Life as Betsy » 2008 » March

Tipsy unanswered questions

March 31, 2008 – 12:40 am

What kind of woman willingly goes on a show like "Rock of Love" or "Flavor of Love" or even "The Bachelor"? Seriously . . . why do any of these women think that they are going to find their true love in the course of three weeks. Why do these men think that they are going to find their true love from 20 odd women who are willing to subject themselves to this kind of degration on national television? Is there any part of Daisy’s body that is natural? It’s not her hair. Or her boobs. Or her nose. And the tattoos are somewhat distracting (if that is possible) from the rest of the plastic.

Why does Bret Michaels look some woman with too many face-lifts? His look worked in the 1980’s but it’s 2008. He needs to drop the eye liner, lose the bandanas and someone needs to introduce him to some sheers.

Even a Gunnar Nelson shag would look better than his flat ironed sunkissed highlights.

What is it about these shows that drags you in and keeps you watching this crap? I need to go to bed and stop watching this crap. But I can’t. Not until I get my answers.

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Time rolls on and dreams, they die

March 30, 2008 – 11:30 pm

There is something slightly unnerving about the first love of your life falling in love and marrying someone else. Sure, it’s a joyous time for them and you want to be happy for them, but you are drawn back to memories of when you were their one and only. When you were the one they saved their money for a ring for you - whether it was a birthday present or an anniversary present or a promise ring. When you were the one they admittedly became "Pussywhipped" for and though they took a verbal beating from their friends about it, they still lit up when you walked in the room.

Chances are the one you love at 16 or 18 is not the one you are going to marry. And even in the throws of puppy love, you have to realize that. You throw in the towel and move on and even make friends with them years later, able to laugh at what went wrong and rib each other about current conquests.

But when the one comes along that clenches the prize you once held sacred, you are left to realize that you weren’t as special as he once said you were. And if you aren’t in a relationship yourself that is as solid and special as you know your ex’s current relationship is, it can leave you feeling very small and alone.

New Year’s Eve 2007, Mike and I were engaged and celebrating with friends at the club Aura in Portland. While he and I were standing there, talking and kissing, I noticed this girl walk by in flats. I remember thinking "She’s smart to wear comfy shoes" and then I looked up from her feet and then saw the guy walking behind her with his hands on her hips. It was my first boyfriend, Sean. I called out hello and he came over, introducing his girlfriend Tessa to me and Mike and I, introducing Mike to them. "This is my fiancee, Mike." I didn’t even mean to say that. I cannot stand when people use the term "FIANCEE" all the time. It sounds so desperate to me. My fiancee this, my fiancee that. "My fiancee things we should go to Hawaii for our honeymoon but I really was hoping on Cancun, myself." Yet there I was, using the term I disliked to introduce Mike to my high school boyfriend. I wanted to slap myself there on the spot.

Within a month of that run in, he proposed to her and they were married last weekend. I couldn’t be happier for them and I truly mean that. But there is a small part of me that remembers when he gave me that sweet little ring on my 16th birthday and told me that he loved me. Nostalgia, perhaps. Fond memories, definitely.

I have to wonder if any of my exes felt that way when they heard I had gotten married. Not an overwhelming sense of loss and woe as their one true love Betsy was off the market (I don’t hold myself in that much regard.) but I can imagine the sensation that I felt is a pretty universal one. At least, I am hoping so.

Since it is a pretty universal feeling, empathy should be fairly easy to hand out. I have some empathizing to do tomorrow. . .

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Protected: Bear at the door

March 30, 2008 – 8:29 pm

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French Piggyhomes

March 29, 2008 – 11:28 pm

Yeah . . . piggyhomes. Its what my mom affectionately called toes when we were little. Maybe I was the one to start calling them that after learning "This Little Pig" or maybe it was my brother. My mom still calls them that to this day (I have the text message to prove it) and its one of those things you don’t forget, even if you want to.

It got around the school that I am pretty damn good at french tipping nails, so I am the queen of them these days. And though some people are entirely disgusted and against feet, I’m not and see it as an excellent opportunity to make a little extra money when I get out of school by also doing manicures and pedicures.

I decided to do a twist on the classic French tip on my own toes tonight and tipped them in pink.

The cuticles need a little cleaning up still and I think I would use a darker color or just the classic white next time, but I like them. Now it just needs to stop snowing.
Anyone interested in a pedicure??

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Final thought of the night

March 28, 2008 – 11:27 pm

Snow falling in March. Awesome. Snow barely sticking and melting soon after. Even more awesome. After all the pedicures I’ve been giving recently, I am ready for some sandals weather myself. I could of sworn SPRING was to have started last week, right?

