Category Archives: Things I Learned on TV

Kacey: “You’re a loser!” Me: “I lost my hand!”

Long-Winded Metaphors, Things I Learned on TV, , , , , , , , , , , ,

My friend Kacey, fellow blogger, displaced Ypsilanti-ite (Ypsilantian? What do we call ourselves?), and Lincoln-lifer, recently called me out on her blog. She said, and I quote, “Hey, Rachel — post something, loser!”

Or maybe I’m actually paraphrasing via my self-deprecation filter. Ahem. It was probably more like a gentle, personal, encouraging call out suggesting I write a little something something in the month of December.

The truth is, I’ve written lots and lots and lots of words since my last post. They’re all sitting there as drafts. Four, pretty much complete, thousand word drafts. So it’s not really writer’s block that I’ve got going on. Rather, it’s more like writer’s disdain. I’ve got lots and lots of words — I just hate them all.

Writing has always made me feel so good and it’s still cathartic, but not the positive release I’m used to. The words I’ve put down on the page don’t feel together, with it, insightful. They don’t feel funny or clever. Not even clear. That makes me exceptionally sad. Depression and grief have taken so much already — my light, my exclamation points. My words too? It’s too much!

So Kacey is right. It’s time to put something back out there.

Here’s a list of all the things I wrote about with all those unlikable words:

  1. I went back to the fertility clinic for a post-IVF, post-miscarriage, here’s-what-we-learned consultation. The verdict: the chances of us having children, even with IVF, are exceptionally low.
  2. I am devastated.
  3. So… in some sort of desperate attempt to control my body and overcompensate for all the things I/it cannot do, the things I’ve lost, the panic I’m feeling, I signed up to run the DC Rock ‘n’ Roll marathon in March…
  4. … and the training has been going really well. Running is so good for me…
  5. … also, I emailed my girlfriends in DC to see if they wanted to run or just hangout while I’m there to run and they were AMAZING. I’m so lucky to have them. They are so good for me.
  6. Then the day before Thanksgiving, my grandfather, my dad’s dad, known to my young self as Papa, passed away unexpectedly. We went to Marquette for his funeral on Monday and it was beautiful — full of light, literally and figuratively. A beautiful service in a beautiful church…
  7. … and I was reminded that no matter how much my anxiety/depression tells me I don’t want to be around family, that I’m not good enough, pretty enough, pregnant enough to even deserve to be in their presence — I freaking love them and it was really amazing to spend time with all those Voncks back in the yoop. My grandfather passed away and I was so sad, but his legacy, the family he built on rock, is a good and beautiful and powerful thing.

Seven relatively brief points. That’s better. Delete, delete, delete the drafts. That’s what’s been going on and I’ve mostly just been feeling down about all of it, even despite the good bits — the family and friends, support and love. Because depression is kind of like that.

Then, yesterday, after I saw Kacey’s public slam (except not really), I was talking to my friend Marie and, because our conversations always take wild and weird turns, she told me about a super bitter guy who never got over losing half of his hand in a factory accident and I instantly imagined him as Nicholas Cage playing Ronny in the movie Moonstruck.

"I lost my hand! I lost my bride! Johnny has his hand! Johnny has his bride! You want me to take my heartache, put it away and forget it?" {Source}
“I lost my hand! I lost my bride! Johnny has his hand! Johnny has his bride! You want me to take my heartache, put it away and forget it?” {Source}

I love the movie Moonstruck so ridiculously much — I mean, it’s kitschy (Marie’s perfect word!) and ridiculous and Cher-filled and perhaps Nicholas Cage’s poorest acting ever, but OMG, I cannot help but LOVE it. And my little chat with Marie and the knowledge that Seth’ll be out and about policing the good city of Marshfield Friday and Saturday night settled my plans to stream Moonstruck at least once over the weekend, probably with popcorn and some cider and a pup to snuggle me. Yes, this sounds quite good.

