Thursday, February 28, 2013

stream of consciousness, part i

I'm taking a break from writing fiction because I have a zit inside my ear (I swear to God) and it's making me cranky. So now I'm mad and uninspired.

{for those with less than 20/20 vision that says: that's high school me pretending to be happy but really I was just hungry}

anyway, I was just thinking. Four years ago today, I was underweight. I was sick physically and really, really, really sick emotionally. I couldn't wait to go off to college so that I could starve and overexercise in peace without having my parents on my case all the time. I was mean to my friends. My sister and I, once so close, grew miles and miles apart. I wanted to look ill because I thought maybe it would relieve the pain and hurt that I felt inside (I never claimed to be a logical thinker).

I made whole wheat brownies with Splenda for MY BIRTHDAY, Jesus Christ.

and then when I found out Splenda has like, 4 calories per packet, I almost had a heart attack. Remember Meg?

and honestly all I have to say to this is, thank God I met Mike.

obviously a boyfriend can't cure an eating disorder. Well. Duh. But as a person and a friend he's taught me to care more about my career and my family and laughing and everything other than the gap between my thighs (which, for the record, doesn't exist). So whatever happens with us in the future, I'll be glad I met him. I think people do come into your life for a reason.

I think I've also taught myself to care about these things, too.

I've come pretty far in the past few years. I wouldn't have thought I'd be here four years ago, but I am so glad I am.

is it all right to say that I'm kind of proud of myself and happy with the person I've become? Is that cocky to say?

Tuesday, February 26, 2013

stupid things people said to me this past weekend

my sister: "Happy happy birthday! 22! You can't shop at Forever 21 anymore."

my dad: "you're turning two ducks."
me: "what the hell are you talking about?"
my dad: "two ducks. Twos look like ducks. You're no longer a duck and a stick."
me: "there is nothing about twos that looks like a duck."
(this went on for several hours actually. Seriously, twos don't look like ducks. I'm not sure what this man is smoking exactly but when I find out I'll be sure to let you know)

me: "ugh, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph."
my dad: "and all of the heavenly court."

my friend, at a sushi restaurant (which my other friend calls "the conveyor belt sushi restaurant"): "I'd like a shrimp roll six please."
my boyfriend: "you're not supposed to say the six part..."

my friend: "Simba's my nephew. Did you know Simba's my nephew? He's a cat."
everyone: "Simba's not a cat."
my friend: "he is a cat!"
everyone: "you're so drunk."
my friend: "that's the funny part, you guys think I'm drunk but I'm actually not."

p.s. my right wrist is famous! Hopefully someday I manage to make my face famous too (it is my life goal to have a Wikipedia entry written about me, you know) but for now my wrist will do.

Monday, February 25, 2013

i had a good birthday

I used to hate birthdays because I had a family therapy session the day before I turned 18 and then my mom didn't talk to me on my birthday.

but then when I turned 20 my friend Alex threw me an awesome party and all was well in the world.

I'd say I had a pretty good birthday this year. I got to spend time with my boyfriend who is a cool guy in my opinion. In fact he even got me a hamsa necklace which he'd sworn he'd never do (he thinks my obsession with hamsas and evil eyes and such is borderline unhealthy, which is probably very true but what can you do?). My roommate Jess got me an elephant tapestry (elephants!) and cookie cake which was like my only wish for my birthday because if I had to choose a last meal on death row it would probably be cookie cake or oatmeal with peanut butter (yeah I know I know...what's wrong with me?). My dad came to visit me and bought me the most beautiful watch which I am forever grateful for. My friend Julie pretended to be a cat for a night and it was awesome. I got over my fear of posting an excerpt for my novel and my friend Maddy said it was good (!!!).

among other things...

so yeah, it was pretty good.

I'm a lucky girl, I'd say.

Wednesday, February 20, 2013


so obviously my biggest flaw is that I am horribly insecure. Basically I think everything I do sucks. But really. I'm afraid people secretly hate me and that I am fat (apparently four-plus years post-eating disorder this is still an issue) and that I am not smart and that I am a bad mom to Simba and most of all I am so terrified that my writing sucks.

so terrified. The fear is paralyzing at times, which is embarrassing to admit.

especially when it comes to fiction because really no one has ever read my fiction that much. And I want to put it out there so that people will give me feedback but I am scared.

how do I get over this?

for the first time in my life I am hopelessly in love with the novel that I am writing right now but I can't force myself to show it to anyone because I'm worried it's actually terrible and I am crazy and not talented at all.


