I was going to write something tonight, but the damn Adobe Flash Player was being a bitch and now it's time to pick up HAM from work. I am in my memoir writing class now. Also, applying for full time jobs and going on interviews, secretly hoping I don't get hired so I can go to grad school and eventually become a professor of Creative Writing after I become a successful author. I am also making this AMAZING vegan minestrone soup regularly, which is not only saving me money, but delicious and healthy too. I am loving the whole cooking thing lately. I'm good at it and I am slowly converting HAM to veganism through example (never through pressure because that is guaranteed to backfire). HAM is getting worse and worse at saying "I love you" lately. It's so hard for him, even though it's easy for him to show me he loves me in every other way. Why are those words so hard for him to say? I am wearing my hair in pigtails for him RIGHT NOW. I made him soup. I am picking him up from work so he doesn't have to spend money on a cab. I told him today, just like Bryan Adams said, "Everything I do, I do it for you." And it's true - I always want to make him happy and keep him loving me. But he's so weird about just saying those three fucking words, even when he knows how happy it makes me. I mean, I know what makes him happy - pigtails, homemade food, deep-throating, and back massages. I do all of that for him. Why can't he just say "I love you" a few times a day? Why is that such a problem? But whatever, that's besides the point. The real point is I want to go to grad school, I want to be a professor. Becoming a "professional" will only deter me from that path and that sucks hairy balls. So anyway, thanks, Adobe, for making this post so short and wishy-washy. What I really wanted to say was something eloquent and poetic, with deep social underpinnings. But instead, this is it. Damn you, Adobe!

Well, of course, I overreacted about the wood. After going to Home Depot and Lowe's and not having any luck, I decided to just email my dad a confession. He assured me it was not that big a deal, that he had plenty more wood and stain for the wood, and that it could probably just be sanded out anyway. And I could breath again. Ahhhh.

Today I got my hair bleached lighter. I am seriously blonde now. I have this thing online called Mint that uploads all of my financial accounts and separated my spending, etc. into categories. It turns out I spend more money on my hair than I spend on food. Jesus! I guess my hair is to me like shoes are to most girls. Even when you're feeling fat and there aren't any clothes that fit, buy a new pair of shoes and all is well. For me, I really don't care for shoe shopping. I would go barefoot if I could. But my hair - I would go to the salon every week if I could afford it. I love how it looks when I leave the salon, so smooth and healthy, no dark roots, every strand in place, shiny, pretty, perfect. I do a pretty decent job with my hair, but nothing beats the work of a professional. In the past, before I could afford the salon, I dyed my hair every possible color. Every time something terrible happened, I would dye my hair. Every time I broke up with a guy, or if I had really awful PMS, I would dye my hair. After I left E and was living in the domestic violence shelter, I cut off my dreadlocks. Then I went on a platinum blonde crusade, stealing bleach and developer from beauty supply stores once a week in an attempt to get my hair to look like Marilyn Monroe's. It probably started when my Mom bleached my hair for the first time when I was 12. I don't remember if any tragic incident occurred before she did it, but I wouldn't be surprised, as the year 12 was a rather hellish year for me. We were living in these disgusting condos, Bellevue Manor, on 148th. It was the ghetto of Bellevue. Still is, in fact. My mom was in a relationship with TM, the biggest, fattest, loudest, most disgusting Italian jerk-off on the planet. His teenager daughter moved in with us, too. She was a crackwhore...no seriously...she was a 15 year old whore. I'm not positive if it was crack that she was after, or just the love and attention that her father never gave her, but whatever her reasons, she was selling her body. TM was horrible to me. He wouldn't let me talk on the phone. We had one phone line in the condo and in the living room, a little red light would turn on on the phone console whenever someone picked up the phone in any room. So if I picked up the phone in my bedroom, TM would see the light, storm in, and make me hang up. He wouldn't let me open the refridgerator. I would walk into the kitchen, reach out for the fridge door, and he would yell from his throne on the couch in front of the TV to back away from the door. When I would get home from school, I liked to watch TV for a while, but when he got home from work, he would tear into the living room, sit down on the couch practically on top of me, grab the remote out of my hand, and change the channel as if I did not exist. One time I came out of the shower with a towel wrapped around me (my bedroom was right next to the bathroom) and he came after me, screaming about something (I don't remember what), grabbed me the neck, and pushed me up against the wall in my bedroom. He was actually holding me up by my neck so my feet her dangling. My towel started to fall off, but he didn't care. He was up