Little Paula Deen

Alright, so maybe I’m being a little dramatic as to personify my journal, but I’m a little heartbroken at the moment.  Granted I’ve never been in a relationship, and thus, know not what it’s like to have a broken heart-I imagine it feels similar to losing a couple hundred pages of journaling.  If I can remember correctly, I expressed in my first post how UNdedicated I tend to be with journaling and writing. Despite English having been my favorite course throughout my academic career, my insecurities over lack of grammar skill/ettiquette combined with my assumption that the content of my writing lacked any interest or creativity, ultimately forbade me to use the cathartic tool.  I wouldn’t even allow myself to write in a journal, a couple of months ago which makes total sense since there really isn’t an audience in mind when journaling-but  I tend to favor illogical thought over that of reason.

Ramble…ramble… ramble.  You see why I avoid writing??!!!

In any case, around the same time that I started this blog, I grabbed one of the larger books from my blank joural collection (gathered from many years of christmas’, birthdays, graduations, etc.  in which friends family and teachers assumed Id appreciate a space to privately pursue my passion for reading and writing-not to mention they knew pretty well that I was one hot mess who coulduse any cathartic resource possible).  I had some really pretty ones to choose from, but in the end, I opted for one my frighteningly wise Grandpop gave to me before he died.  It was huge,brown leather bound and notall that feminine, but really, I’m not all that feminine either.  Sometimes simplicity really is best.  Besides selecting this big boy to trust with my craziest thoughts and dreams because my most admired mentor had given it to me, I also chose it because it was 1/2 lined and 1/2 blank.  This allowed me to write and/or sketch my thoughts and feelings at any given time.

Again, I’m not sure why I’m sharing this with the blog world-not to mention it definitely doesn’t fall under the “food” category, but I guess its serving as my excuse for not blogging because I was actually writing.  But alas, I’m a mess because I thought I left the massive thing at a coffee shop, but they haven’t seen it.  I’d say a couple of hundred pages: either in the trash or in the posession of a complete stranger who’s about to be totally weirded out by my insane ramblings, poetryand drawing.

Alright, enough with the pittyparty.  I guess I’m going to try the blog thang as my outlet of choice for a little while… that i until I loseit too like poor Tina (www.carrotsncake.com).

Evenin’ Y’all.

Suggested Music : Eat a Peach (whole album) Allman Brothers

Suggested Eats: Green Tomato Gazpacho with lime creme fraiche and organic expeller pressed EVOO  (Even I’ll admit I came up with awinner here)  Easily veganized by omitting the creme fraiche and possibly replaced with a cashew lime cream instead.  A bit earthier, but interesting.

Suggested Bev: go light and crisp on this warm night-chilled sauv. blanc or riesling for those sweet teeth; a medium bodied, not-too-hoppy brew (switchback if you have access to some), or just some club soda with citrus (orange and lime are in the soup, so these would be appropriate).

Dance/sing, eat, sip, repeat…

  +   or +=

Peace all

Q: do you journal?  If you do, what would you do if you lost it?

Okay, maybe that’s not the best analogy I could have congered up, but I have to admit I needed a lil sum-in sum-in to get me back in the game-not that I really was all that in the game to begin with, but you get the idea.  What was the pill that gave me the mojo I needed to log back on to lilpauladean?  A hefty dose of a few blogger buddies celebs who decided to forgo negativity for a ballin May.  I believe SnackFace, Everythingtarian and Lo have claimed one or several times that there’s no sense waiting, sulking or worrying about the future, because May is their’s/our month.  I can dig it ladies.  That’s why I just wanted to git back in the saddle with a little tip of the hat to positivity and maybe letting go of my insecurities and give this blog thang another go.  Let me know whatch’all think.

MA

MA’s bite of advice for the day: NEVER let a day go by without feeding your soul.  I made a pact to myself today that I need to listen to at least one feel good song a day.  I know this sounds lame, and while music is my life and breath, I don’t always give it to myself.  Maybe youre an artist and adore great works of abstract, perhaps youre into poetry, or you could be that dude that still secretly loves to make crazy leggo mobiles (I know you’re out there kids, and being the child who chose to eat the leggos over building sophisticated mobiles out of them, I beg you to embrace your gift and flaunt it. )  Today, I vow to feed my soul with music, laughter, happiness, love, and life.  Who’s game?

