I haven’t spoken to my mother in several years; I would venture to say that we wouldn’t have a whole lot to talk about. She doesn’t know anything about my world anymore and I’m not sure that I could really understand much about the world that she lives in inside her own head. Not many people understand that world, to be sure. But a long time ago, when I was just a little girl, I can say that there were times when she was actually a great mother. There are sweet memories that stand out like ripe apples on a tree, just there for the taking.

I was just remembering this as I was reading today,* as I paused to look up a word in the dictionary. The word was “elegant.” Yes, I know the word. But the author was talking about quantum theory and used the word to describe an equation; I wanted to really get a grip on the definition to understand this particular context. And, no, I’m not wasting the beautiful summer reading about quantum mechanics (though we have established that I am a geek, right?) But this is something I do often; Webster’s and I are old pals.

It was as I was thumbing through the “e” section that a memory drifted into focus. I remembered so many occasions of dropping whatever book I happened to be reading at the moment (and I was always reading as a kid) and running to my mother to ask for the definition of some word I’d just read. I can’t tell you how many times she told me to go look it up, and how many times I’d roll my eyes, throw my head back and sigh because seriously minion, why can’t you just tell me? I have important things to do like lay on my unmade bed in the middle of my messy room and just vegetate with my Oreos and my book. But, for the most part, if I wanted to know about something, I had to look it up. Sometimes she’d just answer my many “why” questions but much of the time I found myself either lugging the dictionary back to my room or, if it was a whole concept I was looking into, making the trek to the library during those summer days when I was home alone while mom was at work to look at the encyclopedia. Because, you know, there was no internet.

And I really didn’t care for it. I couldn’t understand why my mother didn’t just tell me what I wanted to know. I was of course, at the age where I still had the vague notion that my mother knew everything. It wasn’t until I was sitting in a classroom in, oh, I’d say, about fourth grade. It was Tuesday; it had to be Tuesday because that’s the day that those of us in the Pittsburgh Scholar’s Program** were bussed from our regular schools to the other school for our special classes. I didn’t really understand it, I was just told it was for the “smart” kids, that I’d been doing well on my standardized tests or something. All I knew is that I got to get out of my Catholic school uniform for a day and wear cool clothes. But I remember sitting in the classroom discussing something or another. And I remember that whatever the discussion was, the fact that my mother made me look things up and wasn’t that awful? was going to fit into the context of the discussion and, man, I was going to tell them and they were going to agree that she should just tell me things! I remember raising my hand, being called on, telling the class, and…silence. And then, one by one, most of the kids in the class said “Oh, my mom does that too,” and “Yeah, so does mine,” and “My dad and I go to the library and sometimes he makes me write a report.”

I was a stubborn kid, and I can be pretty stubborn now. I’m sure I questioned my mother on plenty of things, but I can tell you with certainty that I never again questioned her when she told me to look something up. And I don’t always do it; as I said, I can be kind of lazy. Sometimes I don’t delve as thoroughly into a subject as I probably should. And sometimes I just decide that I’d rather not figure something out. But if there is one habit that can thank my mother for, it’s the one that made me question and search for the answers.

*I’m reading The Language of God which I’m sure I’ll discuss in another post.

**This was an accellerated program that the Pittsburgh Public Schools had back in the 80’s; I have no idea if they still have it. It looks like they do at the middle and high school levels but I’m not sure about elementary. No I do not live there anymore, but I used to!

Have you ever had one of those days where you felt like you should have totally stayed in bed? Of course you have and, if you are anything like me, “stay in bed” is on the top ten list of things to do–maybe even the top five (dude, pillows? blankets? Yes.) But hopefully you aren’t like me because I am inherently a little lazy. But, hey, lazy or no, most of the time I choose to get up because a) it is probably hotter in the apartment than outside b) I need to go for a run or something c) I am out of toilet paper, lip gloss, cat food, coffee, or tomatoes d) friends! or e) I need to pay rent. Oh! and f) I need to go to work.

So I was taking care of a) and c) today when I found myself in the following predicaments:

*Upon pulling out of the drive of Huge Grocery Store I merge into traffic and proceed to be nearly sideswiped/knocked into next week by a meandering minivan that decided it wanted my lane and now. Listen Bubba, I am going 45mph (erm, 60 in a 50.) At least use your blinker if you are going to attempt vehicular manslaughter.

