Tuesday, September 18, 2012

What Part of "I Have A Boyfriend" Do You Not Understand?

Alright.  I have a bone to pick with you guys.  And yes, I mean guys.  I may or may not have stumbled accross this peeve in prior posts, but it deserves to be revisited. 

What part of "I have a boyfriend" do you boys not understand? 

Let me put this into context for you all.  I just moved to a new city.  I know, like, a total of four people here.  I can be pretty introverted at times, but I also enjoy meeting people.  So, when I go out, that is usually what I end up doing.  And, let's just lay it all out on the table here: girls are catty bitches and usually don't go out to meet other girls.  So, that leaves humans of the male gender.  Now, let's get one thing clear.  I'm not going out flirting all over the place, batting my eye lashes to try and meet boys.  That is deinitely not what's happening.  It's more like, a friend of mine is talking to someone with a male friend. Or,there's a random guy in our "group".  Or, I'm getting a drink at the bar and the male next to me offers to buy it for me.  Or, they just come up to me and start talking to me.  I must have an inviting face or something.  The gist of it is, it's completely innocent and without poor or shady intentions that I end up in conversation with these guys. 

So then comes the typical-in-DC-introductory-conversation of what I do, who I work for, what my name is (yes, this question is not first), where I'm from, what I did for school, blah blah blah blah blah.  It's like sorority recruitment, except I don't have to stand there and talk to a potential new member for 20 minutes about what clubs she was involved with in high school.  (By the way, everyone was in Key Club, stop feeling so important.)  Oh, you want to buy me a beer?  Sure thing, buckaroo.  (That's another thing, sorority recruitment doesn't involve delicious beer.)  Somewhere in this conversation, I find the opportune time to mention my boyfriend.  My real and completely 100% existant boyfriend.  "Oh, yeah, my boyfriend is obsessed with Fantasy Football, too, it's practically all I ever hear about."  (And, let's just cover all bases... even if I didn't have a real boyfriend, shouldn't mentioning even a non-existant relationship be a red flag that I'm just not interested??)

I've always assumed the word "boyfriend" was like droping a conversational atomic bomb on the guy's Hiroshima parade.  In college, when I would slip in that I wasn't single-and-ready-to-mingle-in-your-frat-house-bunk-bed, guys would, (literally, I kid you not) do an about-face and peace the hell out of there.  Not in Washington, DC, folks! 

I always assumed that if I mentioned the whole I'm-in-a-faithful-relationship thing, guys would only continue to talk to me if they were just looking to make friends, too.  It doesn't seem to phase these guys, and I can't, for the life of me, tell if they're just really determined and inconsiderate, or actually well-intentioned and friendly.  I am horrendous at deciphering motivations lately.  I suppose I could just not even mess with it, but what am I supposed to do when I go out?  Sit in a corner and ignore everyone?  Trust me, even if I called a guy out and said "hey, I'm taken, don't waste your time," chances are he would come back with something like "that's not my objective, I'm just trying to be nice and buy you a drink, rude girl." 

In fact, I have called a guy out on being a little too nice to me.  I'm sorry, but mini golfing is not just "something new friends do," unless those friends are dating.  So, no, I will not go play mini golf with you.  (Also, I despise mini golfing.)  And I'm questioning your character considering I doubt you'd want your girlfriend going to play minigolf with some random new guy friend.  (In actuality, that is probably why you don't have said girlfriend... because you ask non-single girls on dates!). 

Okay, this has turned into quite a rant.  But, seriously, am I the most naive person in the entire world to think that guys can be friendly without shady intentions?  Is it incredibly childish of me to assume that telling someone I have a boyfriend should mean that they no longer pursue anything past a friendship with me?  Am I Anne Frank over here thinking people can really be good at heart?  (Did I just take it a little too far?) 

Help me out, guys.  I am pretty confused and clueless, and it's not making my meeting-new-friends efforts go any smoother. 


Friday, September 14, 2012

Fifth-Life Crisis

To Fulbright, or not to Fulbright, that is the question.  No, but seriously, that has been the question mulling around in my mind for the past week.  And I think I've finally settled on an answer, going against every spontaneous keep-going-and-going bone in my body. 

What the hell am I talking about, you ask?  I'm sure you're scratching your head like a gorilla trying to figure out where this all came form, since I have never mentioned Fulbright before, and you haven't yet opened up a new tab and Googled it... Let me explain. 

So, I started work about 3 months ago at my incredibly fabulous job that I am somewhat mysterious about on social media.  And I started becoming friends with some of my coworkers.  This group of gals are all in their mid-late-twenties-early-thirties.  And they all have Masters degrees, or are currently in a Masters programs.  So here I am, 22 and in the "real world," struggling to fill out a Virginia tax form and be a "grown up" and suddenly I realize I'm behind the curve because I don't have my Masters and the most foreign travel I've done is go to Canada and the Bahamas, which are practically America anyways.  So, as you can imagine, the past week has been a scrambling fifth-life-crisis for me.  I had to get my game up.  I'm slacking with my life! 