Thumper (Bambi’s pal) gave those words of advice that have prevented me from writing anything: “If you don’t have anything nice to say,” I tell myself, “don’t say anything at all.”  For the past month I have ogled, oohed, ahhed and vicariously “foodgasmed” my way through so many wonderful blogs.  I’ve empathized with some struggles, envied others’ eats, and drowned myself in guilt from my lack of exercise drive in comparison to others.  I avoid acting, sounding and mainly becoming my mother who is known for her superior ability to pity herself and make Debbie Downer look like goddam Tickle-Me-Elmo.  I don’t wish that degree of negativity on anyone, especially the innocent food blog reader who was really just looking for a tasty chocolate cake recipe or weeknight dinner menu.  So there you have it my friends, until I have something nice to say and pull myself out of this pathetic hole of lonliness and let go of the guilt that has become too comfortable a replacement for my childhood blankie… I best not say anything at all. 

Hopefully I’ll conger up something uplifting sooner, rather than later.  Peace out, kids.

One love,

MA

March 2, 1983 a baby boy was born.  This cutie patootie weighed a healthy 8 lbs. 4 oz, mainly in his head (this kid has/had one hell of a melon).  He also came into the world with one hell of a heart to boot.  The boy would be my big brother and my idol.  I know Ive already written a post on the impact both of mis hermanos have made in my life, but today calls for another shout out to one of the reasons I wake up every morning.

I wished more than anything I could be there for him on his day of birth Tuesday, but alas, hes alone in Venice, LA with the only companionship being his adorable husky pup, Little-Jerry-Seinfeld (yes, that is his real/full name); while the rest of his fam and friends are on the opposite coast across the country.  So I accepted the separation and called him.  Yall know how much I despise my cellular/techy devices (or maybe you dont) but desperate times call for some seriously desperate measures: the one at hand being telling my broski what an incredible gem of a soul he is and I love him more than anything.  Expecting to get either a voice mail or a brief “love you-happy birthday-you mean the world to me” shout out with the uze “love you too mare, thanks for callin” lasting all of  20 seconds… i was surprised to detect some muffled sniffles that were a tad difficult to discern over the cells.  Confused and nervous I addressed the melancholy that is so atypical of my goofy-life-lovin older brother.  He completely broke down, reversing our typical roles of me blubbering and him consoling (aka telling me to suck it up and busting my non existent balls).  This caught me off guard, but was a little hopeful at the opportunity to be the one to save the day and kiss his booboos.  I wont tell you the deets of his sadness; lets just say theyre similar to my own: lonliness, fear, insecure, etc. with a little bit  of extra love-of-his-life-just-dumped-him thrown in for good bad measure.  I wish I could have prepared for this opportunity, but did the best i could and we ended the conv. an hour later giggling like little school girls once again.  I wish more than anything I could fly across the country to give him a hug, the new Esquire and some tissues in person. 
So my Q of the day is: how do you support a typically fun-loving, sarcastic loved one when they break like a cadberry creme egg and turn to you?  How do you process it?

While I think I did the best I could at the time, I still wish I could take away all of his pain.  I have a hard time processing it all because the baby sister in me just aches all over to know that he’s so sad.  The perils that come with love…

I promise… one of these days I will (wo)man up and write a post on “my story.”  I had every intention of honoring this past week by challenging myself to develop a little piece on my history with ED (or in my case, EDs plural).  The truth is, I wussed out like I always do when I discuss this issue and pretend it isn’t there.  Note that I wrote “isn’t,” as in the present tense, versus “wasn’t” which would imply that Ive recovered.  Tonight I can’t bring myself to share my battle and details in too much depth-and knowing how “triggered” (totally hate that word, thanks IP) I fear what I might conger up were I to entertain y’all (well, all one or two of you who might read this, haha) with the nasty details of my pastand present history.  I think its exactly that… the fear of my sharing being nothing more than entertainment.  I thought it might be a good challenge for myself, or perhaps a means of being a supportive blog friend with whom to empathize.  But will it? 