And then as I was scrolling through Facebook last night (took it off my phone, but I cannot completely kick the habit), my friend Sandy posted about watching Moonstruck. Of all the random 1980s movies…

I don’t really believe in meant-to-bes anymore. But it was an interesting coincidence, and it certainly made me think because I suddenly saw myself in another 5, maybe 10 years, screaming at Seth from my basement bakery:

“I lost my baby! I lost my family! [Every single other woman my age] has her baby! [Every single other woman my age] has her family! You want me to take my heartache, put it away and forget it?” in a self-righteous pity party many bitter years in the making. Just like the movie, except considerably less likely to lead to a tumble between the sheets, amazing wolf-based monologue, and a bloody steak for dinner. Because (1) Seth isn’t super turned on by my crazy, (2) he’s really not really much for metaphors, wolf-based or otherwise, and (3) he doesn’t generally do the cooking. Instead, he’d probably just shake his head, suggest I make an appointment with my therapist, and leave me be for another 5 – 10 years. No makeover, no opera, just real life and bitterness… because life is not a movie, no matter how much I love Moonstruck. (Although — basement bakery, babe? Let’s please consider that for seriously someday…)

I don’t want to be that person. I really, really don’t want to be that person — spending the rest of my life bitter over my missing limb.

Granted, depression, sadness, grief… none of that is the same as bitterness. But I think it could be a gateway, so to speak, if I don’t keep working on myself. Keep looking for the positive, finding ways to expose myself to light and love and goodness, to let it come in through the cracks. Bitterness would probably be easier, born of non-action, but it won’t end as well for me as it does for Ronny. I choose to work for the alternative, even when it’s hard.

And maybe that’s what the commitment to 26.2 miles is, the email to my friends even though many of them are the “every single other woman my age” that bitter-Ronny-me could end up ranting and raving about, the time spent with family despite the panic in my chest on the way. But it’s also gentleness — because life is hard right now, I did lose a limb, and that doesn’t heal overnight. I can only bend so far without breaking, but even slow progress is progress. Or so my yoga instructors tell me (that’s point 8 — it was another thing I wrote about).

 

In the spirit of advent, my friend Dawn recently reminded me of a Leonard Cohen quote:

There is a crack, a crack in everything
That’s how the light gets in.

Turns out, he wasn’t the first one to say something like that. Ernest Hemingway said, “We are all broken, that’s how the light gets in.” And Sufi mystic Rumi said, “The wound is the place where the Light enters you.” That’s a lot of pretty wise people — Muench, Cohen, Hemingway, and Rumi. My job, as a person full of cricks, cracks, and crevices then, is to expose myself to as much light as possible, even when it’s hard, when it’s blinding, and when it’s faint, if I want to avoid the bitterness that can creep in otherwise. Right now, that means running and yoga, family and friends with self-respecting gentleness, and, as Kacey was right to point out, Under the Tapestry too. thanks for hanging in there with me and for being a source of light, always.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Congratulations on making it all the way to the end of this post! You’ve earned a bonus photo!

Full family photo from my grandfather's wedding to his second wife, Anne, in July 1994. The things you uncover before a funeral...
Full family photo from my grandfather’s wedding to his second wife, Anne, in July 1994 (excluding, of course, the three grandkids who weren’t yet born and who got quite the kick out of my hair). It’s no wonder my Great Uncle Elmer didn’t recognize me if this is the picture of me he carries around in his mind’s eye. The things you uncover before a funeral…

I make the rockin world go round.

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It’s a self-deprecating Queen reference… get me? Although, how self-deprecating can a fat bottom be if Queen rocked out about it once upon a time. Not very, am I right?

A couple weeks ago, I got a chance to catch up with a good friend from the old hood — we chatted for a good long while and lots and lots of memories came flooding back. I probably hadn’t talked to Dante in more than 5 years… maybe even 7 or 8… since whenever the last time we ran into each other at our parents’ houses on Raintree Drive…

After our conversation, I was reminded of his long ago (possibly still, but at least he didn’t use it) description of me… as an endangered moose.

Have you ever seen a moose in person? It’s a total insult. They’re enormous and goofy looking all weird legs and big body and crazy antlers. Insults were kind of what we did though, so the grain of truth in it, meh… part of growing up nextdoor to a boy the same age, I suppose.

It made me laugh to think about it again last week and it’s been on my mind.

I actually nearly ran into a moose in Michigamee one time– the town motto is “Michigamee, where the moose run loose” so it’s not terribly surprising that that’s where it would have happened. I came around a bend on US41 in my bitty little Geo Tracker and bam, there it was. Standing in the road, looking at me. We sat there like that for a while — me, a moose, looking straight ahead at the real deal.

I’m a big person — big in pretty much every way a woman “shouldn’t” be big. My body, height and width, my hair, my head, my hands and feet. Heck, even my jaw is big. I’m a big person.

These days I’m feeling a lot more ok with that. I mean, I am what I am. I can exercise and eat well and use hair products to minimize some of it, but when it comes to bone structure and genetic propensity for size, there’s not a ton I can do.

