Be aware of my thoughts. That's what I'm supposed to do. What we hear when we're children is absorbed like water into a sponge. As a child, I heard I was fat, and I knew that no one liked me, so my brain equated being thin with being loved. And even though I am currently aware of this and realize that it is illogical, it's been so deeply engrained in me that I have to retrain my brain to believe something different. So the psychiatrist says, "Be aware of your thoughts" and try to stop them. She says I have a bit of body dysmorphic disorder. She says I look great. I showed her the big roll of fat on my stomach but she ignored it. I told her that I can't have dysmorphia if the fat is actually there, but regardless of the fat being there, I want to stop obsessing about it. She says "be aware of your thoughts". I would prefer a quicker fix than hours of therapy and being aware of my thoughts. What about hypnosis? Isn't there something I can do that won't take a long time? I'm tired of this shit. I am so tired of making everyone's life miserable with my constant, "I'm fat" ramblings. No one cares, no one agrees with me, and people resent feeling like they have to tell me I look good when they know I'll just keep saying I'm fat. I don't want people to be annoyed or resentful of me. I don't want people to dislike being around me. I guess I'm more likeable as a fat person with good self-esteem than I fat person with low self-esteem. Surprise! So I just have to accept the giant roll of fat on my stomach and not let it bother me. That just seems impossible. I guess I can at least start with not saying anything out loud. Maybe if I internalize the self-hatred, people won't resent me. God, this is just such bullshit. If only I could just lose the fat, then I wouldn't even have to worry about any of this, because when I'm thin, I know it, and when I know I'm thin, I don't complain about being fat. Therapists assume that it's something I complain about and see in myself no matter how much I weigh or how I look in the mirror, but the reality is that when I am thin, I know it, and I feel better about myself. I don't complain about being fat when I'm not fat. I guess the problem is that my standards for myself are higher than other people's. For me, I need to be in between a size 0 and 2 to feel like I'm thin. For other people, they think I am thin now. However, I am a size 4 now, and this is too big for me. I am a small person, only five foot two and three quarters. I have small bones and a small frame, and I don't need to be 123 pounds. It's too much for me. I should be 115 at maximum. I would prefer to be 110. I think this is reasonable. I'm not trying to be a skeleton, I've been anorexic and don't want to go back there. I like food. I don't want to look like a teenager. I just want to be height/weight proportionate...on the lower end of height/weight proportionate.If you look at the height/weight chart for someone who is five foot two with a small frame, they should weigh in between 108 and 121 pounds. So, I technically am two pounds over weight. And all I want is to be on the lower end of that chart. I don't want to be underweight. And you can ask anyone who knows me - when I'm at my ideal weight, I don't complain about being fat. Does my life get any better when I'm thinner? No, not really. Do I expect it to? No, not really. But it's certainly nice to be able to take my mind off my gut and start focusing on other things, so I guess there is a slight upswing in my quality of life when I am thin. However, there is the burden of trying to maintain that weight, and the fear that one taste of sugar will send me into the downward spiral of cheesecake-induced insanity. But you have to understand, I've spent most of my life as a cute girl, one who gets a lot of attention and double-takes from boys, and, while it may not be as epic as winning a Nobel Peace Prize, it still feels good. It feels great, actually, to be desired, to be "hot". And as I get older, I know that will continue to fade away and I will have to rely on my charm and quick wit to woo others, it's still painfully difficult to let go and let the younger girls have their moment in the spotlight. Like EP (aka Hot Girl), there's this one photograph of us together, and she just looks so radiant and shiny, full of life, almost glowing. And there was me, next to her, pale (literally) in comparison. I look okay, not terrible or anything, but certainly not glowing or shiny. I look dull, lifeless, like limp hair. That's age. EP doesn't tan, doesn't get her hair done, doesn't get her nails done, doesn't do any of the maintenance that I do to stay looking cute, yet she looks amazing next to me. So, shit, I've gotta stay on top of my game. Gotta get that tummy tight, gotta whiten those teeth and bleach that hair. I'm not ready to give up yet. And yet, no matter how thin and pretty I am, I still have no friends. I have one guy who loves me, and I love him, too, but I always wonder why he loves me and when he's going to leave. Sometimes I look at him and think, fuck...this guy is so gorgeous, in such good shape, he looks like a damn Abercrombie & Fitch model. He gets checked out by gay guys everywhere we go (so you know he's hot, because whether a man is gay or straight, you can count on him being superficial and attracted to beautiful things), so what does he see in me? I guess I'm pretty funny. And smart. An airhead, but smart, nonetheless. And he thinks I'm cute. Beautiful, sometimes. So I need to just accept that he loves me, believe that he wants to be with me and that he's not going anywhere (like he says). But I know he doesn't want a fat girl. He hates fat, especially on girls. He wouldn't be able to get a hard-on for a fat girl. So I have to at least stay thin for HAM. If not for the rest of the world, then at least for HAM. So anyway, I'm rambling, it must be time to stop, but the real point of all of this is that I need to be aware of my thoughts and stop them when they are negative because I am pretty awesome, and would be more awesome if I would shut the fuck up about my weight.