This sucks for a blog, but for some odd reason, I am exhausted and it’s only my Thursday folks. I’m off to bed.

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Because deep down, I’m still 7 years old

March 27, 2008 – 11:25 pm

My parents spent a good part of nearly six years of my childhood trying to break me of my thumbsucking habit. From taking my favorite stuffed animal (who I cuddled whenever I sucked) to promising me a water bed if/when I stopped sucking, they tried to crack the code that would stop such a childish and unattractive quirk. It was something I had predominantly under control - something I mainly only did at night. A classmate of mine sucked his thumb all the time in third grade and his parents went as far as to make him wear a glove that only covered his thumb. I can remember sitting there, silently being thankful that I wasn’t as bad as him.

The most memorable deterant my parents tried in their attempts to stop my sucking was a bitter laquer that my dad painted on my thumb after I’d brushed my teeth. Who knows where they heard or thought to do it. Chances are, it would have worked, had I not been a Taurus. But I would suck it to spite them and suffered through the bitter nastiness that filled my tastebuds.

In time, I outgrew that habit. But there are others . . . and often they can be broken with similar products.

I also chew/bite my nails. Generally, it only flairs up when I am really stressed but it can also turn into something I mindlessly do when I am bored or preoccupied. I knew it had been several weeks of mindless chewing, but I didn’t realize how bad they were until a classmate asked to practice her french tip polish on me. . . I should have taken a picture, but Stevie saved me the embarrassment by wiping the nails clean after she finished the manicure. Its sad but an issue I have to address, again.

In the past, I have just thrown solar nails on them, but they cost a lot and are no longer the professional look that I am going for. So time to face this like I should have when I was seven. I can’t bite my nails just to spite myself.

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A life worth living

March 26, 2008 – 11:21 pm

It is said that your whole lift flashes before your eyes in those few seconds before you die. Is it snapshots or quick tidbits of motion picture? Is it every single second you lived or just the key highlights? These are some of the moments I hope to see . . .

1. The first time Mike and I saw each other

2. Mike’s and my first kiss

3. Being awarded Top English Student of my graduating class

4. Dancing with my father at my wedding

5. Playing Legos with my brother

6. Sitting on the bridge in Leavenworth, WA with Aja

7. Driving to San Francisco with my mom, stopping for the night in Redding

8. Getting my tattoo

9. Mike proposing to me in the middle of that waterfall

10. Opeing my American Girl "Kirsten" doll on Christmas morning

11. Skinnydipping in Orlando with the girls on our Senior Trip

12. Meeting Nathaniel at the airport.

13. "Martha Stewart" in the mornings with Kristen in college

14. Crossing the finish line at the Avon Breast Cancer 3-Day

15. Fitting into my wedding dress (when I had ordered it entirely too small)

16. Getting my braces off

17. Getting the phone call that I’d been cast in "Anything Goes"

18. Having my first Corona in CA with Nina at 16 at some valley party

19. FCSC crew cruising up Broadway and asking random guys "Are you going to the rave?"

20. NSYNC sign stealing in McMinneville, OR from local McDonald’s

21. That snowy weekend in TH (the last good weekend)

22. Tap dancing my duet with Katie Hudson to "Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy"

23. Taming of the Shrew scene in drama with Tia

24. Scene with Kate in drama freshman year

25. Talking about the same things over and over with Sarahbear and never growing tired of the conversation.

More to come . . .

This is a twist on what Maggie @ Mightygirl.com is doing right now.

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The “C” word

March 25, 2008 – 9:25 pm

Last year, amidst the wedding planning hoopla and the waiting for the arrival of a friend’s twins, not to mention my attempting to lose the weight for that big white dress, we had a small family crisis that brought reality crashing back down. In a routine doctor’s visit, my father got news that a certain test results level was a bit high and possibly in need of rechecking in about six months. The doctor said that really, there wasn’t any need for further testing at the moment and that maybe, in October, they’d rerun the test. But my dad didn’t want the possibility of something getting bigger, stronger, uglier hanging over his head. He opted for a biopsy.

The biopsy came back positive and even his doctor was amazed. It is not customary to do a biopsy when a PA level comes back nearly a hair’s breath higher than normal. I am still a bit hazy as to when those inital doctor appointments were held, but I do know they were some time in April. It was early May when my parents sat me down to break the news.

How is it that you always just know when someone has bad news? I mean, sometimes, you can sense it coming from a mile away. People’s demeanor change, they pull away, act distant. But this came from out of the blue. It was only when they said "We need to talk to you about something" that I knew it was serious.