Instead of sharing the plot of my life story or rather, my ED story, I felt inclined to let out some much needed aggression and frustration on my keyboard by listing a few things about my struggles that will hopefully remind you (and me) why this week is so significant and why no one deserves to lead such draining and devastating existences.

WHAT EDS BROUGHT ME

• I’m physically, emotionally, mentally and spiritually EXHAUSTED.
• I’m only comfortable being uncomfortable.
• I crave hugs, companionship, pleasure, warmth, love, etc.  but strictly deny myself all of these elements of a beautiful life.
• oh ya… Im really tired.
• My mind gets its jollies off constantly judging my every flaw-which in its eyes, are endless.
• My family is almost as sick and tired of my shenanigans as I am.
• If I could re-write Julie Andrews’ “Favorite things” from the Sound of Music, it would consist almost solely of food related articles.  Yet, I choose to either deny myself of or abuse myself with these glorious favorites versus enjoying them.  Makes sense, right?  Hurt yourself with some of the things that might make you feel great?
• Did I mention that I was spent?  I did?  Well, I am…
• I’ve spent the majority of my life “too busy dying” and rarely ever living.
• I’ve never had a boyfriend.  I wallow in my own pathetic loneliness and feel bad for myself while hibernating in my own company.  Sure fire way NOT to get that boyfriend.
• Its convinced me that Im so stuck in this sick way of life that theres no sense in taking my motivation all the way to being recovered.  Lord knows its a real blasty where I am now, who cares about being happy anyway?  (Im really hoping you can pick up on the bits and pieces of scattered sarcasm throughout this post).
• Despite years of self talk, therapy, IP, OP, blog world, etc., telling me its not about the food or the looks; I can’t let go of the belief that were I to have that bangin’ Scarlett Johanson bod and confidence to boot, I’d be all set and ED free. Pshaww.
• I. AM. REALLY.  TIRED.

Thanks for letting me spill a lil.

 Also, I would love to know if youre interested in me sharing some of the details to give yall a better idea of who I am, where Ive been and what I hope to achieve with this blog. Please comment with your thoughts/suggestions. 

Peace and Love

namaste

MA

No, the title actually has nothing to do with the content of this post, but the kick-ass Clarkson beat has been stuck in my head since 10this morning on my drive to Goodwill.  Not the most appropriate tune to lull me to sleep, but day-um does that chick have a set of lungs on her.  If I exercised, I think a Kelly Clarkson playlist would be killer, just sayin…

Anyway, I’ve been thinking quite a bit about my last post and my lonely ways.  I’m sorry to say that Im not partaking in any fun Friday night social shenanigans, however, I am doing a pretty stunning job polishing off this bottle of vino that Im featuring at tomorrow’s wine tasting at the shop.  I realize I haven’t mentioned my employment status before, but I am a barista at a Wine and Coffee shop as well as a hostess, server and seller during our wine tastings.  Warning: this girl is what my brother calls a “two sip queer”( please excuse the vulgarity in this comment, as it is for sarcastic emphasis only).  Don’t worry though, I have been nursing this bottle very slowly all afternoon/evening with plenty of eats and juice to avoid too much sloppiness.  Tomorrow’s line up features:

This is pathetic.  Am I really about to write a post fueled by my own immature self-pity?  Am I really that ego-centric; that selfish?  Apparently I am as this has become a broken record in my thoughts as of late:

Actually, this might be te most therapeutic mantra to recite to myself, as it incorporates a touch of humor into my self-loathing and loneliness. 