It was a toss up this evening between tanning and writing. Here I am, so obviously I chose the latter. EP invited me to a barbeque tomorrow and I'm thinking I will go. I don't know anyone there besides her and I'm not very good at parties, especially if I don't know anyone, but I feel like a jerk that I keep avoiding hanging out with her. Even though she's a hot girl, she actually is really nice. I just never know what to say to girls. I've spent most of life around guys. My first friend was a boy. We met in Hawaii when I was one year old. Then, growing up in West Seattle, my best friend was a boy. We used to build homes for worms out of mud and leaves, throw toys around my room, get chased by packs of neighborhood dogs, and torment his twin sister. There was a bit of time, middle school, where I didn't really have any boy friends. But in high school, my best friend was a boy. We talked on the phone for hours every day. He had a crush on me, and since I didn't feel the same way, we became friends for several years. When I started hanging out at Totem Lake Denny's, there were mostly guys there. I became friends with pretty much all of them. Wherever I went, whatever I did, I always had lots of dudes around me. I like guys because they're usually funny and there's no competition. I get to be the pretty one, the one with the vagina, they get to be the ones who settle for being my friend because I won't date them. I'll admit, I've had my share of guy friends who bought me drinks, dinners out, clothes, gas for my car. One guy bought me cable TV. I always got free drugs. To this day, I have no idea how much an eight-ball costs. Although it doesn't matter anymore. I've just had a lot of bad experiences with girls. A girl introduced me to HAM. She had a boyfriend, but apparently she liked HAM, or at least she wanted HAM to like her. When she found out that he and I were seeing eachother, she didn't want to be my friend anymore. That really hurt. I thought she actually liked me but it turned out she liked me until she realized that guys were more attracted to me than to her. As soon as she realized that, she was out. Now she's best friends with HAM's ex girlfriend. I had a "best" girl friend for years. I'll call her TB. TB was pretty cool for a while. Super artistic. She was a poet, and she was funny. We had all kinds of inside jokes and we also spent hours on the phone. Bit drugs eventually tore us apart. She went to prison for a year for international drug trafficking, and I only wrote her twice the whole time she was locked up. We stayed friends after that, but she was really fucked up, and I guess I wasn't much better. Eventually I got sober and I decided I didn't like the state of our relationship, so I basically broke up with her. I've talked to her only one time since then, to apologize for being a total shithead (because I broke up with her through email after being best friends for 15 years). I guess she's living in some ghetto apartment out in Lake City and spends every night in a gross bar getting wasted. So I guess I'm not missing much. Too bad, though, because she used to be really amazing. She was so charismatic. She was the type of bitch who could make friends with anyone, get a job anywhere, convince anyone of anything. She could dance, sculpt, write, sing, and paint. Drugs and alcohol just sucked the soul out of her. I guess they sucked my soul out for a while, too. I'm thankful for all that time I spent sober and for learning how to live sober, learning that "getting fucked up" really isn't that great. I mean, every once in a while, sure, but every day? So lame. Life is too good to spend it high. Besides, I like my job, I love HAM, I love that family trusts me, that I can hold a job, go to school, write, work out, afford to get my nails and hair done, look realistically toward the future. I enjoy a nice glass of wine here and there, and a good old-fashioned opiate session is still enjoyable every now and then, but I'm not trying to spend my life as a junkie. I truly learned from AA that life is better without drugs and alcohol running it. But I have also discovered that I don't have to be a teetotaler to NOT be a junkie. There is a balance. Anyway, I've gone off in a completely different direction here. My cat is staring at me. Girls...that's what I was talking about. I'd love to have some girlfriends, but where the smart girls at? Where the funny bitches at? I miss my college professor, SH. That's the kind of chick I want in my life. Funny, brilliant, eccentric, and darn cute. I guess I really need to go back to school and get my master's if I really want those type of chicks in my life. The ones who