Actually, let me rephrase that, not a ton that I’m willing to do… I did spend several months thin as could be, but a little scene from Drop Dead Gorgeous comes to mind when I think about it:

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“With one week to go before the pageant, I was finishing my outfit, rehearsing my talent, brushing up on current events, and running 18 miles a day on about 400 calories. I was ready.”

Yeah, I got sucked up in the wedding crazies… very little food, lots and lots of gym time, just not a life I’m willing to live.

So bigness it is.

What really surprised me recently though was how much it matters to me, even at the age of 31, that I see people that look like me, big me, being awesome.

On Tuesday night, Seth and I went with some friends to see Spy, the new Melissa McCarthy movie. It… was… hillarious. I laughed hard for two hours straight. I just loved it.

No, it’s not Oscar-worthy cinema, but it’s flipping funny and Melissa McCarthy and her amazing bestie-from-the-basement Miranda Hart were amazing.

So were Rose Byrne and Jason Statham and Jude Law and Allison Janney and the rest of the cast. But man, Melissa and Miranda. They rocked my world?

Why?

Because they were hilarious, mostly. But also, and the thing I’m trying to talk about now, is because they were completely and totally imperfect. Large and in charge, they looked like me and they were awesome.

The IMDB page for Spy -- case in point.
The IMDB page for Spy — case in point.

We all have personally defining characteristics. I can’t know how other people see me, but I know that when I think about how others see me and the way I see myself, I think big — body, hair, feet, hands, brain, jaw. All of it. Big.

So for me, to see someone else who is big being awesome? It thrills me.

And it was mostly just fun until I checked Facebook mid-post-writing last night and saw Daily Kos’s breaking coverage of the absolutely horrifying AME church shooting in Charleston, SC, and I realized that it doesn’t just matter to me that I see big people being awesome — you need to see it too. And we both need to see a lot more diverse people being awesome all the dang time. Because then maybe fat people, black people, transgender people, disfigured people, people of all different shapes and sizes and colors and orientations won’t be scary, they’ll just be people. People with the capacity to be awesome. Or funny or sexy or interesting or whatever. People that deserve to be.

I realize that it’s not really fair to compare weight bias and the expectations that society has about women’s bodies to the disgusting, pervasive, systemic racism that still exists in our country… but you get my point, don’t you?

And it was really hammered home to me when another neighbor from long ago, who lived behind both Dante and me, Heather, posted this BuzzFeed link on Facebook:

These Are The Victims of the Charleston Church Shooting

People, beautiful, awesome, amazing, real people… just like you and me. People we need to see. Not just now that they’re gone, but all the time. It’s not the answer, but it’s part of it, don’t you think. I mean, think back to the whole ridiculous notion of separate-but-equal when little black girls wants to play with little white dollies because that’s what they saw as the norm, as they good, as the worthy. I hate that. It makes my stomach turn. But it still happens on our tvs and our movie screens and our magazine pages. We can talk about and celebrate Viola Davis and Mindy Kaling and Melissa McCarthy and Laverne Cox and Peter Dinklage, yes… but those are singular names, the exceptions rather than the rule.

It’s important to see ourselves, to understand that we have the potential to be awesome. It’s also important to see others, those who are different than us, to understand that they have the potential to be awesome. We all do. We need to see it. We can all make the rockin world go round

Be still, Cody.

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My sister-common-law (because my brother loves her and therefore, so do I, married or not) is in love with Jeff Goldblum. It’s cool to say that here because (1) it’s hilarious to me and (2) my brother is the one who told me about the celeb crush, so it’s not like it’s a secret or anything. Plus, I can totally get on board with the hotness of Jeff Goldblum– turns out, not only is he a fabulous actor in a million and one good movies, but he’s also a crazy amazing jazz piano player. Look it up. Good stuff.

Source: Ummm... Steph's favorite?
Source: Ummm… Steph’s favorite?

One of my favorite Jeff Goldblum characters (besides the “must… go… faster!!!!” Dr. Ian Malcom in Jurassic Park) is Alistair Hennessey in The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou. He makes me laugh so hard… especially when he meet’s Cody, the dog, asks his name, and then instantly smacks him on the nose with a newspaper and says, super seriously, “Be still, Cody.” Even though Cody was already being totally still and well-behaved. It’s just so ridiculous.

Alistair Hennessey {Source}
Alistair Hennessey {Source}

And I thought about that two Fridays ago while I was home sick from work with a fever and ridiculous cough (I told you, Satan moved into my chest and was not about to leave) and spent the day watching Wes Anderson movies (!!) on the couch while texting my brother and sister. I thought about it because “Be still, Cody.” was going to be the name of my next blog post. My next someday blog post. Which ended up being a really long time away. Yet, here we are. Finally!