in face, screaming at me and I was terrified of this asshole. He was the most controlling jerk I'd ever known up to that point in my life. He was fat and he let his bodily functions fly whenever he felt like it. He yelled and swore all the time. He had road rage before there was a name for road rage. But my mom loved him for some reason, no matter how fucked up his kids were (his son was no better- in and out of jail and rehab and only 19 years old), and no matter how abusive he was towards me. So, I don't know, maybe in my mind, dying my hair is a way to escape pain? Maybe that's taking something superficial a bit too far, but I think there is some truth to it. She would also do things like take me shopping at Ross (Ross was third in my highest spending categories on Mint), and she would buy sweets and we would indulge together. She would buy 2 lb bags of peanut butter M&M's, or an entire cake, or a box of cookies and some ice cream. There were always sweets around, but especially if I was going through a hard time. Sweets were one the ways she helped me to feel better. And today, my three biggest spending categories are hair, food, and Ross. If I include all stores, not just Ross, shopping is the highest category I have. Five times that of hair. So I am addicted to dying my hair, shopping, and sweets. Big surprise. Mystery solved. But even if I am aware of the root of my compulsions, it doesn't stop them. I still want chocolate. I still want to be blonde. I still want a new pair of jeans. I wure would love a way to stop feeling like I need these things. I know I'm a shopping addict. I shop like I'm made of money, even though I only work part time and I am in major debt. It's actually really out of control. But I just want to spend. Sometimes it's not even the spending, just the shopping. The hours spent wandering around a store, picking things out, trying them on, making a decision. Half the time I don't even buy anything, even after spending hours in a store. There's something trance-like, meditative, about shopping. It's soothing and mind-numbing. Everything else just fades away, like how it would for a gambling addict when they're shoving quarter after quarter into a slot machine. The only time I come back to reality when I'm shopping is when I'm in the dressing room and i have to face how fat I actually am. Like today, for instance. I was wandering through Ross and I found some cuter jeans. I went to try them on and I could barely pull them up over my fat legs. They were glued to me, and they were a size 5! It's repulsive. It wouldn't be so bad if my stomach wasn't a bowl of Jello. I wouldn't mind being a size 5 if I had a nice, tight stomach but just had a big fat ass. A fat ass is fine if the rest of you is tight. Look at Kim Kardashian. She's made millions off that fat ass. But she has a small waist. That's key. My waist is soft and it has no definition. It has become grotesque. It makes me so sad because my waist used to be rock hard. You could see the muscles rippling through my skin. I looked HOT in a bikini. And this was only last summer. Now, it's Jello. Even though my stomach is still extremely strong, possibly more so than a year ago, you can't tell because of the fucking layer of fat covering it. I just wish I could get a handle on what I put inside my body. It's like, ridiculous because I can cut out meat no problem, eggs no problem, dairy no problem, soy only a slight problem, but for some reason sugar just has a hold on me. And sugar is the number one thing that makes people fat. Why can't I just let it go and stick to it? Why does it always creep back in, practically hours after I commit to giving it up. I just can't stop. I feel totally powerless over my cravings for sugar. Will I ever be normal? Will I ever be non-addicted? I feel like, even if I'm not drinking, drugging, or smoking cigarettes, my brain always attaches itself to something, clings to it and will not let go. How do people free themselves from addictions? I am tired of being ruled by outside sources, things that can never make me happy long-term, only fill a void temporarily, because the void always reappears. It opens back up almost instantly after the damage is done. All that money spent, all those calories ingested, and for what? I don't feel any better. I'm fatter and I have less money. That wouldn't make anyone feel good. I want to treat myself, my body, my money, my future, with respect and love. I want to save money and eat healthily. I want to stop this insanity because that's exactly what is is: doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. It will never happen. Blonde hair won't make me happy, chocolate won't make me happy, a cheap shirt that I won't even like in two weeks won't make me happy. It's no wonder I have piles and piles of clothes but nothing to wear. What would make me happy is a flat stomach and a savings account full of money. I don't mean that in the superficial way, either, I mean it in the sense that if I have a flat stomach, it's because I'm taking care of my body, and if I have a full savings account, it's because I'm taking care of my financial future. I want to be someone who treats themselves with that kind of love and respect. That's what would make me happy - being congruent with my beliefs. Being vegan is a fantastic start, but I still have a long way to go. I mean, let's be real, here: bleach is NOT vegan.