(WARNING (tangent to follow)

It’s interesting that I hesitate every day to write a new post.  I have major comparison/perfectionist tendencies that really get in the way of the cathartic process that I hoped this blog would be for me.  The backspace key is likely to be the first thing to bust on this new little netbook I got.  Blogging intimidates me because I just can’t live up to y’all and your eloquence, humor and style.  One day…

(tangent hopefully over)

But back to my self pity and lonliness, because, well, that is the intended theme of this post as the title hinted.  As of now, no one that I know personally is aware of this blog, and Im into keeping it that way for a lil’ while, anyway.  So basically, I’m too lame to reach out to those who are closest to me (and I use that term very loosely as Im not all that close to anyone), so Im choosing to seek help from the world wide web-something I NEVER EVER imagined I would partake in.  So ignore my jibberish if you need to, but if you do care to listen to my nonsensical ramblings, I would be so grateful to get some feedback/support.  Asking for support is also a challenge I never thought I’d be able to face, but, here I am, on my knees (okay,I lie.  im in bed and the wood floors kind of hurt the joints) but you get the gist.

So here’s my deal.  There’s a lot of s#@* going on in the world today, and I am so aware of this.  Which makes me feel even guiltier for asking for support for my lame shenanigans.   Sure I’ve got the credit bureau calling me every day for money regarding last years hospital stay and IP… sure my family is in complete shambles and my parents still despise one another after 18 years of divorce and 12 years of marriage… sure my health still kind of sucks and celiac is kicking my arse… sure im living 4052km from my crazy best friend of a bro…the aforementioned facts don’t mean a whole lot to me in the big scheme of things.  But what I can’t help but admit to, is that there are two very lame issues that seem to overwhelm my every breath.  The culprits: my ED and agorophobia.    They are two bloody f-ing debhilitating problems and despite years and years of therapy and treatment, they wont leave me alone.  Truthfully, they’ve been bigger pains in the arses before, however, their presence remain in my every thought, panic and worry.  Where have they left me?  Straight up lonely. 

Whats most ironic/frustrating aboutthis situation Im in, is that despite not letting myself go out (essentially getting what Im asking for) it’s exactly OPPOSITE of what I want.  I want to feel loved, accepted, appreciated.  I want to be kissed, hugged, held.  I want to be Kerry Bradshaw and Aiden… and Id even be happy with Big.  But the very thing I wantmost, is that which I am most afraid of.  I want to drink fine wine with a boy or giggle over a chick flick with some girlfriends.  I want to be Kerry Bradshaw and kiss Aiden on a NYC stoop, heck id even dig a peck from Mr. Big.  I want to doll myself up and hit up a club/show or two and get my groove on in some heels, a mini and a heavily salted, non-blended petron mexican margharita in hand with an umbrella should it rain on one strand of hair for aesthetic purposes and bevy bling.  I wanto chow glorious eats from new restos and say FU to ED and his pal Agorophobia.  Help?

rant over… nighty night

MA

It occurred to me this morning while reading the lovely musings of Snackface and Lo, that it would be essential to, at some point in this blog, pay homage to my hombres at home (hows THAT for an alliteration).  At such an immature stage of my blog, I realized that there would be no better time to take on this task than now: a point at which you’re just getting to know me.  The truth is, I really don’t think you can really understand the core of who I am without knowing the two most significant figures in my life: my brothers.  I have two of them, both older (maturity not factored into age, as this would make them more 13ish than their respective 26 and 29).

Lowell is my eldest brother.  He’s a smashing 29 year old, sensitive singer/songwriter that many a UVM college gal drools over all around Burlington.  He’s named after the late Lowell George of Little Feat (if you’re unfamiliar with the band, ask your parents.  Old school rockin band of our parents gen.  Killer tunes.  Nuff said).  There is so much to his story, but for now I’ll just tell you that he fits the oldest brother role to a tee.  Slightly overprotective, often worried, sometimes melancholy, and is notorious for a) taking the entire third row in our old van on long car rides while the other two of us squeeze into the smaller middle row and b) conveniently needing to make a phone call or go to the bathroom after dinner to avoid dish duty.  But aside from the aforementioned nuances of a typical oldest bro… this guy has a heart of gold.  He’s got more love and passion in his soul than most, possibly all men that I know.  Sure, I probably don’t fight with anyone more than him, but that’s only because he cares so much, maybe too much-if thats possible.  Want to swoon a little, girls?  check out his music/site at www.lowellthompson.com.

