Summary

This picture kind of sums up what my life has been like the past couple of weeks:

KIND of a blur

KIND of dramatical

KIND of hilarious

KIND of warm-spirited

KIND of confusing

This is rare for me. Generally life is pretty hectic and full of unenjoyable events. But lately, life has been hectic and full of enjoyable, lively moments.

I'm happy and it's lovely!

About That Thing Called "Exercise"

So, it has officially been 6 months since I last worked out. Somewhere in those 6 months I THINK I took a pilates class or two. But pretty much my only steady work outs have been the walks to the train. And the walks back. Sometimes I'll walk to the grocery store, which is 5 blocks away. I try to convince myself that I walk a lot more than I do, but now that I'm actually writing it out, I realize that I don't walk that much at all.

Working out really sucks for me. Some girls like it though! Those girls are the ones that say stuff like "oh it totally de-stresses me"! Or the ones that perpetrate the myth that "working out during my period TOTALLY relieves my cramps". As far as I'm concerned, these girls are big skinny liars! Working out actually stresses me out more, mostly because I have never gotten over the fact that I always feel like I'm dying during those first 10 minutes. And when it comes to my period, working out just makes me feel really sweaty. With cramps. Summary--in the fantasy land of Gee, working out is not a good look. I know that attitude is really unhealthy and gross and all that stuff, so I try to blame my inactiveness on other stuff, like this: "I can't join a gym because I have no money!" That might be true, possibly. But yeah, it really is mostly because I'm super lazy.

I used to work out though. In fact, I used to work out 6 days a week, twice a day. I did this when I was in college, for months at a time. I did it mostly because I felt really bad about myself. I was one of those girls that truly believed that being anything over a size 4 was fat. I don't know why I thought that, but I did. As a kid, I was always a little chubby. Never dangerously, but always a little pudgy. Then I went to college in New York. For someone with already established body issues, it was a pretty shitty city to go to college in. Everyone around me was really really skinny, mostly because they did a lot of coke. Logically, I knew that. I also knew that at 5'2" and 130 lbs, I had boobs, hips, thighs, and a butt that would never really go away. That was only logically, though. On the whole I am not logical. So I acted accordingly and worked out excessively and ate 800 calories a day until, in just 2.5 months, I was down to 102 lbs. But I still wasn't skinny. I still had said boobs, hips, thighs, and butt, albeit smaller versions. I didn't look like the wafer thin cokeheads, or runway bitches. Even after busting my ass, destroying my social life, and becoming obsessed with the rowing machine. Then, I think it somehow just clicked. And I got off the elliptical and had a cookie, and lived to tell the tale.

I'm still 5'2", and I wear a size 6 (sometimes 8) now. I weigh 117 lbs, and have great boobs and a nice, not so small butt. And I like it. I eat a lot of green stuff, but I also eat cookies. I eat when I'm hungry, and stop eating when I'm full. I know I need to get exercise in there, but I hope that when I finally do, I'll be doing it because I want to be healthier, and not because cookies are scaring me.

The Train to Easy-Ville

I don't usually blog about happenstances in New York City, but this morning something happened to make me think, and I had to share it with you readers.

I was riding the N train to work. It was a-chuggin' along pretty quickly, which is surprising since it's always stopping due to "construction" right around the 57th St. stop. So here I am in the subway car, minding my own business and reading my NY mag, trying to block out the incredible BO wafting through the air. A random bum walks through the car doors, a not unusual occurrence. Typically, most people just bow their heads and turn their eyes and hearts steely for a few moments until the bum realizes that none of these people are gonna give him money and then moves on to the next car. The bum this morning wasn't getting the memo, though... he was clearly psycho, walking around and cursing people out and ranting. No one was in danger, but it was definitely a sticky situation.

As I stood there, now just pretending to read my mag, the bum grew more and more irate, spit foaming at his mouth and his hands flailing around a bit. Luckily, the train came to a stop. I noticed a young woman get off and just move to the next car, safe and sound in seeming "normalcy" again. I couldn't fault her-- dude was crazy! But, as I myself got off at the next stop and climbed out of the station and off to work, I realized that it was that easy for us, as New Yorkers, to look the other way. This isn't a small town, where a crazy, drunk person comes along once every St. Patty's Day-gone-wrong. We're inundated with locos all the time, 24/7 (this is the city that "never sleeps" after all). And as the city becomes more and more gentrified, the insanity that originally attracted me to the bright lights of New York is slowly being wiped out. Being in NYC nowadays is like being on a movie set-- you have the tall buildings and cute little benches on the streetcorners, without the madness that comes with urban life. And when that madness pops up-- be it a bum on the train, or a bum following you home from the deli--we have no problem looking the other way. Why face insanity head on when the comfort of gentrification lies just around the corner, in your 3rd fl. walk-up on the UES? It's so easy to go about your business and just live your life, but keep in mind that you're basically turning your head on anyone who's less fortunate than you are...

Instead, all of the stress of the homeless and deranged falls on the shoulders of the city government. And, as we sit on the train reading our NY Times, we all love to complain about how the city is so whack and uninvolved, how we could do a better job. I'm not saying that this isn't a government issue, because it's definitely Bloomberg's responsibility to help the homeless and less unfortunate out. But jumping to the next car isn't proving that we can do a better job-- all it's proving is that we're too self-involved to care about doing a better job.

I'm not trying to moralize-- should we do something, even though sometimes safety might be an issue? Are we too self-involved?

Thoughts, readers?