Impossible to not think about how much I love my sibs during this one.
Impossible to not think about how much I love my sibs during this one.

I really did get real sick. Don’t worry though, I say that with complete perspective realizing that it’s not like I was diagnosed with cancer or ebola or something real serious. I just mean that I got knocked on my butt by a nasty virus. For two solid weeks. Also by some opportunistic bacteria that took residence in my ears and caused a double ear infection on top of the viral crud. Any amount of walking (and I seriously mean any… like even walking-to-a-meeting-down-the-hall any) caused an unstoppable coughing jag, complete with gasping for breath and tears running down my cheeks and the whole nine yards, and it was two full weeks of that. I couldn’t do anything. I had to be still.

Curly would snuggle a bit, but didn't love the coughing. Can't really blame her. It was obnoxious.
Curly would snuggle a bit, but didn’t love the coughing. Can’t really blame her. It was obnoxious.

Don’t get me wrong, I totally love a little stillness in my life. I love to lounge around and read books without moving for long glorious periods of time. So long as it’s a choice, though. Because as the kitchen rapidly deteriorated and my diet of all cereal all the time became totally boring and the laundry piled up and Curly wasn’t getting walks and, and, and… the stillness got to be really out of control. But the fact of the matter is, I did not have a choice. So stillness it was. For two weeks. No cleaning, no blogging, no yard work, no cooking… just to and from work (also the urgent care), to and from bed (or the couch or the floor, I wasn’t picky for a minute there), to and from Walgreen’s (because I went through three boxes of Mucinex), and to and from coughing fits. Blech.

During the second week of my cold, Seth was in Miami. And as the dishes and laundry and cough drop wrappers piled up, I felt guiltier and guiltier. I really didn’t want him to come home to that mess. The evidence of my laziness.

Except, he told me on the phone, between coughing spells, that he really didn’t care. He was just glad to be coming home. To be with me and our pup. To sleep in his own bed (on which I promised to at the very least put new sheets). He really didn’t care. I was sick and I did what I had to do.

And what I had to do, for two weeks, was be still.

Like getting whacked on the nose with a newspaper, my cold made me practice some serious stillness. I did not love it.

Interestingly, at the same time I was coming down with this cold, I was also starting a local mindfulness class with my friend Emily. And although I missed a week (on account of the coughing), I am learning and thinking about how important some intentional stillness can be on a daily basis. There I am realizing just how hard true intentional stillness can really be. Different from the stillness associated with relaxing with a book on the couch, where my mind is anything but still. But true, mind, body, and soul stillness. If only I could have thought about that and given myself some of those blissful, yet challenging, minutes while I was sick.

For me, what it takes to be still is conditional. When I was sick, it was the cough initially, but ultimately the notion of just letting it going– recognizing my limitations, being patient with my lungs and my ears and my throat. In a moment of mindfulness, it’s a deep breath in and a deep breath out, sometimes a mantra (God is good… Always… Always… Always…). In moments of fury, it’s a relaxed conversation about something else that brings me to a place of good humor (that sentence is about this morning, 5 minutes chatting with Marie and I’m always better). Whatever the cue though, there is definitely something to be said for being still. Letting the rest go.

Even more to be said for not coughing. Thank goodness that’s over.

But most of all, this:

Ha! What do you think -- Tom? Steph? {Source}
Ha! What do you think — Tom? Steph? {Source}

And, finally, Z is for Zoolander.

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In the year 2001, the great and handsome prophet Derek Zoolander asked a profound question… one with the power to affect us all:

“Did you ever think that maybe there’s more to life than being really, really… really ridiculously good looking?!”

And many hearts were glad.

Especially the heart of this girl:

Baby R 0.1

And this girl:

Baby R 0.2

And especially this girl:

Baby R 0.3

Because it was quite clear that she was not destined for a life of being even really (just one really) ridiculously good looking.

Whew.

Thanks be to Derek Zoolander, this girl finally heard it:

Baby R 0.4

Well, not that girl exactly… but that girl a few months later (the photo above was taken in the fall of 2000)… and many years more for internalization.

(Side note: yes, I do have an entire file folder dedicated to ugly pictures of myself. Is that weird?)