*Driving about oh, a half mile up the same road Bubba’s friend pulls out of the gas station into oncoming traffic (that would be me) which, okay, if you are going to pull into traffic and speed up into the flow of traffic, fine. But if you pull into traffic and go, say, 10 so that the person (me) coming up behind you (me) has to slam on her brakes sending her $4 gallon of milk slamming into the dashboard then…dude. It is always said that rear-end collisions are the fault of the person who rear-ended the other person but…dude.

*Okay, almost home. I am driving (which we’ve established) when I see this huge white van coming towards me, in the wrong direction. Apparently he didn’t want to wait for traffic and decided that, to get around the center turn lane and into the opposite lane he’s just…drive up the opposite way.

There really isn’t a week that goes by when I don’t think at least once or twice that the drivers in my state must be among some of the worst in the country.

*Leaving the apartment for c) again (okay, it was marshmallows for Rice Crispies treats.) I shut the door to my apartment and, I kid you not, the lights in the hallway both clicked off. I don’t mean that they “flickered” like old buildings do (I live in a house-turned-apartments that is over 100 years old) I mean they clicked off. I heard the click and, when I looked, the switch right next to me was in the “off” position. I stood quietly and assessed the situation, thinking of how to reason it away because really? I do not like ghost stories and I don’t really fancy having a resident poltergeist. I have lived in this apartment for a few years without incident so I reasoned that, when I lifted my purse over my shoulder, it hit the switch. There.

Not sure that explanation works for why my television was acting strangely later in the evening…

*So, finally, I was at f) when my patient used some choice words on me followed by a pillow expertly aimed at my head. I suppose that it’s a good thing it was only a pillow. And, though I can’t really give you the situation or what was said I can assure you that I’ve heard worse. But still…

*Sigh* I want my binkie.

Because I passed my CLEP exam in General Biology yesterday! When I decided to go back to school it was evident that I would have to take some science courses over again–Anatomy and Physiology, Microbiology, and General Chemistry because either the credits have lapsed or I felt I didn’t have a high enough grade in the course to be a good candidate for my future professional school. I have to take other courses too, of course. I decided to test out of General Biology because a) I took AP Biology in high school and b) I have taken these other courses so I felt like I had a decent chance at passing.

I got my little study guide and was feeling pretty confident until, like, two days before I was supposed to sit for the test when I read a review of the guide I was using. People were saying that they had been totally unprepared for the test, that it was the hardest CLEP they’d taken, that they’d guessed on about 75% of the test. They all recommended relying on a Biology text to study more heavily than the CLEP study guide. Well yeah, okay, I don’t have a text and I only had two days in which to go through said text! So I ended up going to the library the day before and checking out a textbook and cramming about a semesters-worth of information into eight hours of study time. No exaggeration. I think it was the most intense studying I have done, well, at least recently. ‘Cause I mean, I haven’t been in school in about 4 years. Yeah, that’s another thing, I am out of practice.

So yeah, the test was pretty tough. I was pretty shaky on the Genetics and Botany sections going into it and what did I get a whole boatload of questions on? Perzactly. I thought it was going to be a lot easier for me. That’s what I get for being cocky and not studying the crap out of a Bio text for the last month or so.

Whatever, I passed. And, if the score actually showed up on my transcript as a grade, it would have been an “A.”

I’m happy to get that out of the way. The only damper on things is the fact that it was just announced on the news tonight that my college is having their biggest tuition hike in history; tuition is going up 13.2% I think that means I will be paying about $375/credit hour. Seriously? For a state university?  This is he first time I’ve ever dealt with financial aid and a large university; I previously went to a community college and paid for it myself. I figured the increase wouldn’t take effect until next year because, I mean, we’ve all gotten our financial aid awards already. But no, I believe it takes effect immediately.

So…I suppose it’s a good thing I’m testing out of some classes, hey?

Yes that’s a generalization…kind of. But you know as well as I do that our high school students are kind of behind the eight ball on standardized tests when it comes to the math and sciences. And reading and… oh well, this is about mainly science, I only have so much time here.