understand my sense of humor, who think deeply about things, who know there's more to life than taanning. I get to be that girl who's funny, eccentric, smart, and hahaha, she goes tanning and spends $300 on her hair, isn't that insane? Oh, that BG, what a character. I want to be the only girl in my group of girlfriends who goes tanning and gets her hair and nails done, because usually the girls who do things like that are empty, vacant. There lives revolve around those things and they lack substance. I do those things now more for HAM than for me. I mean, I like being pretty and well-maintained, but it's expensive and a lot of work and time. I can think of about a zillion things that are more important than tanning. Like writing this long, rambling blog about...what is this about? Girls, drugs, and tanning? I guess. My point is, all those superficial things I do, I don't believe in them as worthwhile endeavors, I just can't stop doing them for some reason. I am attache to physical appearance, being pretty, or desiring to be pretty. But I know in the greater scheme of things, hair, nails, makeup, and tanning is all irrelevant. It won't say on my tombstone, "BG - She had fabulous hair". (I guess I could request that if I really wanted to.) I would like it to say something like, "BG - A great writer and a true friend" or something like that. "Loved by many". Right now I have HAM, my mom and dad, and my grandma, who (if things go the way they're supposed to) will probably not be at my funeral. Maybe there would be an old guy friend who would show up, maybe my ex boyfriend, BD, and my homie KH, but other than that, I am not loved by very many at all. "Loved by a few". Better than "BG who?" Oh well, this is getting a bit morbid. I just need to go to this barbeque tomorrow. 

I did hot yoga last night for the first time in almost a year. It was good to get back and sweat off about three pounds of my bodyweight. But there's something yoga instructors always like to remind you of while you're balancing on one foot and giving yourself a good ol'fashioned reacharound. They always say things like, "Don't compare yourself to anyone else in class. This is your yoga practice. It doesn't matter if the person in front of you can stretch a little further. This is about you doing your best practice." I don't know if they sayt that because as humans, we're just competitive by nature and we're always looking at others to see how we measure up, or if it's because they can see me eyeing the hot chick who's bent in half with her right leg behind her head and still has no belly fat hanging over the top of her ass-bearing yoga shorts. I can't help but compare myself to these girls. Any time I enter a hot yoga class, I immediately scan the room for the hot girls and then spend the rest of the class eyeing them from my upward dog. I also wonder, how do they stay looking so beautiful in 115 degree heat while moving through a series of warrior poses? I see myself in the mirror and my face is beet red and dripping with sweat. Then I see these girls and it looks like they're in full makeup with only a slight sheen. Is it those eyelash extensions? Permanent makeup? I guess hot girls are juse hot at all times. They probably look like that first thing in the morning, too. I feel like I look like a completely different person without makeup on. It's not too terrible when it's just everyday, but in a hot yoga class I do not look pretty. And I always feel like HAM must be comparing me to these girls as well. of course, I have no proof of that, and he's never given me reason to think that he would do that, but I still feel like he must be thinking, "I wish that girl was my girlfriend instead of BG." Or at least, "I'd like to do that girl." I know that it isn't all about looks. He likes me for other reasons, too (although I'm not sure what they are) but I still feel insecure whenever there's a girl around who's obviously hotter than me. Because when he met me, I was almost physically perfect. My body was on fire back then. I was the perfect weight and my stomach was rock hard, I was super tan, and I'd always get my nails done with black french tips - his favorite. He's said before that he thinks girls should always wear makeup and get their nails done. Well, it's just not possible for me to always wear makeup or afford to get my nails done every two weeks. And what I do these days is already a complete 180 from what I used to do. I mean, shit, I never wore makeup or a bra, or shoes for that matter. I had dreadlocks and didn't shave. I never would've even thought of tanning or getting my nails done. This whole Bellevue Girl thing is rather new to me