Half-assed. Not literally... YET.

As of today, I am 10 pounds lighter than I was a month and a half ago.

This has not come lightly, friends. This has been a pain in the ass struggle, and some days, it still really sucks.

I own a food scale now. I drink a gallon of water or more every day. I cook on Sundays and pre-portion things like chips, pistachios, and cookies into bags and keep them in my desk. I count every. Single. Fucking. Calorie. That enters my body.

The prompt that brought this on was not sudden. And I was not excited about it. It took a lot, and still takes a lot, of will power to un-fork my gooey butter cake addiciton. I went into this kicking and screaming, but it was necessary.

I really, truly looked in the mirror and realized that I was never going to have one of those "lightbulb" moments. You know, those moments when you look at a photo and realize that some weight has creeped up on you? A moment when you realize that your favorite jeans haven't been on your body for a few years?

Yea. I wasn't going to have one of those. I've known every single day what I look like. And for a long time, I didn't care. Then, I learned to like it, accept it, and work with it.

Then... I decided that I ate like crap, and I decided to run a 5K.

Yes. MY fat ass decided to run a 5K. Why, you may ask?
Because it looks like fun.
Because I want to be one of those girls.
Not because I have some unrealistic desire to be a toothpick, but because I want to enjoy being outside, I want to enjoy activity, and I want to be able to chase my high schoolers around all summer without needing to sit, or stop for a break.
I want to be able to TRULY teach these kids to dance.
I don't want to have to explain what I want, then ask for someone more nimble than I to demonstrate. As a full fledged director... I should be able to demonstrate everything I want. If I can't do it, why should I expect my students to?

So, I signed up for a 5K in which I am chased by zombies. Yes. For 3 miles. Over obstacles.

And you know what? It's going to be a damned BLAST.

I'm not into judging people for their food habits. On the contrary. I applaud everyone for trying to make a difference in their bodies. But I also applaud those that have a normal, healthy relationship with food, because for a very long time... I did not. I ate mostly out of boredom, and sometimes out of anxiety.

I also applaud those that will look at this and call me a bitch for not just accepting my body as is. Because those are the ones that were able to do what I could not: accept. I could NOT accept my body for another day. I hated it, I hated the way it felt.

Having my brother here has really put a damper on my food nazi-ism. He wants to eat crap, mostly. Dairy Queen. Steak n' Shake. Cold Stone. McDonald's. Can I eat these things? Sure. I'm not going cold turkey, and I'm not depriving myself. But, I can't eat anything else for the rest of the day, usually. Mom is still on the "eh, whatever" diet plan, but she's trying. And I'm trying to help her.

I want to be able to look back a year from now, and be proud of how much I accomplished.

I'm looking at this whole process from the perspective that I've already lost 10 pountds. I don't care (well, I do, but not as much as you would think) how far I have to GO, because that's not motivational, and that's not going to keep me on track.

OH! In other good news, because you're not tired of my ramblings yet, Webster Univ. accepted me into their MAT in Secondary Education program for Fall 2012. Who's going back to school? This chick!

A rant about... everything.

...And here we are. Kirkwood.

There are no mice skittering across the floors.

No snakes dropping from the ceilings.

No drafts coming in the windows at night.

No chipmunks escaping the bathroom cabinets.

No mold growing in the bathroom.

No sticky glue traps ending up in beds (with mice still in them).

Sadly, all of these things have happened in the old house.

Not just once, but repeatedly.

I feel safe, comfortable, and warm in the new house. I feel like it's actually home, instead of just some shitty place that is being temporarily rented. I finally feel like I've... landed.

I even have a dresser. I haven't had one of those since I left Florida. Seriously. I sold my dresser to my produce manager when I still worked for Publix. I couldn't afford to move it.

Moving was a process. It's hard, not having reliable men in my life. Or Mom's life. We had two awesome co-workers do the heavy lifting. They busted their asses, and we are forever indebted to them.

Did my uncle show up?

No.

Did my "boyfriend" show up?

No.

When my aunt and uncle finally DID show up, it was the day after, to bring dinner, and bitch about how many stuffed animals they've seen me move over the past few years.

My co-workers had something to say about that, too.

Since this is kind of a sore subject for me (not the stuffed animals, but the thought process that goes along with them), I feel the need to explain a little bit.