Zoolander, like Drop Dead Gorgeous (1999), Love Actually (2003), and Amelie (2001), came out at a very impressionable time in my life. And no matter how funny/unrealistic/weird those movies were/are– they made a big impact on me. BIG. Zoolander is no exception.

I guess I have a lot to ponder. (Zoolander quote.)

In addition to the quotable quotes and the most important lesson of all (more to life than being really, really good looking) there are a bunch of actual for realsies lessons to be learned, if you’ve watched the movie enough times…

1. Assuming that everyone is just waiting to tell you what a bad eu-google-izer you are is no way to live.

People aren’t always out to hurt you! I swear it! Some, yeah, but that’s their problem (or their editor’s), not yours. So give a person the benefit of the doubt. It could work out in your favor. Zoolander and Matilda were totally MFEO (made for each other– Sleepless in Seattle, another favorite) and it was a good thing he gave her a chance even after she hurt his feelings!

2. Have a go to for happy– like an orange mocha frappaccino!!

Derek is so super down after not winning male model of the year for the fourth year in a row, but his roomies know just the thing to cheer him up! (Maybe they could have done without the gas fight.) And in my life, I’ve had lots of roomies like that– Abby (my Fisky Sister) who told me stories from the top bunk to help me fall asleep; Erin, Adriane, and Aimee who put on a little bit of Abba Dancing Queen or Outkast Hey Ya for an impromptu dance party; Stephanie who popped Zoolander or Napoleon Dynamite into our $5 Korean Bazaar VCR; Seth who makes a great Harry Potter reference. (No joke, he told me last Friday that his patronus was me… cooking. Naturally, I swooned.)

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3. Own what you are, even it’s a merman. MERMAN.

There’s not shame in being who you are! So own it! … see the photo gallery above. That was me, y’all. No point in pretending anything different. Might as well laugh about it together. After all, plenty of those images are in people’s brains, and there’s not a darn thing I can do about that.

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4. Technology changes fast. REAL fast.

So… a huge punch line in the 2001 movie Zoolander is Derek’s itty bitty, teeny tiny phone. Do you remember that? When itty bitty phones were the shiz? And now we’ve got the the iPhone 6 and 6+… insanity. It wasn’t that long ago, really. Was it?

5. It’s good to know, and respect, what makes you farty and bloated.

For Jacobim Mugato, anything foamy will do it. For me? Anything with even a bit of lactose! Maybe I wouldn’t scald someone’s face if they tried to serve it to me. But I will take pains to avoid it so as to avoid the pains later. Just not worth the deliciousness.

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{Source}

6. If someone has to miraculously pull their underwear out of their butt to beat you– you’re kind of awesome.

For most of us, there’s always going to be someone better. Someone out there is faster, funnier, prettier, gentler, kinder, better at cooking, got a cleaner house, etc… but that doesn’t mean you’re not any of those things. Quit comparing and you’ll be happier. Guaranteed. You’ll at least have far fewer wedgies. (Side note: one time in middle school when I wore what I thought was the cutest outfit ever to school– train engineer overalls with a pretty white shirt with lace trimmed sleeves underneath– I got wedgied in the hallway. It was the wooooorst. No one likes a wedgie. And an elephant never forgets.)

7. Remember that most people are not professional film and television actors.

Except if Mindy Kaling actually became my friend, in which case, I would have a professional television actor for a friend. But alas, that day has not yet come. In the meantime, we don’t get to script the reactions of others. And even if we try, people are generally very prone to improv. Jerk people…

8. Age before beauty, goat cheese!

Honestly, I will happily take the wisdom of age over the beauty of youth. Granted, for me, youth wasn’t particularly beautiful (again, I reference you to the photos above)… so… maybe this one is more specific for me. But some of you can dig it, yes?

9. Talk it out! It’s usually pretty simple.

Derek and Hansel had quite the beef going on. Things were tense and everything kind of came to a head during the walk-off. (The walk-off judged by the David Bowie. So awesome.) Afterward, though, it only took one simple phrase and a brief discussion before things were all sorted out– “why you been acting so messed up toward me?” Both Derek and Hansel apologize for being whack. And that’s that. Just talk it out, yo. So simple. I even tried it once. (It’s so scary though!)

10. You can’t help who you love.

At the end of the movie, Maury says of Zoolander, “I love that kid. Dumb as a stump, but I love him.” And it’s true. When you love someone, you just do. There’s not always rhyme or reason to it. Dumb as a box of rocks, a la Derek Zoolander, or too intelligent for their own good, a la Sheldon Cooper and Amy Farrah Fowler. Love just happens anyway.

