Despite some heavy sadness the past day or two, I have done some incredibly cool things. For instance, I went out into the actual world. Shopping. For the first time in, roughly, seven or eight years, I own a swimming suit. Which means I picked on out. Which means I looked at them without my head exploding and plan on swimming (at the apartment pool, which is on my block, and I am sooo lucky) - or rather wading...I never learned to swim! - this summer. I also bought some new clothes, which were supposed to be shorts - like knee length because that's more me, really - the first shorts I would have worn in years. but as I'm rather short, they're pretty long. Still. Mary will walk out in public with her leg hair visible this summer. And on cooler days, they will do a swell job of showing off my kneesocks. (Eee!) ...That is, once they're exchanged. I need to exchange three of the things I bought. It's really not the end of the world. (Why?) Because my thoughts when I tried to pull them on (the day I try things on at a store will be beyond an accomplishment, it will be time to check for alien possession of my body) I thought things like, "Hello! I have hips! Are you aware of this?" and, when I knew they were too small... "Damnit! I'm not going to be able to wear this tomorrow!" As opposed to... other things. My main unhappiness was that I'd have to wait to wear them. I think it cool that I care so little about the number I cannot correctly remember it. But maybe I will now. I need a mneumonic device of some sort.
I also bought a shirt that says "I [heart] nerds." It's lovely. But it's extremely thin fabric, and it has glitter that I do not trust to stay where it is. But, hey, it was cheap (not just in construction) and I'll enjoy it for at least awhile...
I tried on the swimming suit also. And I looked at myself, and I was like, "Hey!" which basically translates to, "Holy shit! I don't look like a fashion model! Rock on!" I was so happy to see my healthy little stomach poking out, and I patted it gently and was like, "So there." Healthy. Rock.
I am also planning to do incredibly cool things. Like dye my spucking^ hair! (I know; I know. How long must this damn "I'm going to do it! Really! I just haven't yet!" craziness go on. Mary wants blue hair now!) I just have to get that picture taken for my grandma. I can't stand the thought of not doing that for her, when I can "so easily" do that for her. And when I really doubt I'll be able to give her the third photo in the series, which is also the final: the wedding photo. Perhaps more amazingly (but don't tell anyone...I mean...even when you talk to me about it, keep it a little quiet...)
I live extremely close to the park that houses, like, twelve different cultural institutions... The outside sidewalk of which (and why the *outside* sidewalk? someone made that decision...) is a mob of joggers, runners, walkers, skaters... There are people with kids in strollers, pushing the stroller and running behind it. There are so many heart-rate monitors, it looks like a new trend in accessorizing. It's scary. And, sure, some of them really like to exercise. And exercise can be really good for you. And it can be really not. And well, I've been around a (different) block a few times...I went to ANAD's annual candlelight vigil (or rather, one of the gazillion being held in conjunction with it... ooh, but maybe someday... I can't imagine how powerful the big one in DC would be...) and I just can't stand this anymore. So I'm going to print something. (The question at this point is...what? Quotes? Questions? The ANAD pledge about self-acceptance? I need something that won't put everyone off, that doesn't sound accusatory or insist that all exercise is unhealthy - and also doesn't sound "loving" to the point I look like a cult member... You didn't know cult members wore I-heart-nerds t-shirts, did you? ...And yes, I like the candy also. Although the - falsely christened - Everlasting Gobstopper entirely wins my vote. ...Since American Idol, I've developed this insistent belief that everything happens through voting, and that my vote matters. Which could result in actual participation in my first presidential election. Otherwise known as Operation Uproot The Shrub. How much longer can this paranthetical go on, you think? I bet it could go on a long, long time. We could vote. What do you think. Should we end it now? All those in favor say- OKAY!)
Overwhelming support of ending the parenthetical. My stuffed animals are worrying for my sanity. Good news: I have a session today. Yeay, Friday. Tomorrow, I'm seeing my dad. (I'm seeing my dad twice in less than one week! And I'm counting the trip as "one." Granted, this visit was mainly spurred by the fact that I left my Rogers book in his car and am desperate to retrieve it, if not to keep him from reading :shrugs somewhat indifferently: because I need to be writing in it. I also have six cds trapped in his cd-changer, which broke on the way home. (No music. Aihhhhhhhhhh! I slept. It was an issue of survival.) Luckily, it didn't break on the way up, when we were listening to the albums I play about as often as the radio plays that spucking "Harder to Breathe" song. My only constantly-played-at-this-point cd that he has is Matt Nathanson's "Beneath The Fireworks" - and I have that copied to my computer. Which is how I'm listening to it right now.
A little "attached." A little focused as Julian once said... But, hey, it's not a bad thing. It's even evidence of a larger trend: Mary liking boys. In music. And not just angry ones. Maybe one day, they'll be truly integrated into my literary and personal lives as well. They're doing better in the literary life than they once were. But I'm still - after so many years in school reading nothing but men, practically - entirely biased in the favor of female authors and protagonists. Also, if the universe would like to help me with this task - not having dreams where, like, five boys feel me up in the course of one school day, would help. Spucking nightmares. Seriously.
So what do you think all those runners/ joggers/ walkers/ etc want to read??? Or will read, when a cute little weirdo in a funny t-shirt smiles at them and pushes it into their hand? Hmm...
I love!
~me
^spucking - my alternate curse word for those times when I don't really have the anger to call upon my favorite curse word; (assuming they're not being used as verbs or violently, fuck-based curses are my favorite because "fucking" has the best sound-kick of all the cuss words...spucking does an impressive job of imitating though, really)