Shit, I haven't written much this week. And it's not because I don't have anything to say, it's just that HAM is on his break so we're together more, and my boss has given me several projects at work so I haven't had time. I am sad to report that I am once again experiencing allergic reactions to foods. So far the two culprits are dairy and soy. I already cut out dairy and since then my eyelid has stopped twitching, but when I cut out dairy, my soy consumption increased, and now I have been breaking out in hives on my arms and chest. So I am cutting out soy again, too. It's okay, I've done it before, and before I also had cut out gluten, so this won't be nearly as bad. There are a lot more soy alternative, meat alternative "meat" products available now, such as Quorn, and this other veggie patty I found that's really yummy (and gluten free, too). Plus, there are a lot of protein/energy bars that are raw, vegan, and soy free. My new fav is Lydia's Organics Cacao Crunch Bar. While it is more difficult to eat this way because my choices are a bit more limited, I actually consider it a blessing in a way. It's my body's way of telling me to get it together and pay attention to my health. I mean, you can't have any more obvious symptoms than eyelid twitching and hives. It's plain as day that I have to give up these mass-produced, Monsanto bred, hormone filled trash that's only hurting my body and truly crushing my spirit. I've definitely noticed a decine in my attitude and happiness when I eat soy on a daily basis, not to mention the bloating and weight gain around my stomach. And dairy? Shit, dairy is basically glue. I don't know anyone who would willingly ingest glue, but when you eat dairy, that's basically what you're doing. I just don't need it in my body or in my life. My quality of life is not damaged by my lack of cheesecake or ice cream. And my soy consumption consists mainly of my triple medium soy latte in the morning, which, this morning I replaced with almond milk and it's fine. Not as good as soy, but it's fine, and I'll get used to it. I'm happy to have to readjust my diet towards more healthful choices. I've been eating steamed vegetables of every color every night, along with a potato (sweet potatoes usually, but the other night we had these amazing dark purple potatoes). I usually have salad or lentils and grilled veggies at lunch, and oatmeal with walnuts and half a banana for breakfast. I've cut out eggs, too. So I guess I'm a vegan now. I was a vegan once many years ago, but I was still drinking and smoking then, so I don't think it was as effective to me personally (although it was still better for animals and the environment). Now, I don't drink, don't smoke, don't do drugs, I exercise regularly, and I'm vegan! I'm fucking happy about this. It's still brand new, so we'll see if I can stick with it, but I just don't care that much about the products I'm not eating. I was already vegetarian, and I've gone without dairy several times in the past. Eggs were always the hardest thing for me to give up, but lately I haven't even really wanted eggs. I've just lost my desire to eat them for some reason. And that's great since they are so high in cholesterol and oly have six grams of protein, which is easy to get from vegetables and meat alternatives. Yes, I'm still on antidepressants, and as of right now, I feel like I may have to stay on them forever because every time I stop, I slowly fall apart, but at least I'm doing the best I can for my body and the planet. I know antidepressants are tested on animals and I don't like that I am contributing to that, but what else can I do? One thing I am going to try is natural progesterone from yams. I used to take it for almost two years but I was prescribed too high of a dose and it made my periods stop. It's when I stopped taking the progesterone that all my problems began. I was already having digestive issues while I was on progesterone, but when I stopped, the binge eating disorder, weight gain, allergies, extreme digestive discomfort, insomnia and depression began. It's because I have estrogen dominance. I'm not just self-diagnosing either. I have had my hormones checked several times, and every time my progesterone shows as practically nonexistent. My estogen has fluxuated between extremely low and normal, but my progesterone has always been almost off the radar. So I know this will help me. No one that eats as healthy and works out as much as I do is this fat without there being an underlying cause. I am 99% sure it will help me lose weight and feel less irritable, and I've heard it helps insomnia, too. I do remember sleeping really well when I used to take it, so I hope it will help. My insomnia has improved immensely, but there are nights (like last night) where I wake up in the middle of the night and then just lie awake for hours, thinking about irrelevant things. Well, I guess I'm off to the gym now. We're doing back today, my least favorite of all the muscle groups, however, I am especially cut in that area. I scare people with my traps. Once I lose this estrogen fat, I'll be back to my "rock hard to the core" body that I used to have, that is what I deserve to have for all my hard work.