They opted not to tell me until a decision had been made about how they were going to go about dealing with the prognosis. Almost like it helped make things better. There is a problem, but this is how we are going to correct it. So no worries. And at first, I wasn’t worried. I mean, they talked about his cancer like it was a tattoo that needed removing. Minor surgery, a night or two in the hospital and then, he’d be back to normal. It was only after I thought about it a little more and did a little research on his type of cancer and the possible outcomes that I started to realize that things had been a bit glossed over.

Why is cancer so damn scary? Because of how many people it touches, I suppose. It is your own cells mutating instead dying like they are supposed to. Mutiny in the body, for lack of a better description. It knows no boundries or social graces. It doesn’t care how young or old you are, how many responsibilities you have or how much money. It is non-discriminative. It doesn’t even care that you are a celebrity or an average joe.

We were lucky. They nabbed the cancer before it could do much more then barely present itself and my father was up and ready to walk me down the aisle and learn to waltz with me only weeks later. Mike’s mom, Sandi, wasn’t so lucky. Several of our friends and family members are currently battling similar wars with cancer themselves and I can only hope that in the long run, they are as lucky as my dad was. As we are.

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Take these broken wings and learn to fly

March 24, 2008 – 10:32 pm

At one point in my life, she nearly took my breath away. I wanted to be as close to her as any pubscent, heterosexual girl could want to be with her new BFF. Weekends spent with her were almost magical and I hated the thought of having to go home. Going back to my school, that lacked her, and having to face my classmates who did not think I was as wonderful as she did. And none of them were as amazing as her, in my opinion.

But here we are, 13 odd years later and she is a wayward stranger that I occasionally hear things about through the gossip mill. Sad gossip, true gossip and it all leaves me wondering what happened that led her to the point she is in her life. How did she go from being that vibrant girl who made me want to be just like her to an unwed druggie single mom with an underweight baby that we all shake our heads at?

Its a mixture of pity and dismay and dashed hope I am feeling right now. A prayer goes out to her tonight. Maybe this baby will put her on a better path.

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The fat girl inside me I never let eat

March 23, 2008 – 10:31 pm

Why is it that some girls never see how fat they really are and then, other girls never embrace or accept how much weight they have lost and how great they now look? I think girls who have spent an indefinite amount of time being heavier than they wanted to be learn to adjust their thinking to that size ( both in positive and negative ways) but there doesn’t seem to be any diet that really helps with the mental angle of accepting that you are no longer fat. Perhaps it is something touching close in the brain to what affects anorexics and bulemics. They look in the mirror and see something disorted from what is the truth. Its never good enough, it’s never thin enough. I think, often, women (and men) trying to lose weight can fall prey to a similar mentality.

For about two months, we were attending WW meetings on Wednesday evenings and one of our local success stories was attending the same meetings as us. In a year, he had dropped nearly half his body weight and now he is a tall, lanky runner who last I had heard, had run five marathons. A year. November of 2006, he was over 300 pounds and now you’d never know it. But one night, at one of the meetings, even he said that he struggled at times with realizing and accepting that he was no longer that big guy who hadn’t eaten a piece of fruit in over six months.

It’s nice right now because I constantly have something to focus on - getting to that smaller weight. Whether it is two pounds, twelve or twenty, I have my eye on the prize and hardly let it wander elsewhere. But will I really see myself the weight I am when I reach my goal? Will I accept that when I look in the mirror, I have actually reached the destination that I was looking for? I try not to compare my weight to anyone else’s. I attend school with a girl who this week was struggling with her appearance in general. But one of the days, she kept asking us if she really looked like she weighed 160. She’s shorter than me and more round then me in general, but its strange to think she only weighs less than 10 pounds less than I do. I can’t gauge where I am with my own personal weight by looking at her, can I?

Of course, another side to this entire mental breakthrough for those who have finally lost the weight is the judgemental side. You finally lose the weight and find that it was easier than you had dreaded it would be. Suddenly, you start to notice all the other people around you who could stand to lose their extra weight buy don’t and you judge them. You feel this sense of superiority, because you are no longer them. I am not saying everyone who loses the weight becomes that kind of a person, but sadly, it is easier to fall into that mentality than one would like to admit. Several years ago, someone even sent a postcard into Postsecret about it:

I don’t feel as thin this time around at my current weight then I did last time, or even the first time I really lost weight. You lose and gain weight differently each time, from where it goes on to how it comes off. So how do I go about convincing myself that when I reach my goal weight that I actually am that thin, or even acknowledging now that I am not where I was twenty pounds or even two months ago?

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