thisiht

All shot in HD video by yours truly. Even while unemployed, my horizons keep expanding.

Labels: art?, how i am awesome, VIDEOVIDEOVIDEO

• Money
• Obama's War on FRONTLINE
• Grocery lists
  
• A disturbing Jonas Brothers cameo from my dream on Monday
• Morality
• Mortality
• The notion that I will, one day, have to straighten my hair
• Being annoyed by the non-working television in our bedroom
• And the bike in our dining room
• And the bike in the hallway to our bedroom
• And all manner of general clutter
• Are humans meant to be monogamous?
• Lobsters
• The new film I'm working on
• The old film I quit
• Boredom
• Motivation
• $210 spent on a plane ticket to LA for New Year's Eve
  
• Money
  

In short, no more 9pm cappuccinos for me.

Labels: insomnia, meds, money

It was my fault, really. I was the one that thought the Smart car was so cute and cool looking, so with Cash for Clunkers winding down, Katsu and I took a drive up to the dealership in Lynnfield. The sticker prices were a little higher than I'd imagined (18k for the high-model Barabus), but we took a test drive anyway. Since the car only has two seats, we had to go separately. I'll spare you all the gory details, but my husband and I walked away with two very different opinions of the car.

"It's a shitwreck!" I exploded, driving home in my Focus. "It drives like a fucking go-kart on Xanax."

"I love it!!" shouted Katsu. "Especially that Barabus. It's limited edition! We'd be the only ones to have it!"

Thus began a long and bitter argument over whether or not it was worth paying nearly six months salary on a car with two seats. Things got ugly quickly, but I dug in my heels. No Barabus. "Ok, well then what about the Passion?" countered the effervescent Katsumi. "We could get that floor model with the DVD player and the GPS!"

"Why? We already have GPS on our iPhones, and who needs a DVD player for a two-person car?"

"It would just be SO COOL!!!"

And that was the gist of things. Katsu wanted something cool, I wanted something practical and cheap.

"What about the Yaris?" I asked, "Or a Fit?"

"They're NOTHING compared to the Smart car."

In the end, I caved, allowing Katsu to have his dream:



And now, we are the proud owners of one Smart for Two. With GPS and a DVD player.



All the better for me to ignore my husband on long, slightly cramped car drives.

Labels: car-ma

I'm supposed to go to my nutritionist this afternoon, and I really don't want to. Why? Because I'm not gonna do a damn thing she says.

As I mentioned before, I've been struggling with bulimia for a number of years. Before I was bulimic, I was borderline anorexic, and even now I suppose I do tend to restrict my eating compared to a normal person. Given all this, my shrink was like, OK, go see a nutritionist, because you're a fucking basketcase.

No, she didn't really say that. But regardless, three weeks ago I pulled up to McLean's, directions in hand, and headed up to the eating disorders building. The nutritionist, J, was nice enough. She told me all about protein bonding and asked me all about my disorder and she told me a little bit about food exchange and then told me to eat lunch. Maybe some chips and hummus or something. Because normally I don't eat lunch (or breakfast, really), and lunch is a good thing to get into.

I left that first appointment feeling 1) confident I could do what she asked and 2) that she was an idiot. I tell her all this crazy shit about my eating disorder and all she can tell me is "eat lunch"? Like, come on, seriously.

Then there was the second appointment.

Oh god, the second appointment. Suddenly, lunch went from chips and hummus to this big fucking deal, and there's sandwiches and soup and leftovers and getting some protein in there, maybe a quarter pound of deli meat rolled up with cheese? I started sweating. She was going over the exchange list and telling me I had to eat 8 units of carbs and 6 units of protein, plus 4 each of vegetables and fruits and 5 fats and I'm not really usually so weird about food, but all I could picture was being buried under a cornucopia of Thanksgiving dinner and oranges.

Then, to cap it all off, she tells me that she wants me to keep a food journal. a FOOD JOURNAL. I kept a food journal in high school to make sure I didn't go above 200 calories/day before dinner and haven't even thought of keeping one since. Worse yet, I'm supposed to SHARE MY FOOD JOURNAL WITH HER at the next appointment. So like, if I don't eat a meal, she'll know. Likewise, if I drunkenly binge out on sour patch kids and queso fresco, she'll know that too. Showing her my food journal would be like videotaping my GYN appointment and streaming it into every American home, while reading bad poetry from when I was 18.

Needless to say, I did not keep the food journal. I will not keep the food journal. So there's no point in me going to my appointment this afternoon. Right?

Right.

Labels: aberrant behavior, eatin', I enjoy being a girl, manifesto