Then there was Colin.  What. a. guy. I’ve been told that I was the female version of this downright goofy, surfboarding, sarcastic film writer since I was little.  I wish.  Ladies (and gentlemen) there is no sillier, more generous stud muff out there.  He is my best friend.  Well, truth is they’re both my best friends but in different ways.  If I want sympathy tears and a shoulder to cry on when I’m feeling lonely-I’d go to Lowell.  Sure I could go to Col on such occasions… but instead of sharing tears he’d prolly bust out some wise-ass movie quote telling me to suck it up and go drink a frosty brew instead.  Don’t get me wrong… this kid is really sensitive and insecure at heart.  He’s just more into solving problems with humor and sarcasm versus tears and back rubs.  There are few things more frustrating than wanting to spill your guts, cry and complain about your dumb problems, only to find them swept back in your face with jest and humor-leaving you with tears of laughter rather than the tears of sorrow you were anticipating.  Not that there’s anything wrong with this… it’s just how Col “does.”   Colin Lewis Thompson doesn’t “do” serious.  Thats what I have Lowell for.  Lowell was the one who got upset about my drinking underage in high school… Colin was the one who got me drunk in the first place, haha.  I have the best of both worlds, and, perhaps I’m biased… but I have the best damn brothers in the world!  You heard me, I’d be willing to bet my life on this fact.

Lonliness has consumed my existence for a good chunk of my life.  I often find myself lacking any true friendships or relationships for a substantial period of time.  I (and my therapist) have many a theory on why this is, but those are posts for another time, another day.  “A person can’t live without relationships” Ive been reminded by several significant people in my life.  I agree.  I seem to have gotten by on the very bare minimum.  2 people, Colin Lewis Thompson and Lowell Nathan Thompson are the relationships which give me life.  They are my constants.  Our relationships arent perfect, but they are solid.  They keep me grounded, and when I’ve reached that place of darkness that seems to eat me up like a black hole, the shear reminder of my beautiful and dependable brothers brings me light and life again. 

I could have died.  A little part of me maybe wanted to leave this scary earth.  But despite my illness and the creepiness of the hospital walls that surrounded me, I fought.  I fought because of these two “wild and craaaaaaazy guys” (great flic, fyi).  I realize I haven’t exactly written a detailed account of my aforementioned “illness.”  In time, my loves… in due time.

What a sporatic, chaotic, tangenty post.  My apologies.  I guess the blessing that is the two best brothers evahh, makes me foolish and emotional (aka nonsensical).  I love them dearly, if you didn’t gather that already.

lowell, me, col

whole Thompson clan

Love this crew.  Neons and 80s short shorts on the old man and all.

Peace and love

MA

Question: Are you blessed with brothers?  Sisters?  Siblings?  If so, how do they feed your soul?  If not, who are the most inspirational people in your life?

No, the title isn’t a reference to myself (although I am only five feet tall and only sometimes sweet): just a description of the nature of this post (said the long-winded, tangent-writing, nonsense-making blogger).  I came to the library to check my e-mail and could not believe that I received comments from some of my blog idols.  It’s obviously not such a huge deal to most bloggers (being that they receive 100X the amount of traffic that I do within the first five minutes of publishing) but to me, it means the absolute world!  I embarked on this “blog mission” with the hope of tackling some of my most challenging eating disorder behaviors.  Throughout my recovery (all eight years of it and counting) my peers, therapists, family, mentors, etc. have encouraged me to journal.  I wouldn’t be exaggerating if I said that my bookshelves contain roughly 20+ mostly blank journals (with the one or two doodles/telephone messages scattered throughout).  I blame it on my commitment issues.  While I thoroughly how journaling would be a liberating and cathartic tool for recovery purposes, I just can’t seem to make a habit of it.  I expected this blog to travel a similar path to my dusty tangible versions of a Blog.  But something about getting a few bits of feedback in my inbox this morning was really the inspiration I needed to keep at this writing thing and hope that this motivation expands to the rest of my recovery. 

In essence, this post is a thank you letter.  A thank you to commenters, readers, dare-I-say God(?) for giving me the little glimmer of faith that I needed to face the day and shun my deamons.  So… thanks.

Namaste,

Mary Ann