Wednesday, February 13, 2013

thank you, zoe

here's a little story for you.

when I was little I wanted to be a writer. I mean at one point I wanted to be a gymnastics coach but I think that's just because I liked practicing with my sister and bossing her around. But anyway I wanted to be a writer. It all started with J.K. Rowling, really. I love that woman. I'm actually kind of sad I didn't come up with Harry Potter myself, but that's another story for another day.

so I wanted to be a writer and I wrote and I wrote and I wrote. I wrote all kinds of stories, set in all kinds of places, like Hogwarts because back then I didn't understand what copyright meant (I was young, sorry). I even finished one novel once when I was 12. I only ever showed my sister the stuff I wrote and she said she liked it but obviously I forced her to say that, so who really knows.

then some really bad stuff happened when I was 14 and I lost every last bit of confidence I had, which wasn't much in the first place. So I stopped writing.

in high school I stressed about the future way sooner than I should've. I didn't know what I could be now that I thought I'd never be good enough to be a writer. At one point I thought of studying psychology and becoming a therapist but then I realized I couldn't even deal with my own damn problems (and there were plenty, let me tell you) so really I had no time or patience for anyone else's (but that's not true because I think I'm a pretty decent listener).

then I joined the high school newspaper and decided I could be a journalist because I'd still be writing, which is my favorite thing to do ever ever ever, even though it was real stories, not stories I made up in my head. But it didn't matter because writing real stories was fine too. Also, I was deluded and thought being a journalist would be a more, you know, "stable" job than being a "novelist." Clearly I wasn't paying attention because the internet happened and now no one really cares about magazines and newspapers anymore. Oh and also the economy jumped off a bridge and all that. So getting a job as a journalist wouldn't be that easy or anything.

but whatever. I came to college and took my journalism classes and learned how to write better articles. Then this past summer I had an early quarter-life crisis (I say early because I'm not even a quarter of a century old yet) and it was just like, is this all I have to look forward to in my life?

and my dad whispered, "Novels. Your real passion was writing novels."

I was all like nah nah nah nah because nothing sounds scarier than trying to become a book writer, especially when you just don't think you're good enough (I always think my sister is so brave for following her dreams of becoming an artist or a yoga instructor or whatever she's up to these days. But then again she says she's a Jew-Buddhist so it's not like this is her last chance at life. So if she messes this one up real bad she'll have plenty of other incarnations to make up for it, right?).

but my dad kept insisting.

so I tried. And good God my stuff was so terrible. I got really discouraged.

but then Zoe said to me that just like anything I needed to get back into practice. Keep writing fiction. Keep trying.

and by some miracle I listened (I'm usually really stubborn, ask my boyfriend) and kept practicing even though I wrote some crap that almost made me cry, it was so bad. I even signed up for a fiction writing class this semester.

and I wrote and wrote and wrote every single day.

this week I even submitted a few short stories to writing contests. Which I won't win. Because unlike Alyssa I never win anything (obviously I secretly hate her). But hey.

anyway, I can sort of half get behind my writing now. I kind of like it, almost? I'm no Kurt Vonnegut, obviously. And I never will be.

but maybe there's something to following this crazy dream after all.

or at least I hope there is.

Tuesday, February 12, 2013

i remember what it's like

national eating disorders awareness week is coming up.

this post is for all of my friends that still struggle.

the thing is that even though you might think I don't understand, I remember what it's like. I remember what it's like to see my reflection in the mirror and cry because my thighs look monstrous and my face too round. I remember what it's like to not take a single note in class because I'm too busy calculating calories on the margins of my notebook. I remember what it's like to see the numbers drop on the scale, and I remember what it's like to feel paralyzing panic when my weight has gone up or even stayed the same. I remember what it's like to write in my journal that my only new year's resolution is to weigh x pounds, as if that is so important. I remember what it's like to be made fun of in class (by the teacher, no less) because my brain is so starved that I just can't force myself to stay present. I remember what it's like to faint in the gym locker room after running for an hour on no fuel, and I remember what it's like to lie and say that I have bad cramps to the lady that asks me if I'm okay. I remember what it's like to weigh myself over twenty times a day, everyday. I remember what it's like to become an expert liar so that my eating disorder won't be exposed. I remember what it's like thinking that my therapist is stupid. I remember what it's like losing all my friends because an eating disorder turns you into a nasty, mean hollow shell of a person. I remember what it's like crying in my college counselor's office during my lunch period. I remember what it's like flushing my dinner down the toilet. I remember what it's like to cry myself to sleep. I remember what it's like feeling triggered by everything around me. I remember what it's like to bang my head repeatedly against the wall because I can't stand the thought of myself.