and it's not always easy for me to stay on top of it. Sometimes I wish I could just go back to the dreadlocks and bare feet and just say "fuck it" to all the superficial bullshit. But I'm too insecure for that now. besides, HAM met me when I was almost perfect and I just assume that's what he expects from me, so I'm constantly trying to get back there. It's hard, though. With all these health problems I've had over the last year, I've gained and lost the same 10 lbs several times and right now I'm somewhere in between. I know he's come to love me over the last year and a few months that we've been together, so it's not all about my appearance anymore like I'm sure it was at the beginning. I just want to be perfect for him. Why? I want him to keep loving me. Once he said he had concerns that I might end up looking like my mom one day. It really hurt my feelings for two reasons: 1) Because I love my mom and I don't want to hear anyone say bad things about her and 2) Because my mom and I are two different people who lead different lifestyles. I work out five days a week and put a great deal of effort into my health and appearance. My mom has always been more focused on art than on exercise. There's just no way to compare the two of us or to be able to look at her for a prediction of what I'll look like when I'm older. He later apologized and took back what he said, and I believe he meant that, but it's still in the back of my mind. Anyway, I am supposed to somehow come to accept who I am and that I will never be perfect but that I'm pretty good, not fat, etc. I am not there yet by any means, but at least I am aware that I need to get to a place of acceptance in order to be happy and one way to do that is to stop comparing myself to hot girls in hot yoga and just focus on my best practice. In hot yoga and in life.

I don't know if it's my period, or if I'm really starting to binge again. The medication seemed to work for quite a while. I stopped bingeing almost immediately after I started taking the medication. But i guess now since I've been on it for a while, it's losing it's effectiveness. It just seems so backward to me that the one thing I want more than anything in this world is to be hot, yet I do something repeatedly to ensure that I won't be hot. For breakfast I had my toaster waffles and eggs with agave nectar and a little peanut butter, and two cups of coffee with milk. For lunch I had a sandwich on wheat bread with avocado, goat cheese, spinach, tomatoes, pickles, and carmelized onions and a Mango Kombucha. Later I got an iced latte. For dinner I had two veggie tacos, 2 1/2 pieces of bread with peanut butter and agave nectar, and a few strawberries, plus a bunch of bites of peanut butter. Then later I had blueberries (a lot of them) with low-fat cottage cheese. Jesus Fucking Christ! I am out of my mind. That was probably over 2000 calories of food and I only did a half hour of cardio today. I am getting fatter by the second. I know part of my problem is coffee. When I start drinking coffee, my water consumption gets lower and lower until I'm back to being totally dedhydrated. The dehydration is so normal to me that I don't even know I'm dehydrated, so my brain sends a message to be body to put something in it, and my body decides that the something is food, when water is what I actually need. I was doing pretty good for a few days, but the same thing always happens. I stop drinking water and start eating more and more and drinking more and more coffee. Why am I such a fuck-up? I don't think anyone has ever hated themselves as much as I hate me. I am such a fucking failure. I want to be a size 2 and I'm a size 4. I want to eat healthy and I eat way too much. At least I'm sticking to the no added sugar, no sugars other than stevia and agave nectar. That hasn't been so bad. But I'm still eating too much. I did it yesterday, too. I was just going to have a little snack before the gym and i ended up eating a ton and not even going to the gym. I ate a Larabar, which is the only bar out there that has NO added sugar, not even honey. It's sweetened with dates. I got a latte too. And some trail mix, of which I was only going to have a little, but instead I ate the whole bag. Then I went back and bought some grapes and cherries and ate those too. I think I need to just stop eating a lot more foods. Like no fruit, no peanut butter, and no bread. And no agave nectar. Just vegetables, cottage cheese, eggs, and quinoa. Maybe a little salmon, if I decide fish is okay. I hate myself, I hate that I have no self-control. I feel like such a failure. Why can't I just control what I eat? I have to quit coffee again. FUCK.