And finally, bonus #11. There’s always room for a David Duchovny cameo.

Why don’t you love me?!?!?!?!

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{Source}

In conclusion, Hi. I’m former graduate super student Rachel Stankowski and it’s my pleasure to welcome you to the Rachel Stankowski Center for Physicians Who Can’t Write Well… and Want to Learn to Do Other Stuff Well Too.

That’s what I’m talking about!!!!

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{Source}

 

And that, ladies and gentlemen, concludes our A to Z (plus an interlude for an XX) blog tour. Things were super tough when I started. Things are still kind of rough, but it always (always!) feels good to write… and all this letter by letter mumbo jumbo has allowed me to fill up my little notebook of thoughts. Get ready, cuz here I co-ome!

(I just heard that song on my Pandora, we played it in pep band in high school… recipe for being completely stuck in my head.)

 

PS: I totally watched Zoolander again, just one more time, to make sure I really got everything I could out of it. When I went to play it from Amazon Prime (I’m obsessed!) my options were to “resume” or “play from the beginning” because I watch it a lot… I am not ashamed!!!!

Sunshine on a Cloudy Day

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I’m feeling ridiculously down-and-out this morning. Valentine’s Day was lovely and everything (Seth says Curls learned how to use the phone just to send me flowers– she let Seth put his name on the card, too… very sweet), so it’s not a post-Valentine’s Day let-down or anything.

It’s personal, really. But suffice it to say: I feel like a loser. An idiot. Etc.

I was sad last night and spent the morning eating pancakes and lounging around with my pup… still sad. Still feeling completely stupid. Fortunately, Little Miss Sunshine came on tv and it’s on my list of movies-I-can’t-resist-anytime-they-are-on-tv-no-matter-how-many-times-I-have-seen-them.

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{Source}

I just love this movie, it’s so great– it’s about family and struggle and perseverance and love and the sweetest, most interesting little girl ever. One of my favorite scenes is so happy-sad I can barely stand it. Olive, the little girl, is getting ready to go to sleep and asks her Grandpa, “Am I pretty?” and then explains that she’s afraid of being a loser because her daddy hates losers (he’s a motivational speaker) and here’s what her grandpa says to her:

“Do you know what a loser is? A real loser is someone who’s so afraid of not winning, they don’t even try. Now you’re trying, right?… Well, then you’re not a loser!”

And I thought– yeah. I did try. I try to put myself out there over and over and over again, even though it’s scary to get close to people, to make new friends and grow new family. Fortunately, I have a sweet, sweet sister, Abby, who also serves as my very best friend, and she reminds me that trying to get close to people is totally worth it for those occasions when it works. It’s sad when it doesn’t of course, but you’re only a loser if you don’t try. And I always have my sister to console me when it doesn’t. Thank goodness for that!

So I guess that’s all  I can really be responsible for– trying. And that alone is enough to guarantee that I’m not a loser, just a girl putting herself out there, doing the best she can.

 

Ummm… also this just happened. Hard to be bummed at all in the face of such ridiculous cuteness!!!

20140215-153804.jpg

Celebrating my fat heart!

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Have you guys seen the movie Pitch Perfect?!  I’ve seen lots of pins on Pinterest with quotes and “The Cup Song” has come up several times on my Pandora (love it!), but I never actually watched the movie until just this morning.

You see, I’m pretty much confined to within 10 feet or so of my sweet puppy girl’s kennel unless she falls asleep (like really asleep) or she whimpers and whines, so I resigned to spending the morning watching movies on the couch, including several made-for-tv Christmas movies (so much cheesiness! so very good!) and Pitch Perfect.

Pitch Perfect was awesome for a lot of reasons, but I recently got into Rebel Wilson in the show Super Fun Night and I’m extra in love with her now that I’ve seen her as Fat Amy. Seriously, she calls herself Fat Amy so “twig b*****es like you don’t do it behind my back.” And she had so many other gems! But my favorite was at the end of the movie when she says to her friends:

Even though some of you are pretty thin, you all have fat hearts – and that’s what matters.

That line– I LOVE IT!  I rewound and rewound to hear it over and over and over again because it made me laugh so hard!  But it also touched me– right in my big fat heart! I love the way Fat Amy embraced it, she loved her life, she worked her killer bod, and she showed us that “fat” is not a dirty word. (Despite the nearly constant fat shaming we get exposed to in the media.) Just brilliant!