I remember mentally glamorizing the time when I was sick.

I remember what it's like to relapse.

I remember what it's like when your boyfriend tells you he can't stay with someone that would do this to herself over and over and over again, that it's not fair to him. I remember thinking he is an asshole for saying that.

but now I understand.

After so much grueling work I got better and got every single piece of my life back. I laugh a lot and love good food and sometimes I rush home from class because I suddenly got an idea for one of my stories and I need to write it down before I forget. I've fallen in love with running and for the first time it doesn't feel like punishment. I go out with my friends and we meet creepers at the bar and it is so hilarious that we just can't take it. My dog makes me laugh so hard. My sister is my best friend and I love my dad more than anything. And I can love my boyfriend because now I am sometimes capable of loving myself.

can't you understand that for those reasons recovery is so worth it?

Thursday, February 7, 2013

i refuse to call it "arm party"

{my hand circa summer 2010. It was a very young hand back then. Not even legal to drink!}

so I call it the bracelet arm. And I'm thinking it needs to come back.

time to hit up Etsy, since obviously I can't just drive to Israel or Turkey or Greece (unfortunately).

usually the bracelet arm makes an appearance in the summer but I guess I am feeling it early this year.

also, in case there is any doubt about my commitment to evil eyes/hamsas, I currently have on my body:
a hamsa tattoo. It has an evil eye in the middle.
an evil eye bracelet.
a hamsa bracelet.
an evil eye piercing on my cartilage.
a hamsa charm on my necklace.
an evil eye charm on my necklace.

I have a problem. What's worse is that I usually have more on me than that. I'm slacking.

also, this is going to sound totally hipster of me but I've worn these things since I practically came out of the womb. And it really aggravates me that all of a sudden they're trendy. Ugh. #firstworldproblems

I'm going to crawl back into my hole and shut up now.

Wednesday, February 6, 2013

papi's got jokes

Papi: {in Spanish} hi! {in Hebrew} how are you?
Me: {in Spanish} jaja {in Hebrew using English/Spanish letters} good {in Spanish} and you?
Papi: {in Hebrew} good
Me: {in Spanish} haha what, is it time for Hebrew classes or what?
Papi: {in Spanish} no, I'm just playing {in emoji} turtle


Tuesday, February 5, 2013

monthly goals; february.

let me open this post with my three thoughts about the Super Bowl:

one: Beyonce is awesome (duh).
two: that Bar Refaeli commercial? Yeah, yeah. I know. Nasty (especially the unedited version, although that kid sure had the time of his life, didn't he?). But what about the evil eye bracelet she is wearing? Anyone know where it is from? I am in love and I need it like now now now.
three: football is a very stupid sport. The end, sorry.

anyway. So. It's February 5th already, which is crazy and sad. But it also means I have to take a look back at my goals for last month (I mean, I don't have to have to, but I guess I want to).

{1} write for my novel every day -- check.

{2} read! For pleasure. -- check.

{3} worry less. -- check.

{4} improve my running speed. -- check.

I'm just the bee's knees, am I not? Kidding.

but seriously, this year is up to a pretty fabulous start. 

so what do I have in mind for February (which, by the way, gets so much hate, which I find totally unfair because February is my birthday month)?

{1} keep writing my novel. Every day.

{2} stop pulling out my hair (I am a self-diagnosed trichotillomaniac. Is that a real term?). Which I don't expect to really be able to do, but you know.

{3} go on five runs a week.

anddd...that's it? I guess I'm not really setting the bar high this month. Whatever, I'm a second semester college senior.

in other news, Homeland is the best show on television and can it come back on like now please?