So I am taking my General Biology CLEP tomorrow morning. Yeah that’s right, I am supposed to be studying right now but there is only so much attention I can pay to a chapter on carbon (carbon–I am so looking forward to that Organic Chemistry course) before my eyes go all wonky and I need to do something else. Like smack myself in the face with the book. Or write a blog post. Anynoodles, I decided to go to the library today to see if there were any Biology texts to supplement my studying. Yeah, it’s late in the game but I got a study guide a while ago thinking that would cover it and, apparently, that isn’t all I need. I read some fatalistic reviews online by some hyped up over-caffienated  test takers who were all “This test was like, totally the hardest CLEP like, ever! And like, the study guide didn’t help at like, all! It like, sucked!” And truly, the study guide does say that it is meant to be a supplement to a general bio text. But I was like “Nah, I am a maverick not to mention the smartest woman alive (lie) and I need no help! (lie)” In reality, I don’t have a General Bio text since I took AP Biology way back in high school. You know back in the day when I was studying while listening to Kurt Cobain…when he was still alive. Yeah, I’m kinda old.

I’m reading (skimming) this text which I think is geared toward high school students and, you know? I can see why they hate science. It’s such a fascinating subject but, when presented like a bowl of wilted lettuce sans dressing, with a side of day-old bread then no, it doesn’t come off as very palatable. I was using my old Anatomy and Physiology book, which is about a decade newer than this book, for some of the cell biology concepts and it’s surprising how much more interesting it is.

Maybe it’s just me, maybe it’s just because I am actually interested in it. But, don’t you agree? If we made math and science interesting and fun for kids–if we went a little Bill Nye once in a while they might actually want to learn?

Just a thought.

Did you know that, in a sense, it really does?

Okay, one thing I should get you used to is the fact that I am not squeamish about medical “stuff.” I’ve worked in the medical field for about seven years (and I want to keep going, and keep going a lot further), most of that in the emergency department; I’ve seen lots of things you probably wouldn’t want to see. And I’ve discussed things as commonplace with my coworkers that most people probably wouldn’t consider polite conversation because, when you’ve just had your hands on someone elses colon, listening to your coworkers talk about their bowel habits isn’t anything out of the ordinary. Not really something I do though, for the record. Just sayin’.

Once in a while I come across something I find quite interesting and I have a feeling that, while I’m in school, I will be finding even more. I figure I have the perfect forum to share these things because, well, it isn’t too often that I run across someone having a scientific and/or medical nerd-out on their blog

I saw this on The Today Show this morning and I thought it was so cool, science geek that I am. I suppose I kind of already knew about some of it (from the hospital, thank you very much!) but, well, considering I don’t have the anatomy in question, I don’t really pay attention.

So…size does matter. For example, did you know that the size of a mans… belly (ha ha! gotcha!) can affect the levels of testosterone? The bigger the belly, the lower the testosterone? Click on the link ladies (and guys.) It’s an interesting article.

Do you ever just listen to the people around you sometimes? I don’t mean while you’re actively in a conversation with others, I mean just…listen. I guess it’s technically called eavesdropping but look, we’ve all done it and I would venture to say that we all still do it, especially at work where it seems we all have common areas where people like to gather and talk about their lives with seeming abandon. For some of us (and I mean me) those common areas are actually our work spaces–where I work kind of promotes eavesdropping and believe me, there is no other line of work that I have been in where there has been so much of that with the inevitable gossip that follows it. I think that’s why shows like Grey’s Anatomy and ER exist; while they are very unrealistic (Izzie cut an LVAD wire and didn‘t get thrown right out of the resident program? Seriously…) the dynamics between the characters (staff) on those shows is…well…the ideas for the shows had to come from somewhere. Anyway, sometimes I listen to people around me and it wears me out. I listen to them talk about their bad relationships. I listen to them complain about how sick they were last week. I listen to them talk about how terribly hot it’s going to be today (when yesterday it wasn’t hot enough, and when is it going to be summery already?) I wonder what makes people revel in their drama. Why would you want to have so much discord in your life when it is much more peaceful to have, well, peace?

And then I realize that I used to be these people not too long ago.

