how I look. I hate that most of my clothes don't fit. I hate that all my clothes look horrible on me because they are all too tight. Ugh.

But I dread the process I went through to loose the weight I did. It was horrible, and vile, and no, I didn't fucking feel better for it. I didn't like the food I ate, and I almost never ate anything I truly enjoyed. It was total denial of everything I love about food. Nothing fatty, nothing sugary, no cake, no chocolate, no junk food, no pop, fuck, no juice, almost no bread, almost no pasta, almost never potatoes. No white bread, ever. No white pasta. No white rice! It's enough to make me want to cry now just thinking about it!

I don't want to live like that! I just don't. I can't. Not again. Not ever again.

I don't eat much junk food now, I can cut it out again. It will be hard on Saturdays, but I think I can do it. I don't drink pop, that's no biggie. I cannot remove chocolate from my life. I cannot, but I can try harder to play the denial game. I won't be happy, I'll cry, but I think I can. Though.. no. Fuck. I can't make myself that miserable. What's the fucking point of living if I'm just fucking miserable all the fucking time!? Grr.

I almost never bake these days, it was in an effort to not make us fatter. But then after that I gained thirty fucking pounds, so it didn't fucking help me any. But baking certainly won't help. As it is, I only do it for special occasions, so that's good. I just need to stop eating baked goods offered me. *sob*

White rice will be hard. I love basmati rice. It smells so fucking good. Even just opening the bag is a wonderful experience for me. That's going to be way hard. I fucking hate brown rice with a seething, writhing, passion. Something will have to be done there, cause I ain't fucking eating it. It's disgusting.

I'm used to whole wheat pasta now, so that's not so bad. And the pasta sauce I like isn't too fatty, so I should be able to eat that, as long as I add in some veggies and watch my portions..

I eat very little bread now, so I can't imagine that being a block.

Potatoes, or lack thereof, will make me cry though. It's not the potato that's bad, it's the butter I want to eat it with. So potato wedges with a bit of olive oil will be okay, and I like them... Perhaps I need to start using margarine again? I dunno though. A lot of that 'diet' crap is way worse for you than just having the real thing...

*sigh* I'll miss butter on my potatoes. I'll miss mashed potatoes. I can't not have them. I can't. It will have to be my cheat or something.

Maybe if I mix long grain rice with the brown rice, that might not be so bad. Bland as fuck, but not sooo bad.

*sigh* I hate this. I hate this. I hate this.

Have I mentioned how much I hate this?! BAH.

And I haven't even said anything about the exercise I need. Because I don't have a fucking clue what to do on that side of things. I know how I have to eat, I just really, really don't want to do it. As far as getting active. I just. I don't know what the fuck will work for me.

Chris wants me to do some kind of group martial arts thing. I don't really understand why. I hate competition - hate it, hate it, hate it. It brings all kind of horribly anxiety with it. I hate group anything. I am horrified at the idea of being tested in front of a group of people. Yes, that's just what I fucking need, let me fall on my fucking face in front of strangers. Um. No. Ever since I was a baby, before I can even remember, the one thing I have never wanted to do is fuck up while people were watching. I hate failure. I hate it. But it's so much worse, so much more agonising to have people see me do it! When I was a baby I wouldn't even try to walk if I thought someone was watching me!! I didn't want to take the chance someone would see me fall.

I mention this to point out just how deep seated this fear is. How integral it is to my fucked up psyche. I am what I am. Some things I cannot change. This is one of them. Fucking up in front of people is one of my all time worse fears. Being put in a situation where it is inevitable.. is enough to make me have a panic attack. Forcing me into that kind of situation is an offence I cannot, and will not forgive.

I've heard Neda and Jessica talk about their Karate classes. About the 3 hours of testing in front of a room full of people. About being pushed so hard in class that their knuckles bled, or they could hardly walk because their muscles were so exhausted from being pushed beyond their limits. They thought it was great. I thought it just sounded horrible, vile, and terrifying. I do NOT want that. Fuck, I couldn't even DO that! I'd have a fucking asthma attack and die for not being able to breathe. Fuck no. No. No. No. No.

Something less extreme? Maybe. If I wasn't such a fat useless fuck, maybe. I do have a lot of unused violence that I'm sure it'd be therapeutic to get out. But while I'm like this? While I'm almost 300 pounds and unable to do one single, even highly modified push-up? No. Just no. I'm too fat and too out of shape for that sort of thing. No. No. No. No. I do not want the general public seeing how weak and useless I am. No fucking thank you.

So no. I don't fucking want to fall on my face in front of strangers. I'm a fat useless fuck, and I most certainly do not want to take martial arts classes with cute little things. No. No. No. No.

I tried Curves once. That's the closest I've ever come to group activity or a gym. But it wasn't enough. The 'circuit', the machines didn't work me nearly hard enough to make a difference. I found that walking 40 minutes, of my then way home from work, as hard as I could, was of more benefit than any amount of time spent at Curves.

Sadly, I don't think I could do that now. My feet are so royally fucked up I honestly don't know if I could walk fast for 2 minutes never mind 30 or 40. Not without crying or limping. So what the fuck do I do?!