I love The Big Lebowski. Who wouldn't? But whenever I watch it, I always think, what if The Dude was a chick? The Chick. What if the chick was an out of shape, unemployed alcoholic who spent all her time bowling? What if she walked around in flipflops and bowling shirts and had a fat girlfriend with an insane temper? I don't think she would be immortalized as one of the greatest characters in film history. I don't think people would find it funny. I think men would hate the movie, because men don't watch movies to see overweight, unattractive, middle-aged women. Why is it that The Dude is so awesome but The Chick would never work? Why aren't fat, slobby women as funny as fat, slobby men? Not only that, but the female characters in the movie are stereotypical and used as sexual devices. Bunny is the hot blonde, gold-digging whore, and Maude is the eccentric, vaginal-art producing "independent woman" who, in the end, needs a man (The Dude) to conceive. I don't know. I love that movie despite the double-standards. My boyfriend, HAM, says men are funny because of the jokes they tell and women are "situationally funny", meaning that we don't tell funny jokes, but the things we do without trying to be funny ARE funny. So, basically, men tell jokes, and women ARE jokes. But here I am getting all uptight about it - something women tend to do. We like to take funny things apart. We're often the buzzkill. I don't want to be the buzzkill. What I would like to be is joke funny instead of just something to laugh at. So I'm going to work on my standup and get back to you, but for now I'm just gonna chill the fuck out, man. The Chick abides.

I have too many fat days, ugly days, low self-esteem days, I usually call them. I have fine hair that grows around my upper lip and chin, as do most girls (even the really hot ones) and I used to go to the greatest wax girl ever, but then she got pregnant and decided to take a six month maternity leave. Didn't she think about how this would affect me? Well, anyway, when she took leave, so did I. Once you develop a relationship with a waxer, you really don't want to start all over again. So I have been fending for myself for the last few months, using tweezers here and there, occasionally browsing the websites of local spas, but never making an appointment. Well, the hot girl from the gym, EP, invited us to a barbeque, so I decided I had to do something more thorough. When the sun shines on a unwaxed face and you catch it in just the right light, it's frightening. I didn't want to be that girl, especially around a hottie and all her stupid hot friends. So I used this cheapo wax from the drugstore, and it looked great at first, but a few days later (we never made it to the barbeque by the way), my skin developed a reaction to it. So now I havebig, red, painful bumps on the sides of my mouth. I've already been feeling bloated and fat lately, and now on top of the poor body image, my face is all fucked up. Makeup just makes it look even more ridiculous. I sometimes feel like I missed the day they taught hot girl grooming 101. For years I was unaware that hair grows on top of your toes, above your lip, on your chin, and down the center of your belly from your navel to the area where it is obvious that hair grows (and I didn't know that people groomed that region either). I didn't know I was supposed to shave those areas or have them waxed, and even if I had known, I wouldn't have known who to turn to. I didn't know that I shouldn't bite my nails, or chew the skin around my nails, I didn't know that box hair dye from the grocery store would turn my hair orange or green, depending on it's base. I didn't know what size bra I was, I didn't know that glitter and dark roots made me look cheap. I didn't know how to look good. And now that I know how I'm supposed to look, I don't know how to achieve the desired result. I work out five days a week, sometimes twice a day. I spend inordinate amounts of money on my hair and nails, and I used to spend it on waxing too. I am constantly buying new foundations and eyeliners, mascaras and face masks, trying to get the skin I want, the hair I want, the nails I want, the body I want, the face I want, the youth I wish I could recapture. And that's the worst part of all: even if I achieve the beauty results that I'm always desperately chasing, youth trumps maintenance every time. When I had hair on my toes, dark roots, glitter spread all over my chest, an ill-fitting bra, a half-shirt, bell-bottoms and bare feet, I had one major thing working in my favor. I was young. I was hot because I was young. It just doesn't take as much work when your young. Throw on whatever, you don't need makeup or fancy clothes or a waxed upper lip or a mani/pedi, all you need is your fresh little face and your perky little tits, and a spark in your naive little eyes. The older we women get, the more we try to recapture that effortlessness, but it takes so much damn effort! It's so expensive and time-consuming to look as if "Oh, I just threw this on. I didn't even have time to do my makeup this morning." Skin gets rougher and starts to droop, fine lines creep around the corners of your eyes, a slight wrinkle appears in the center of the forehead, and veins, you know, the ones your mother has, start prutruding from your hands. Time cannot be turned back. It's just one more instance of accepting the current situation. I can't get younger, so I have to work with what I have. Learn how to manage my fading beauty. Learn how to accept that it's someone else's turn in the spotlight, but the spotlight will fade on those girls as well. As we fade, the spotlight fades. It sucks not being the hottest girl in the room. Now the hottest girl in the room is EP. She's 22.