Yeah, okay, I was a drama queen. Maybe, sometimes, I still am. But it’s interesting what happens when you take the time to listen, to really listen to what’s going on around you, to the people around you. I think one of the things that did it for me was that I realized that I don’t have it so bad. Because, remember, I work in a hospital. A lot of the people around me are a lot worse off than I am. I suppose that doesn’t mean I don’t get depressed sometimes and wish I hadn’t done something differently in the past or, I don’t know, wish I had a million dollars or that I was Rachael Ray (she is so pretty, she is so stinkin’ cool, and she can cook.) But, at least now, I recognize that, for the most part, I’m pretty lucky. Blessed.

I’m not trying to spout off some kind of platitude, you know like, “Oh, things could always be worse,” or “Count your blessings.” Ick. But oh, my goodness, have you ever been around really negative people? Of course you have. I sure have. I’m around them a lot. I was one of them and I don’t think I realized it. Sometimes I’m sure I can still be a little negative, for example, I tend to spout off about lazy people when, eh, I could probably just shut it and clean up after them. After all, I‘m kind of lazy myself. Whatever, I suppose no one is perfect. Except Rachael Ray. Oh! And Michael Buble…he’s got such a nice voice and he is so cute! Love that.

And I wonder at the (relative) peace I have in my life lately. I say relative because, look, I don’t live on easy street. I work hard to get by; I work full time and will be going to school almost full time. Because of my schedule, I miss out on a lot…and etc, etc. But I feel peaceful for the first time in years and I believe–I hope–it is because I am doing what I am supposed to be doing.

I was thinking about what I’ve done with my summer and I realized that I only have about 45 days until my Fall semester starts. It feels like summer just began and now it seems like it’s almost over. Of course, I do seem to work all the time. But I haven’t been camping! To a bonfire! To the beach! Okay, in reality, I am not really a camping kind of girl–I’d rather find fun things to do around town–and I am Scottish with a side of Eastern European so I don’t exactly lay on the beach. But you get my point. I’m hoping to take a road trip next weekend with a friend of mine but I don’t know where to yet. Chicago? Cedar Point? I’m thinking the latter because wheee! The roller coasters! But then again, oy! The gas prices!

I still don’t have a lot of time to write (the main reason I haven’t kept up the blog) and I really won’t after the end of August. But I miss blogging and I miss connecting with other bloggers. I will be keeping up this blog rather infrequently especially for now; I am taking my General Biology CLEP next week which is what has been taking up my time lately. Hmmmm… okay not really, I’m lying. Studying for it should have been taking up my time for the last month but I think, for me, giving it my all the week before serves me best. Besides, I took the practice test before beginning to study (as the CD-ROM told me to) and I passed. Just not by a wide enough margin for my perfectionistic self.

By the way, testing out of General Biology will give me 8 credits (I really only needed 4) and save me time and about $2600. Not bad.

In studying for the CLEP I realized that my mind is better equipped for this than it was oh, say, four years ago when I last took a science course (Microbiology, ick.) I don’t know what exactly has changed, whether I am simply more mature or whether I’ve settled down a bit. Maybe I am driven by my passion for what I am pursuing, though in the thick of Organic Chemistry and Genetics I’m sure I’ll need more than passion. Maybe things just…click. I don’t know. But I’ve noticed that my brain picks up the concepts more readily–dare I say more eagerly–than it ever did. Maybe I’m just utilizing mnemonics more effectively. I was going over the Botany chapter the other night which, unfortunately, seemed almost foreign to me. I mean, I took AP Biology in high school, Zoology, Anatomy and Microbiology in college (all of which I get to take again by the way) but Botany? I think it may have been glossed over in AP…

So, because I was memorizing the structures of vegetative propagation. I took myself down to the local farmers’ market and bought myself the sweetest strawberries I’ve had in a long time. Picture me (well, if you know what I look like) cutting up strawberries singing “Strawberries….stooolens!” Heh. Yep, proof positive that I am indeed a nerd. By the way, I don’t really think I need to buy potatoes to remember that they are tubers. Maybe I’ll buy some fries or something (mmmmm…. fries….)

So what has your summer been like? Hopefully care (and study) free?

(Yes, I know this isn’t one of the topics I listed but…)

My generation has been raised to understand–or at least I hope we have been raised to understand–that judging a person on the basis of their skin color is wrong. Gender bias is wrong. Discounting someone because you have and they have not is wrong, and so on. But still people disagree over race, gender and class and yet…I’ve always had this feeling that there is one group of people that everyone seems to band together to pick on: FAT.