I don't like gyms, generally. All the skinny, pretty, people... That's just so not me. I have considered the YMCA, simply because they have pools, and I really miss swimming. But, I don't work. Like, I said, I'm a useless fat fuck. I can't afford that. I can't afford anything. I can't even pay my own medical bills! I rely on Chris and my parents for everything. And I hate it. I really do. But, again, useless fat fuck. I don't know how to fix that.

I know if I really wanted to go to a gym of some kind, or something, Chris would try to pay for it, but I don't have a fucking clue what his/our financial situation is really like, so I don't know if we really can afford it. So I feel very uncomfortable asking. He won't actually tell me anything; it's his money, why should he? But I can't ask. I can't. Not when I don't know if it will put him out.

Okay, this really fucking bothers me. Why does he want me to take some martial arts class?!?! Why? Fucking WHY?! He won't tell me. He won't give me a straight fucking answer. And I want to know why damnit. I feel I have a right to know. This directly concerns me, and I fucking want to know why. He's mentioned it many times. And every fucking time it feels like he's just making a slight against me. I don't like it. I know I'm a weakling. I know I'm fucking useless, but I don't fucking like talking about it. I certainly don't fucking like the implication that I need to take fucking martial arts classes! WTF. The ONLY person I have EVER had to fight off me is HIM!! Fucking strangers don't fucking want anything to do with me, what does it fucking matter if I can't wrestle for shit?? I don't like wrestling! Hello! Competition! I fucking hate competition! Why the fuck does he think I get so fucking grumpy after he makes me!? What the fucking hell. GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR.

Wednesday, March 11, 2009

I. Need. to. Rant.

I STILL have a yeast infection. STILL. Two fucking weeks of pain. Two!! Two!!!!! And now I'm faced with a third and likely a forth.

Gods damn fucking vile antibiotics.

Never again! Never. Not without some kind of anti-yeast treatment upfront. I will refuse treatment otherwise. No UTI was ever as painful or unpleasant as this!! Fucking drugs! Fucking male doctors!

Fucking men! I HATE men today! I really really fucking do. Chris has been great overall, he really has, so the hate isn't directed at him, just all the other men I know. Chris loves puns in general you see, so he's often punny. This topic, however, is off limits, and he knows it. He's been trying really hard not to pun at me about it, which is good because I just can't fucking take it. I can't.

Can someone please tell me why men think it's okay to make fun of women's pain?! Hrm? I don't fucking get it. I really don't. "Oh look, you have caustic chemical burns all over your genitals! Oh how funny!" I don't fucking think so!

It really burns my feminist keester. Honestly. What part of this is in any way okay?! She's a woman, so her pain must therefore be funny?! Because our pain doesn't matter?! It's a condition that primarily afflicts women, so men can't really identify, I get that. But how the fuck do you go from "I don't understand" to "Let's make fun of the woman in pain"??!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?

Uncool. Seriously uncool.

The men in my life seem to have learned that making fun of the woman having menstrual cramps is NOT okay, so I know they are capable of grasping some female-only problems aren't funny. So why do I still get all the fucking yeast jokes?!

My cunt (and the surrounding area, thank you very much) is on fire with a chemical burn that cannot heal because my fucking body has betrayed me and is making more fuel! It hurts. It really fucking hurts. And there isn't a gods damn fucking thing I can do about it! When I'm on the fucking antibotics the over the counter stuff just won't help. Fuck, even now, with the antibiotics gone from my system, the OTC stuff didn't get rid of the yeast! So I'm still in fucking pain. Burny, burny pain that's with me every moment of every fucking day. Existing hurts. Walking is fucking torture. I can't even fucking cuddle because that hurts too! And yet this is fucking funny somehow!?!?! Fucking tell me which fucking part of my suffering is fucking funny. Go on. What's funny?!

Grrr. I just don't get it. I don't.

Tuesday, March 3, 2009

Getting Gauge

The one thing I hate most about ripping something out, is that when I go back to it, I can almost never get gauge again. I don't know why this is. It doesn't happen with all projects, just some. It's very frusrating.

I'm working on a sweater for my mom. I finished one sleeve, only to hold it up and realise it was about 4 inches too short!! How did I miss that?! I guess the trouble was, I'd left off knitting it to finish the front, and when I went back to it I never really looked at how long it was, I was just following the pattern. This is never a good sign in my world. So I had to rip out the whole sleeve cap to add more to the arm part of the sleeve.

So far I've had to rip back three times!! I just cannot get gauge! Too tight. Rip it. Try again. Still too tight. Rip it. Try again. Now it's too bloody loose! I can't win for loosing!

The really weird part is, it seems to look just fine on TWO of the 4 double pointed needles! The other half I can see a line, a perceptable stitch change and it's bugging the hell out of me. I don't know if I can leave it.

But I just don't get why one half is messed and not the other! When you knit with double pointed needles you switch them up. It's not like I can blame one or even two of the needles for being bigger. What the hell am I doing wrong!?

I hate this. It's making me crazy.