Have I mentioned before that weight is a pretty big issue for me? Oh right, I titled an entire post “Mind. Body. Prison.” and a search for “weight” pulls up 5 separate posts, which is a lot considering that I’ve only actually published a grand total of 64. (But dang, let’s reflect on that number for a minute– 64?!  Awesome! We should totally plan a party for 100!)

So, yeah, I’ve mentioned that weight is a big deal to me. For most of my life I have desired very strongly to lose it, and when I did, I desired to lose more. I’ve recently shifted my focus, though, and am really working toward body acceptance, no matter it’s size, instead. No matter my weight loss goals, my biggest desire was always to be comfortable in my own skin. Is there any reason that can’t happen in my current skin? No.

I am a healthy, happy person and that’s what my friends and family care about. They love me for my fat heart! And so do I, I suppose!

People come in all shapes and sizes, colors and creeds.  You may have bushy hair, big feet, an extraordinarily square jaw (just some examples… ahem…), but it really is what’s inside that counts. That is what your friends and family love you for and it’s the same reason you should love yourself.

And you should love yourself, friend. (You can trust me, I’m a doctor.)

 

PS: I’m really loving some of these normal-sized women that are starting to show up more and more often on tv and in the movies! I will forever support The Mindy Project, Mike & Molly, Super Fun Night, and Parks and Rec for that reason. (I watch too much tv!)

Sugar Cubes: Horses, Mindy Lahiri, and Me

Things I Learned on TV, , , , , , , ,

Remember when I ranted and raved about how awesome Mindy Kaling is and I told you to add The Mindy Project to your DVR?  Did you listen?  Are you watching it???  I hope so! Because if not, you’ve missed some seriously funny stuff.

And right now, I’d like… no… LOVE… to talk about this funny little scene right here:

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In this scene, Mindy is hanging out at Danny’s and it’s all very cute, but what I really need to bring your attention to is this:

MINDY IS EATING SUGAR CUBES STRAIGHT OUT OF THE BOX!

(See the little box, just next to Mindy’s left hip… that’s the sugar cubes!  I’d recognize that box anywhere!)

This scene!

This beautiful, validating scene!!

Seriously, who is watching me at my house?!  And how did this get on national television?! And why do I feel so insanely validated right now?!

We’ve discussed binge eating disorder before and it’s very serious and painful and shameful and all of that, of course… but sometimes, when I’m not sitting down in the bottom of that deep dark hole, it’s actually really flipping funny.  Because some of the stuff I have eaten when desperate for a binge (yes… this is why food issues parallel the language of addiction…) have been absolutely insane.  And I’m not going to lie to you right now, sugar cubes have been it for me before.

But last week, there it was on tv– a gorgeous actress, playing an awesome and lovable doctor on tv, eating sugar cubes straight out of the box.  I loved Mindy Kaling before, but this– a whole new level of devotion!

And now that I think about it, these brilliantly funny actresses who are really into food– love them all!  Tiny Fey as Liz Lemon in 30 Rock says one time that she’s headed home for a nooner… which is what she calls having pancakes for lunch.  Amy Poehler as Leslie Knope in Parks and Rec is a waffle fiend (oh snap, love me some waffles) and when Rebel Wilson as Kimmi in Super Fun Night sees that her man friend has ordered her fries to go along with the champagne, her reaction is priceless!  These are the women I can get behind and cheer for, because sometimes food is way more than just food– it can be a nooner, a top three life priority, a mood setter, or even just a little something crispy and sweet to take the edge off a long day.  I’m not advocating food abuse, of course, but I do like when it gets represented on tv in a normal way, which is kind of funny, kind of weird, and definitely multi-dimensional in this crazy thin-obsessed culture of ours where to admit you’d rather have the burger than the salad is not the cool thing to do.

I have sugar cubes in my house because they are necessary for real old fashions (i.e. made with bitters and cherries rather than a mix) and my husband is a big old fashion fan. I’ve always thought that they’d be really useful if a stray horse every showed up in our back yard and I needed to lure it to the deck to secure it (it could happen– there’s a lot of Amish around here).  Horses do love sugar cubes, right?  Why do I feel so sure about this?  I don’t know… but it turns out horses and I aren’t the only ones who need a sugar cube every now and again.  So does Mindy Kaling as Dr. Mindy Lahiri, and suddenly my secret shame doesn’t feel quite so shameful anymore.

That's a horse and buggy right across the street from my house-- never know when you might need a sugar cube!
That’s a horse and buggy right across the street from my house– never know when you might need a sugar cube!

Late to the party, but I’m dancing in Downton now! (with lots of platelets!)