I’ve been one of those people, of course I have, looking out of the corner of my eye at that man or woman walking down the street, leaning heavily on a cane, breathing oxygen from a portable tank, almost unable to get around because of their obesity. Or turning my head in disgust at the girl, the really big girl who wears an outfit that no responsible clothing designer should ever have made in her size. I’ve been one of those people who thinks “Do they not know that they’re fat? Do they not know what they’re doing to themselves? What they look like?” I’ve sat idly listening to coworkers openly mock fat people at work calling them names I thought we’d left behind in junior high. But no one thinks it’s juvenile because who cares? They’re just fat people.

And then last summer I went to Cedar Point. Revved up to ride the roller coasters, I approached the line for Millennium Force and was stopped by the attendant at the entrance to the ride. They have a kind of prototype of the seat that is on the ride and she said she needed to see if I could fit into it…she said it right there in front of everyone entering the ride and I had to try to buckle myself into the seat in front of all of them and to my dismay, I couldn’t. With my skinny cute little friend, the attendant, God and everyone watching I felt the heat rise to my face as I tried to buckle the seat belt around my fat ass and… I couldn’t. I laughed, played it off like it was the camera in my pocket preventing it and I don’t know why, but the girl bought it and let me go ahead. I didn’t talk much during the hour we waited in line. Neither did my skinny, boy-catching friend. By some miracle of tugging and sheer will-power, I got myself buckled in so that I wasn’t, you know, thrown from 300 ft. in the air. But, I reasoned at the time, my ass would cushion me if I fell anyway.

I have a feeling that many people who are fat don’t even notice that they’re getting that way. I hear people say that they noticed an extra 10 lbs. one month, then their clothes were tight another month, and then it just keeps going until one day you’re at the damned amusement park feeling as though you are a freaking sideshow act. And I know it sounds ridiculous, but I felt like more of me was on display than just the fact that my butt was too big to fit on the rides. It was like, look at this fat chick. Yep, just another fat American who can’t say no to food, who can’t get it together enough to maintain her body, her health, her life. I felt utterly exposed.

What’s weird is that I’ve struggled with weight my whole life. The thing is that I am and will always be a big girl. It’s just that no one ever taught me to appreciate the fact that certain genes, certain heritage yield a certain body type. And I grew up with erratic parenting and a mother that used food for both of us as an award, a babysitter and a way to alleviate boredom. But unlike me, my mother was one of those people who could eat anything and still maintain a tall, slim figure. And so while food made her happy, it made me miserable. It made me a roly-poly kid. It gave me the nickname “hippo“ through my late elementary and junior high years, a name that followed me home if my mother was feeling especially mean because, after all, she was skinny and I was fat. And, back to the issue of genes, I grew up thinking everyone could be thin and willowy if you tried hard enough. I went through junior high and high school envying my Asian friends their slight, bird-like silhouettes while I cursed my tall, solid, Celtic frame that seemed to say “football player that will tackle you to smithereens” more than it said “pretty girl that you can take out on a date.” I curse the fact that my personality couldn’t have been more girly, more flirty, more… I don’t know, willing to play that girl-game I always despised though I don’t know if I could describe it. Because of that and the way I looked I think I was always thought of as just one of the guys, another buddy. Or…maybe it was just my mindset. That I never thought I was good/pretty enough to be one of the girls.

I don’t think I decided to start working out because of the roller coaster incident. But I did realize that I was fat though I kept reasoning that I wasn’t that fat–look at everyone else! It’s all relative though. I was physically healthy, my “numbers” (other than my weight) were fine but, I mean, I realized that I had a problem with food that probably stemmed from how badly I felt about just life in general. I’ve had a problem with food all my life. In high school, my foster brother and I used to walk up to the corner market to load up on junk food: chips and dip, tubes of cookie dough or a pint of ice cream. We’d eat it all and he’d go run a few miles to work it off while I’d hole up in the basement bathroom and vomit. While I haven’t done the purging in years, the binging still went on. I used to be able to come home from work and eat a whole frozen pizza or something equally as crappy. And, if I was feeling really bad, I’d eat a pint of Ben & Jerry’s too. Yep. That’s enough calories I’m sure for three days. At least.