I was going to write about having kids and how I always joke that if I were to have two children, I already have their nams picked out: Resentment and Dream Killer. I was talking with HAM the other day about how I just can't imagine that there would ever be a good time in our lives for children, and that I really love dogs, but have never really loved humans. Especially whiny, selfish ones who I could easily beat up. I was never really one of those types of girls who fantasized about her wedding day and subsequent children. Not to say I've always been against the idea. I wanted to have a baby once. I did a lot of research on it. I was going to be one of those controversial parents who let their baby sleep in bed with them, despite warning that you could roll over and suffocate your baby in the night. The facts are that this doesn't happen. If you have the right kind of pillow to keep the baby from falling off the bed (which is much more likely) then you're golden. And that whole thing about leaving the baby crying in another room so they can learn to self-soothe - I think that's bullshit. My parents did that with me and how did I learn to self-soothe? Cake. I'd rather be overly dependent on my mom than overly dependent on cake. And I was going to have a waterbirth, free of epidurals, doctors, and hospitals. I was either going to go to a birthing center, or rent a tub and have my baby at home, in a birthing tub filled with warm water. I was going to hire a midwife and only use doctors and ex-rays when absolutely necessary, but I wasn't going to do what so many women are doing these days: scheduling their due date. It's so freaky! As if the sterile hospital setting with the poor mother-to-be spread-eagle on a hospital bed, strung out on opiates and being told to "push" wasn't disturbing enough, now women can choose to just "go under", get cut open, and wake up with a baby. That is just so wrong I can't even express my disgust for it. Doesn't anyone do anything naturally anymore? I mean, I'm all for a good boob-job (saving up for mine) but seriously - shouldn't birth be sacred? Isn't it an experience that will forever bond mother and baby? Why would a woman choose to be completely checked out of that experience. Your baby is entering the world and her very first experience is that her mother is not present, not there for her. She is zonked out under anesthesia and the baby is ripped from her stomach and taken away to be cleaned and snipped and who knows what else, and then mom comes to later to a nice, cleaned up, trimmed up baby. Fuck that. Anyway, my point is, I did quite a bit of research. I was going to teach my baby sign language so it would be able to communicate with me before it learned it form words, therefore lessening certain instances of colic. I was going to play soothing music against my growing belly for the baby to listen to in utero. I was going to feed my baby a vegan, organic diet so it wouldn't be subjected to the hormones in dairy and chemicals in conventional foods. I started taking prenatal vitamins, had my IUD taken out, and got off anti-depressants while my fiance was still in jail just to prepare for his release. And the they he got out we started trying to get pregnant. It took about eight months and I finally had a positive test. It hadn't been more than a few weeks since we learned of my pregnancy that we were going to visit his grandpa in Mendocino County, about a two hour drive from where we were living in San Rafael. He still wasn't officially living with me - he was living at the SLE down the street, Marin Services for Men. He went back to his place to get ready and I stayed at my place to get ready. Since it was August and we were going to Willits, which was guaranteed to be hot as hell, I wanted to shave my legs so I could wear a little skirt. I did my normal shower routine plus shaving and then got out and started drying my hair. ALL came back over and was ready to go. When he saw that I wasn't ready, he started fuming, asking why I was wasn't ready and yelling about how he didn't have much time. I told him that I shaved my legs so it was taking me a little longer than usual to get ready and that enraged him. Before I knew it, he had pulled me out of the bathroom and was yelling in my face. He grabbed me by the throat and threatened to choke me to death. We were now in the hallway of my apartment, his hands around my neck, his