Things I Learned on TV, , , , , , , ,

Before getting into the real deal, I’d like to share with you a very embarrassing thing I did today.  Because it’s funny.

I had a 6 month follow-up appointment with my hematologist this morning.  She is following me for ITP– idiopathic thrombocytopenia purpura.  Basically, my platelets are low and the ones I do have are enormous because they are immature.  It’s generally not an issue, except for a little bit of extra bruising and a tendency for nosebleeds, but it can be serious so it requires some monitoring just to make sure the platelets aren’t dropping too low.  (For your reference, > 150K is normal and I hover around 90K… not really dangerous until you get to 50K or below.)

This morning, I had to have a blood draw for a platelet count and an abdominal ultrasound to check and make sure my spleen hadn’t turned into a platelet-hungry beast spleen.  When the results were in, it was time to see Dr. Gayle.

After the requisite waiting period (but really, it’s ok– I could hear her laughing with an older couple in the room next door, and chances are good one of them has something much more serious than me… she’s such a good doctor!) Dr. Gayle came into the room and looked at me askew over the papers in her hand saying, “What have you done differently?!”

Naturally, my mind (and hands) went straight to my hair and I said I got a haircut and launched into a big long explanation about how it was so necessary and I just couldn’t deal with the frustration of my long hair anymore and blah blah blah…

Except, Dr. Gayle meant what had I done differently that might have affected my platelet counts…

oh.

…because they were normal.

OH!

Unfortunately, the heat had already risen up my neck to my face and my armpits had dumped their nervous reserve sweat (it’s always there, you know, just waiting to drop when you get nervous!) and I was pretty much embarrassed beyond usefulness.  No idea what I actually did differently… but it was unlikely to be related to the haircut.  My platelets are still gigantic so the ITP is not gone.  I guess I’ll try to make a good impression again in another 6 months.  (Such a nerd!)CBC

——-

And now, let’s head downtown to Downton…

So, this is kind of embarrassing for me to admit, but I just (like this week) started watching Downton Abbey.  So far, I have watched the first two episodes of season one… and I’m in L-O-V-E LOVE!

To be perfectly fair, my friend Ellen tried to turn me onto it a few months ago, so there had been intervention on my behalf.  (Ellen! You were so right!) And I was vaguely aware of the British countryside premise, so being the Brit-o-phile that I am, you’d think I would have gotten on board.  (Is Brit-o-phile a thing?  Probably not… I mean it like Francophile, lover of all things French… except that I am a lover of all things British– especially Colin Firth.)

Anyway, Seth hooked his old xbox (not his old old one, just his old one… and he’ll get a new new one sometime in the near future, so I may be looking at an upgrade… not that I’d notice one way or another, I’m just glad he showed me which buttons to push) up to the tv in our sweet workout area* of the basement and then discovered the beauty that is streaming from Amazon Prime.  HOW HAVE WE HAD AMAZON PRIME FOR SO LONG AND NOT DISCOVERED THIS EARLIER?!?!  I just don’t even know… it’s amazing.

And most importantly, Amazon Prime has streaming for Downton– YES!!!

So, of course, you can expect many, many, many more Downton (yeah, totally thought it was DowntoWn until like 5 minutes ago…) references in the near future, but I’d like to start with what Lord Grantham said to Matthew Crawley (don’t spoil his demise for me anymore that it already has been– I should have been more careful with the Internets!!) regarding Matthew’s reluctance to have a valet (with a hard t of course…):

“We all have different parts to play, Matthew, and we must all be allowed to play them.”

Word, Lord Grantham.  Word.

In so many instances, I hear this debate about what we should all aspire to be– nowhere more loudly than in modern feminism discussions as we scream back and forth at each other about whether it’s more “important” to be a strong working role model or an ever-present mom or whatever.  But I think Lord Grantham knows what’s up: play your own dang part.  And allow others to play theirs.

Matthew’s valet desires to be a good valet, and to serve the master of his house in the ways that a valet should.  He takes his role seriously and warms to Matthew instantly once he lets him play that role.

Whether we agree or disagree with someone else’s choices, the way they’ve decided to fill this role we call life is really irrelevant, because ultimately, you only get one part and it’s up to you to play it well.  Not to worry about how other’s are playing theirs.

That’s between them and the director 😉

 

*So, yeah, I’ve got a home gym.  No big deal.  I just do some hills on the elliptical, rock some pilates on my squishy mats, and do a little bit of free weights because my dad says weights are the cure for anything.  Got a headache?  Lift some weight– it works, for realsies.