Something had to give. Since I’ve started working out, I’ve lost roughly 30 lbs. Something like that, I think it depends on what scale I’m on because some say that I’ve lost much less. I don’t like those scales. J And I don’t believe them either, because I’m fitting into clothing that I haven’t been able to fit into in years. I mean, I’m shopping in stores I haven’t been able to shop in quite a while. I tried a pair of jeans in my usual size at Banana Republic and thought there was something wrong with the cut; they slid on and off of me zipped and buttoned. I was swimming in them. I went to American Eagle, a store that I haven’t been able to fit into in several years and was stunned to find myself going through a few sizes to find a fit. I bought an overpriced hoodie (yeah, I think I’ve ranted about $40 hoodies somewhere…but at least I wasn‘t in Hollister J ) just because a) their clothes have gotten cuuute and b) it‘s a size I‘ve never been able to wear from that store. Yep. I totally bought it just ‘cause it fit. Yeah, you teensy girls probably don’t know what it’s like to be at the top of the size charts at most stores so before you go “Oh, wow… I’ve always worn an XS” remember, I am 5’10. And not a Nicole Kidman 5’10” either (that chick is too skinny.) No, there is no skinny-Minnie in this genetic make-up. There is just strong and fit.

Here’s the thing though: there are small victories. I still look in the mirror and see a fat girl. The times I feel good about myself, the times that I can really gain some sort of perspective of what I really look like are when I am trying on clothes and have to go down a size. But then I’m afraid… am I trying too hard to fit into this smaller size? Do I look like a sausage stuffed in casing? Do I look like a fat girl trying to be skinny? See, I don’t have an accurate perception of my body, because even at my very skinniest, back when I was twenty and was running twice a day and eating much less than I should have I couldn’t get over the fact that my lower abdomen stuck out in a little pooch, that it wasn’t perfectly flat, that I didn’t have firm, taught abs even though my waist was whittled and defined by the 100 crunches and “bicycles” I did every day. I wouldn’t listen to the exasperated sighs as they assured me that I looked just fine. I am almost ashamed to say that, now, I feel as good as I do when a co-worker stops, stares, and says “Wow… have you lost weight? You have… wow. You look good” Does the opinion of another really matter that much to me? Well, I suppose it does. Especially when all I see when I’m working out is the rolls around my middle that are getting smaller, but are still there. And when I’m doing those crazy hard pull ups like I saw Alli doing on The Biggest Loser but I can’t seem to get rid of that ugly back fat. Stupid, stubborn back fat that gets smaller but won’t go away.

But at the same time, I look in the mirror for the first time in a very long time, maybe ever, and I think “There is a nice looking girl!” Yeah, I’m alright. I think I’ve always secretly believed that but was afraid to admit it. Like, if I said “Yeah, I think I’m pretty” someone would jump out from behind a tree and be like “Well, that’s rather presumptuous of you and you‘re wrong!” And besides, honestly? I felt like I was being proved wrong all the time. Some stupid boy was always shooting me down. Now I don’t really care too much (because soon I won’t have time for guys) and besides, I catch men looking at least once in a while–and not just the weird ones like before, either. Hot men. Maybe they were looking before and I just didn’t have the mind to notice. Then again, I didn’t really try to be pretty so… probably not.

What makes you feel good about yourself? And what do you do to sabotage it? I’m not saying that taking weight off has made my life perfect but, you know? I think that fat was like some sort of padding from the outside world. I was walking around like a big, soft pillow trying to insulate myself from what people said about me–because I’m not a quiet “lay down and take it” kinda girl so they are always saying shit about me–and I ate for the immediate pleasure and stress release it brought because, despite what I portray to the outside world I really am pretty sensitive. Taking it off is like taking off some sort of shield and in the process I feel more real. In all aspects of my life.