wide mouth open showing his missing bottom tooth, his forehead creased, his eyes filled with hatred. He squeezed tighter around my neck and I was pissed. I reached up and squeezed my hand around his neck. I figured, even though I couldn't hurt a 220-pound ex-con with a woman-beating problem, I at least wasn't going to bitch out. I was mad, too. All I did was shave my fucking legs! Of course, when I squeezed his neck, that made him go from enraged to blackout insane. He squeezed my neck so hard that I felt myself fading fast. I couldn't breathe and I went limp. After that I'm not sure exactly what happened, but I woke up on the floor, against the wall, in another room. Immediately, I started shouting, "You choked me until I passed out! You could've killed me! I'm pregnant!" He said, "I didn't do shit to you, get up." I wouldn't let it go. I was horrified by this. All the violence that had happened before was bad, but it all of it happened to me and me alone. This time, he wasn't just hurting me - he was hurting my baby. This was unacceptable. So I played along with him, let him try to make it up to me by taking me on a trip to the coast, cooking me breakfast, blah, blah, blah, all that bullshit abusers like to do to suck you back into their insanity so they can abuse you again. But secretly, I didn't pay rent that month. I stuck the money ($1000) inside a sock in my sock drawer and waited. He wouldn't let me out of his sight for days because he knew I might try to escape, but he finally felt secure enough that I wouldn't leave him, and he had to go back to the SLE or he would get kicked out, which would fuck up his probation, so he went back. That night, I called my mom and told her what was going on and she convinced me to leave. So I packed up my $1000, a picture of my dead dog, a framed serenity prayer painting, and a laundry basket full of clothes, and took off in the middle of the night. There's a lot more to this story, I ended up staying with ALL for another year in a long-distance relationship, and eventually moved back to San Rafael to be with him again (it only lasted two weeks after I arrived - then I had to escape from the bastard again) but for now, I'll just talk about the baby situation. I came home to Bellevue, to my Dad's house. He thought my best option would be to abort the baby. I went along with it, even though I wanted the baby and had planned for the baby, researched the birth, my diet, the sleeping arrangements, etc. I had the abortion, and I suppose it was for the best, but ever since then I've felt pretty anti-baby again. That was my one decent into baby-craziness and it ended pretty fucked up. So, now I'm older, I've got a great guy who I love, who loves me, who would NEVER hurt me. He's brilliant, stunningly beautiful, responsible, sweet, just a damn good guy, and I think - why would I want to screw this up with kids? That's what kids do. They make happy couples want to murder eachother. They turn hot chicks into short-haired soccer moms. They are the wedge between the man and the woman and they cause divorce more often than not. I like being thin and beautiful, I like having sex every day, sometimes twice a day. I like being able to get my hair done when I want, go to the gym when I want, not having to orchestrate my job and my appointments around a child. Besides, the world is overpopulated. That's not just something people say to justify not having children, either. That shit is real. There are too many of us here all breathing the same polluted air and driving on the same congested roads, eating the same contaminated food, and attending the same broken public schools. (This is the one area of my life where I become a Republican - if I ever did have children, you can bet your ass they'd be in private school.) Maybe adopting dogs would keep my relationship intact (and my thighs), save the planet of one more parasite sucking off of it, and it would allow me to pick names other than Resentment and Dream Killer. I've already named my new computer David Lee Roth and my external hard drive Eddie Van Halen, so this could take some time. Maybe Jerry and Pig Pen. But thinking about having children is definitely good for counting my current blessings. When I think about how awful life could be if it revolved around someone other than me, my current situation seems pretty damn sweet. No resentments, dreams in reach, and  stretch mark free.