One Step Forward, Two Steps Back 

I haven’t had anything to write about. I’ve been blocked and my headspace a void. But I’m trying to figure out life, my life, the impact of other lives on my life, the meaning of life, maybe?  

Today I had two conversations that were so perfectly juxtaposed that it felt like it couldn’t be coincidence. Let’s write about that.

I’ve been really lucky, like seriously lucky. I have been dealing with bulimia since I was twelve. That’s sixteen years of throwing up food before I digest it. Of course it hasn’t been sixteen years of non stop bulimia, I take breaks. I have never had a cavity, I have never had serious heart issues, I’ve never had any physical side effect of bulimia for sixteen years… until about two months ago, when I threw up blood. Twice. 

Anyway, I called my uncle, a gastroenterologist, and told him a few things. I told him I was bulimic. I told him that I had thrown up blood a while back. I told him that the last few months I have had crazy acid reflux and I told him that I got super sick last night after barely any alcohol. I am afraid I have a stomach ulcer. He prescribed me something and we’ll see what happens.  

About an hour later, I am showing a seven year old girl a picture of my ferrets and I said, “this is Caesar, I like him because he’s big and fat.” And she (obviously) responded with, “you mean like you?” A year ago that would have thrown me into a downward spiral of losing my mind, but today it didn’t. Today I just told her she was mean and walked away thinking about the placement of these two conversations. The first, admitting to my bulimia and owning the fact that I might have really screwed things up for myself physically and then directly after it listening to a child remind me of all the reasons I have this problem in the first place. 

Now, I don’t have a hard life. I actually have an amazing life, but I deal with even the slightest hardships in self destructive ways.  Maybe owning up to my flaws will help me resolve the issues, but I also need to remember to be stronger than mental illness. Today I walked away from my feeling of failure, my feeling of being imperfect. That was only today though, and hopefully someday I will feel proud of my flaws. 

Shaving: A Cautionary Tale 

All good cautionary tales have a strong moral, so be looking for it. 

I am one of the lucky few who’s hair cooperates approximately 84% of the time. All hair, the hair on my head channels Beyoncé’s I woke up like this and I have very fair hair on my legs and arms, so shaving is not something I deal with often. Thus this traumatic experience you’re about to hear. 

The last two times I shaved my legs, I lost so much blood I may or may not have needed a transfusion.  I didn’t, but I did leave two bloody towels in my wake. 

Murder Scene 1: Charlotte, North Carolina. I was there for a one night layover to meet my friend before we left for the Dominican Republic (great trip, everyone should go).  I figured I should probably shave my legs since I was going on a tropical vacation and it had been approximately 3 months since I pretended to care about the hair on my legs (read: chronically single) i come out of the bathroom with a towel tied around my leg because I cut my ankle shaving. Blood everywhere. I laughed it off, went to sleep with the towel around my leg and woke up. My friend laughed at me and told me I was a hazard to myself, which is fairly accurate. 

Murder Scene 2: Queens, New York. I am getting ready to go to a wedding, it’s three weeks after the first ankle murder and I DID IT AGAIN! To the OTHER ankle! This time I shaved about four inches of my leg off and I was trailing blood across my apartment! It took all my manuevoring skills not to bleed all over my ferrets! My roommate yelled at me for being an idiot, and I had to bandage up my ankle at the wedding so I also looked like an idiot.

For the record, both of these times I was using a brand new razor, so it was sharp and dangerous. I have been shaving my legs for a lot of years now, how did this happen two times in a row? My sister just broke her ankle and needdd surgery so maybe I wanted a sympathy scar? I don’t know, all I can tell you is that wearing my high top Vans really sucks, I don’t have socks high enough to protect my pathetic reminder that I might be a thirteen year old again. Cutting myself shaving – really?! 

Anyway, have you figured out the moral yet? No? Here it is: 

If you’re 28 and still can’t shave your legs without bleeding, you are exempt from this task forever. 

Also I included a picture of my bloody leg for all to enjoy. No ferrets were harmed in the taking of this picture.

Reasons I’m single

I am a fierce, strong, independent lady who don’t need no man!

But… it would be nice to have someone call besides my mother while I’m walking home from work. Not that I don’t love my mother, she’s my best friend in the whole world. But she’s a really important lady, being principal of a school and sometimes she’s like, “hey, Em, I have work to do, can I call you back?”  And then I’m left walking home talking to myself, or listening to an audiobook, or stopping to say hi to every dog that passes. See the problem?

I think I have figured out why it is that I’m single. I have too many rules. I’m going to list some for you.

  • He can’t be too short. Not because I’m shallow, but because I’m a giant at 5’8.
  • He can’t be too young, because I’m mildly immature and that would be too much.
  • He can’t be too religious, because religion is confusing for me.
  • He can’t be a vegetarian, because I’m a vegetarian and I don’t want to be part of an annoying vegetarian couple.
  • He can’t be too nice, because I’m a little mean and I need someone to verbally spar with.
  • He has to be educated, because I like to use big words.
  • He has to be creative, but not an artist, because I’m an artist and I hate competition.
  • He had to like animals, because I’m a crazy animal person who plans to overrun my home with pets. That thing about talking to dogs on my way home was not hyperbolic.
  • He should not be into winter sports, like skiing and snowboard, because snow makes me furious.
  • He might get points if he has blue eyes, because I have blue eyes and I’d like my babies to inherit that.
  • He needs to have endless patience, because I am kind of a lot to handle.

I could probably go on, but I should probably stop. Now, you would think that I am using this as a self assessment tool, but I’m not. I’m just going to finish this post and go back on Tinder where I’m going to look for boys to tell me how pretty I am.