Perforation Problems

Though Michael really couldn't care less about whether or not I diet, he's been trying to support me by thinking up ways to incentivize sticking to my plan. What we came up with (naturally) involves chocolate as reward. Shut up, it works. As long as I've eaten healthy the rest of the day, I get to eat a truffle at night. A little chocolate goes a long way.* Except I haven't been able to eat a truffle for the last three weeks because I've been out of control. Pizza and cookies everywhere! Our conversation yesterday: "Do you get to eat a truffle today?" "NO." "Why not?" "Because YOU took FOREVER to get home and I ATE ALL THE GRAHAM CRACKERS." It happens. You feel me. It's not my fault. -------- There are two best ways to eat ice cream. The first: put a couple scoops in a bowl, then stir it up until it gets soft, mushy, and creamy. Trust me -- it tastes better. We used to call it witches' soup, and the s...

I'm in love with my new computer. I'm not kidding. I'm in love with my computer in such a way that I'm sitting here writing a blog post -- the first one in three months -- instead of making my dinner, just because I want to hear the clicky clack of the keys and watch the font tap skip tap skip tap skip across the screen. Omg. I want to hug it to me and rub my cheek against the keyboard. I'm not insane. Swears. See, it's crazy how attached you can get to a computer. They really become something personal -- full of your screenshots and downloads, every URL you visit, the random images you photoshop together to entertain yourself... Have you ever been on someone else's computer and felt slightly dirty? Like you were invading something private? It's like wearing someone else's underwear. When I got my last computer over three years ago, it was in preparation for going to my first real marketing conference, in big old scary Boston. I typed my notes...

It was a bad idea to let myself stop my writing challenge after 60 days. I wrote the very first day after post 60, but I haven't written since, besides the one post driven by my poison ivy agony. Well, that's not true. I have written, but it's all unfinished. Incomplete. Not-even-formed. When I opened up my blog today, I had four unfinished drafts in there from the last two months or so. Here's the first sentence of each: "Let's talk for a minute about the blissful, perfect sensation in scratching an itch." "It's amazing how quickly you get out of the habit of writing." "Is everyone around me really stupid or am I full of myself? Both?" "Today was one of those days where I literally went from meeting to meeting to meeting, all day, from 8:30 - 6:00." All of these would have been serious works of literary genius -- I'm absolutely sure. But I guess my slacking off in this area is to be expected. I've replaced ...

I caught poison ivy last Sunday while clearing out a grassy area in our yard. I had a grand vision of a beautiful, brightly colored wildflower area that would magically take care of itself. That vision went so horribly wrong. It didn't even occur to me that there might be poison ivy in the yard. Come to think of it, I've never even really thought about poison ivy, period. Well, friend, let me tell you -- I've thought about it a lot in the last four days. I have a wealth of knowledge about poison ivy now. For example: did you know that urushiol, the oil in poison ivy that causes these giant red welts that are currently all over my body, is basically an indestructible, immortal, vicious substance that lives forever? I know "immortal" and "lives forever" are synonyms but I really wanted to drive my point home there. You can kill poison ivy by smothering it for a year, but if you take the cover off and touch the dead plant, you'll still get a rash. You...

(Day Sixty) "How's your blog post going? Is it awesome?" I've heard this question over and over again from Michael over the course of this 60 Day Challenge. As I got closer to this, the last post of the challenge, the question turned into, "What are you going to write for your last one? It has to be something special, right?" I hate these questions. I've told him so. I hate them almost as much as I hate being asked if I'm excited about something. These questions ooze with expectations. Is your blog post going to be awesome? No, it's not. It's going to be the most boring post ever. I'm going to write about how Clyde smells . Are you going to write about something special? No. There's nothing special. I'm going to write about every day shit, like how Clyde smells, and it's going to be boring. Are you excited about _____? No. Stop expecting me to be excited. Life is boring. Of course life isn't boring. All my ...

(Day Fifty-Nine) When we were in middle school, my best friend used to get what she called "orange fever." It seemed to be brought on by cheez-its, cheese puffs, and carrots. Orange foods. She'd go into some kind of hyper, drunken state where everything was funny and everything was the most exciting thing that could possibly happen. I have a picture of her in my mind: framed by the refrigerator door, a bag of baby carrots in her hand and a gleeful grin on her face, she's frozen as her 11-year old self, bobbed hair, oversized features and all. I remember laughing hysterically at whatever she was saying. Life was hilarious. We probably went outside after and ate cookie dough while jumping on the trampoline, because that's how we spent our time. My best friends have always loved food like I do. Do you remember that hyper feeling that was only possible as a child? It must have been some mix of sugar and hormones and your brain being unable to contain your emotio...

(Day Fifty-Eight) My poor dog is starving. I commiserate with him because I, too, often feel like I'm starving. And yet I believe him when he says he's more hungry than I am, because I sneak chocolate all the time. He has no access to food to sneak. Seriously, though, he's pretty hungry. This diet is rough on him. He just leapt up on the couch so he could stare at the closed goldfish carton on the table. Today I left work early to go meet with a contractor about our attic, then I had about 10 minutes to eat some Chikfila before my photography class. As I was sitting there, I realized it's been awhile since I've gone somewhere and eaten by myself. I kinda really like it. Is that weird? There's something calming about sitting down by yourself with all that noise and conversation around you and yet knowing you don't have to say one word to anyone. I don't want to do it every day, but every once in awhile is great. And then in my class we learned som...