Firstly, I am incredibly sentimental. Mom and I both are. She has socks that were my grandmother's. Her mixer. Her favorite mixing bowl. Dishtowels. I have the only things ever given to me by my grandparents: stuffed animals. I was a very small child when they passed away, and thus, I received a lot of toys and stuffed animals. The toys have long since been given away, or have broken, but I s

till know which grandparent gave me which stuffed animal, and for which occasion. I will probably never part with them. I didn't know my grandparents for very long, but I do know that they adored me. I've heard stories about them. I feel like I know them. And I want to continue to feel that way about them. The stuffed animals keep me connected.

Secondly, and this is the thought process part, I was an engaged woman once. I made a home with a man. A home that was ready to start a life, and a family, and all of the things that go with it. That home had to be quickly packed away and loaded onto a truck to move to Missouri. It was then unloaded into a bedroom. Yes, one single bedroom. Thus, the majority went to storage, whether in a basement, or a storage unit, or my aunt's house. There was never an opportunity to sort through things, get rid of things I didn't need or want or use. From that little basement storage locker, it went to the basement at the shitty house we just moved from. It got to a point where I was too terrified to go into the garage to sort through things. Now, I did finally sort it. Mom and I went through it together. I donated more stuff than you would believe. And yes, I do still have a lot of stuff. But I'm also holding onto the things that will one day make a home again. I'm holding onto my nice dishes, and pots and pans, and wine glasses, and wall art, and books. Books that I had in college, or in high school, or as a kid, but books that I loved, that have been read hundreds of times, and that mean something to me.

So, yes, I have a lot of stuff.

I also have a lot of stuffed animals.

And dammit, they are mine, and Mom doesn't mind storing them in her basement.

Plus, they aren't hard to move.

I don't know why it works me up that everyone bitches about them. Maybe I feel the need to defend myself, at the age of 24, for having a collection of stuffed bears.

I'm not really sure.

In any case, I will move my own damned stuff next time if it's an issue.

...anyway.

I now have real-person internet instead of stuck-in-the-styx internet, so feel free to send me things to download. I will be happy to download just about anything.

As the Barenaked Ladies said... "One Week."

The notice is in. Old Navy is no longer my main source of income.

I may stick around for extra cash on the weekends, but the beauty of this whole situation is that I don't HAVE to stick around. I can completely turn my back on Old Navy and be ok. More than ok.

I start at my new office on the 26th of September. My last day at Old Navy is the 22nd. This coming weekend will be my last as a retail employee. I can dedicate myself to my students, to my passions. I can visit long lost family and friends in other states, without having to worry about who will be there to do markdowns, or put up signs, or handle spreadsheets.

Someone else will have to learn how to work the lights, and the AC unit, and the LOD sheets, and the Top 30 report. Dan is probably going to flounder for a bit, trying to find someone to do the work that I do for such little money. Honestly... my position is not worth it. At all. I feel sorry for whoever takes it, I really do. I hope they get promoted quickly, and that they don't have to waste their time in that position for 5 years. I hope Dan goes to bat for them the way he didn't go to bat for me.

I'm embarking on a journey, friends, where I can truly be an adult, and I will not be embarassed to talk about my job. You can join me on it, right here.

The Semester Begins...

It's strange to think, for so many years I kept track of time in "semesters." Spring, summer, fall. Winter was just where Christmas break fell between Fall and Spring semesters. I kept time in school years. Now... it feels odd to watch my friends, my family, my co workers and my students return to the classroom. And me? I'm just working. No classes. No parking stickers. No syllabi to read. In many ways, I enjoy it, but in many ways... I miss it. I miss being a student. I was so good at it, and it brought me certain types of nerdy joy... not to mention social time.

To continute my summer of growing up and becoming a real adult... I applied for a job. A real, big kid job that is NOT in retail, does NOT force me to work weekends, and requires business clothing.

And I think I nailed the interview. I'm crossing every single one of my crossable limbs, because Old Navy is not cutting it any more. I'm a college grad, I'm 24. I don't WANT to run around after 17 year olds that don't care anymore. I don't WANT to work on Thanksgiving. I want to be able to visit my family on holidays. I want to be able to move out, on a salary that is actually fair for the amount of work that I do.

Basically, I want to start living like a grown up, because I deserve it.

Grad school is still there. It's not going anywhere. I will still go. Just... not right now.

I'm having too much fun teaching color guard. I will have an amazing time creating a show for winter guard. I don't want to give that up just yet.