A while ago The Today Show posed a hypothetical question to its female viewers: would you rather a) have a body like Jennifer Aniston (or I guess, for our purposes, whoever you think is ideal) or b) have a million dollars and be fat? I am almost ashamed to say that my knee-jerk reaction was to choose the former. I know that, in my current financial situation where I am both climbing out of debt and attempting to go back to school, I should never turn down money. Well, within reason–I don’t sell illegal things or, you know, my soul. But I clung to the idea of being slim, beautiful and desirable like a dog clings to a bone. I chewed on it, mulled over it. I ached over it like it was something that was actually being offered to me. I thought of the pretty clothes I could wear. I thought of the places I could go and…well…look pretty and banished all the memories of the times I walked into bars and clubs with pretty friends and watched men quickly avert their eyes from me to rest on my friends. The memories of being cut off from those friends while men surrounded them, gradually and effectively pushing me away no matter how I tried to keep myself in the conversation. Oh trust me, it’s happened. Pretty always wins in a bar. By the time the commercials were over, I’d finally talked myself into choosing the more logical choice–the money–as if Matt Lauer and Anne Curry could see into my living room and into my head, right into my off-kilter thinking that would rather be gorgeous and poor as a church mouse than plain, chunky and well-off. As if it were a real offer.

I think it is quite possible that my greatest desire in life has always been to be beautiful. No, I don’t mean Dove commercial beautiful, politically-correct beautiful, my closest friends saying “Allie, you are beautiful” because honestly, that just pisses me off. Other women telling me I’m pretty doesn’t count; we all get that “Oh look, a puppyyy!!!111!!” look on our faces when another female says anything remotely close to “I’m ugly” like ”I need to get my brows waxed” or something and we tell her she’s the most gorgeous thing since Elizabeth Taylor because that’s how women are. We nurture. Then when the girl is gone, we’ll talk about how ugly she is behind her back. Well, I won’t–usually–and my friends won’t but womankind is kind of bitchy like that. Anyway. I’m talking about that girl you work with that everyone wants to fix up with their son, grandson, brother, friend, you-name-it. I’m talking about that girl you know who is so pretty that you can’t stop looking at her. She’s so pretty, she makes your eyes hurt. The woman who walks into the bar and single-man conversation ceases, the men who are with their significant others try to pretend that they aren’t looking at her but it’s non-negotiable–she’s that gorgeous. You have to look. I vaguely remember girls like this in high school, how they seemed like the sun, the light of which other girls wanted to bask in, the heat of which they wanted to warm themselves by. The boys just wanted a crumb of attention if they could get it–you remember how it was.

Men are so enchanted with her that the rest of the world stops turning when she’s around.

Women want to hate her but she’s so charming that eventually, most of the time, she wins them over.

Okay, okay. This is the part when you’d hear that scratch in the record, the one that would signal the abrupt stop in the pretty flute music playing in the background. Who is this person? Well, I don’t know…think Giada De Laurentiis (who, if I were a guy, I think I would be in love with. But I like boys so…) Lindsay Price. Eva Longoria. Heck, Rachael Ray. (Hmmm, does anyone else think maybe my alter-ego is a dark haired Latina who can cook?) Okay, you think that person doesn’t exist outside of Hollywood? Well, yeah, I’m here to tell you that they do. Trust me, they’re in my life.

I’m not sitting here whining about how ugly I am because I’m really not. And, I promise, I am not the shallow twit I’m sure this post is going to make me out to be. But you know that awkward adolescent stage you’re supposed to grow out of at some point? I’m still in it. I had a few years in my early twenties where things, for the most part, gelled. My skin was good, my body (while I’ve always been overweight) was curvy in the right places, my clothes were cute and stylish. But let me admit this: I have rarely felt sexy. I have rarely felt comfortable in my own skin. These days it is almost worse than it was as a teen. Sometimes, I am so self-conscious that it takes over: I am too fat, sometimes it is because I think my hair is too curly. Sometimes…I can’t explain it… I just don’t feel like I know where to put my arms, like I don’t know what to do with my elbows or something. Like they’re going to accidentally fly into someone’s face at random and *BAM* knock out a tooth or an eyeball or something. I know. Crazy.

I know that my desire to be beautiful and adored sounds narcissistic, but it’s not. I’m not. If we’re honest with ourselves we all want to be adored on some level. This is just the desire of a 5’10” woman (because if you are 5’10” you have to be thin, thin, thin or you will be looked at as huge just by virtue of your height) who has always been “that big girl,” or “that cute girl’s friend” to finally be noticed not by the weird guy in the corner with the trench coat and the vampire teeth but by the guy front and center… you know, the normal one. It’s my desire to finally be noticed as a real woman myself, someone you’d stop conversation for.