Most of you have probably heard me complain about Matt at some point or another. But... we've talked. I've decided that I don't want to be with anyone else right now. Even as other guys tell me they are interested... I can only think "...but you're not Matt. You're not the one I actually want." I can't force myself to feel for anyone else what I feel for him. And, even if our relationship is not the greatest thing in the world, even if I get frustrated sometimes, and he gets distant sometimes... I'm happier being with him than I am being without him, and I'm willing to stick it out and see where it goes. Yes, it sucks that he is in Rolla for school... and I'm... well... here. But I can't change that. I can only go visit.

And so, readers, this is life now. Working. Relationships. I'm ACTUALLY an adult. It's a bit terrifying, so hold off on it as long as you can, ok?

Growing Pains

And so, after weeks of contemplation, nightmares, angry emails, and one long lunch date with a therapist (who is a friend of Mom's, I didn't actually seek therapy for this)... the decision has been made.

I stay.

Here. In St. Louis.

Things are going well at work. Things are going well at home. I'm settled, and happy. I'm ready to take on the next phase of my life... and it's going to happen right here, in the Gateway City.

I couldn't leave, and feel comfortable. I don't feel as though my time is "up" here. Plus, the money didn't come through, and that's a huge factor for me. I HATE feeling as though I'm not financially secure.

I'm excited to stay. A little sad, as well, because I feel as though I've let some people down... I can hear my Dad's response now. He's going to compare this to the wedding. And the full-ride scholarship. He's going to say that I bail on everything, because I'm lazy, or afraid, or whatever adjective he wants to use. If he doesn't realize by now that I'm neither of those things, it's his loss... right?

I have lazy tendencies, and I'm cautious, but I'm also hard-working and brave in most aspects of my life. Fuck anyone who thinks differently.

I am not giving up on grad school altogether... I'm just stopping to breathe for a second. Or a year. Whatever it takes. Why rush things? I tried to rush everything in my life, before I even turned 21. Why keep doing it at 24?

I also kind of have something-- or someone-- to stick around for. I haven't been in this position for awhile... but I'm enjoying it. I haven't truly dated anyone since... I don't even want to think about it. I've been on dates, yes, definitely. Most of them ended badly, or strangely, and nothing really came out of them. Most of the time, the guy seemed interested, but wouldn't continue to put forth the effort to actually make me his girlfriend. This one, though... this one is different. There is definite effort involved.

My summer is going to be amazing, because I'm going to make it so. I'm spending as much time with friends as possible. I'm taking road trips to visit those that live a little out of the way (here's looking at you two, Meg and Sab!). I'm enjoying a budding romance. I'm watching good friends get married, and start their lives. I'm revisiting old hobbies and talents. I'm shooting more than ever. I'm learning. I'm teaching. I guess that's growing up, right?

This will be the summer of romance, true friendships, and new beginnings. And I don't even have to leave the state.

Fears, rational and irrational.

Graduate. Degree-holding citizen. These words actually APPLY to me now. Yes, really. I didn't think the day would ever come either. It's been an incredibly long journey, one that I'm happy to have completed. I'm also really glad that I didn't stress myself out and try to do it in 4 years. As a good friend of mine says... graduating from college after 4 years is like leaving the party at 10 pm. And well, it's kind of true. If I'd done it in 4, I never would have met the awesome people I have over the past year or so (I'm lookin' at you, ladies, Meg and Kat!). Things have honestly never been better for me, and I'm ready to move on to the next step.

But I'm afraid.

I get bouts of fear, usually at night, when lying in bed, thinkin' about stuff. Or, when I'm driving around in the Central West End, windows open, the weather perfect. Or, when I'm wandering around Plowsharing Crafts, searching for finger puppets made of free trade materials.

Will I find people like you in Tallahassee? Will I find places like these? Will I adjust accordingly, the way I adjusted so well to St. Louis?

Having my father here for 3 days opened my eyes a little bit. I had to play tour guide for someone from my home town. Where did I take him?

Delmar. Central West End. Oishi. My favorite places to get a good drink. My favorite places to hear live music. My favorite places to people watch. My favorite places to get great food.

I'm scared to leave these places, scared to leave these people. I hit my stride here... am I really ready to leave?

Hell Hath No Fury...

Although I'm generally trying to avoid making this a spot for my every day complaints and bitch sessions, this one needs to be written out.

Gentlemen, please, take this as a guide.

Women are simple creatures, really. Tell me I'm right, tell me I'm pretty, and give me a hug. Then, I will stroke your ego as much as you want. I promise.

Do NOT use me to stroke your ego without giving me anything in return. I'm not that girl. If you flirt, I will flirt back, but I WILL expect that at some point this will go somewhere.

When it doesn't, I will be upset. I will be pissed. And I will probably slap you. You've been warned.