After four feverish days of Googling grants, scholarships, fellowships, programs to travel and learn and be an apprentice, teaching English in foreign countries, contacting the Office of Prestigious Awards at my alma mater, and re-instating my goal to learn Arabic and Spanish and Swahili, last night resulted in my stuffing my face with chocolate and peanut butter cookies and rethinking the whole thing. 

Part of me wants to go and do everything.  I want to see the world, explore, teach, learn, change people's lives for the better, be a news reporter in the trenches of war, work for Cosmo magazine, work for the FBI, speak 16 languages, work in an embassy, travel, ride a camel, ride an elephant, zip line in Costa Rica, swim with sharks... you get the idea.  I want to do everything

So that's where this teaching-English-assistantship-Fulbright idea came along.  So I was all ready to gung-ho my At-Large application in 30 days and whip up some Spanish and get myself ready to move to Jordan in a year.  Except, I realized I had to write a proposal for the scholarship.  Not a will-you-marry-me-I-love-you-forever-and-want-to-grow-old-with-you-and-own-sixteen-cats proposal.  Like, a I-am-so-passionate-about-teaching-English-abroad-in-Jordan-because-of-this-reason proposal.  And I realized I just didn't have a competitive enough answer. 

Maybe I'm trying to make myself feel better, maybe I'm being logical (you can weigh in here if you'd like).  But I just moved to Washington, D.C. three months ago.  I work at an incredible job.  Yes, I'm on a contract and yes I could be job-less come next June, but I'm telling myself that's a slim possibility.  I work at an educational institution.  Not just any educational institution.  I work for a graduate-level military-based internationally-infused university.  Literally, everyone over the age of 40 in my office has a PhD.  I can walk down the hall and find an expert on terrorism, an expert on war and conflict, an expert on the terrorism-crime nexus, an expert on nuclear physics, an expert on FARC, a whole center full of experts on Central and South America... seriously, the list goes on.  I have access to language programs, and not only that, but should I learn Arabic, I can speak to the expert on Islam in Arabic

And here-in lies my dilemma.  If I rush to complete this application, I don't know what I want to do, exactly.  And my reason for choosing Jordan is because the program won't send fellows to Iran, or Afghanistan, or any of the cool and dangerous and exciting countries.  (I may or may not be slightly deranged and crazy.) 

So my alternative option is to take this next year, save up money, learn, take advantage of all the education and new-ness around me, actually learn Spanish, explore more options of what I want to study in the future, and apply next fall, for 2014.  Which would give me two years of experience in my current position, and a lot more time to explore my future options and direction.  Half of me feels like I'm going to fall behind if I don't keep pushing to the "next" level, but the other half of me feels like you can't keep a car running in the rain if you don't have windsheild wipers.  (Wow, that was probably the most horrible analogy I've every made.)  But, you get what I mean...


Thursday, September 13, 2012

Shopaholic vs. Being Naked

Happy Thursday!  The past few posts of mine haven't been about what's going on in my life this week, so I figured it's time to share!  Yayyyy! 

Basically, I've spent the last 2 evenings at the mall.  Well, the fake mall.  I live a 10-minute walk from a decent mall and shopping center near the Pentagon, and with the weather all a-changing on me, I'm on the hunt for some wardrobe stables I just never got around to investing in.  Read: fall and winter clothing is expensive.  And don't even get me started on work-appropriate fall and winter clothing.  Add on that I'm technically supposed to be wearing a suit jacket or blazer to work every day (my office is business-professional, not business-casual) and it's hard to look put-together, warm, and not like a nun. 

I have a sort of shopping strategy.  I check out outlets and stores like TJMax or Nordstrom Rack first.  I want to know what the discounts are, what's available, etc.  For example, Marshal's has a huge boot collection out right now.  Good to know what brands and designers they're offering and for how much before I hit up, say, Macy's, and come across the same pair of Lucky Brand riding boots for twice as much. 

So, that's where I've been the past two evenings.  I'm probably a weirdo, but I like nice things, and I'm picky about things.  And I'm not willing to pay real-Nordstrom-prices for them.  And by not willing, I mean now that I just signed over to my Virginia address, I can't afford them, thanks to this lovely surprise called state income tax.  (What the hell is that crap?  Florida had it right sparing us all).  And I didn't find anything I loved (well, except for this one sweater, but my roommate and my boyfriend would never be seen with me in public if I wore it... hmph). So this weekend, I'm hitting up the real mall.

To put this shop-a-holic-ness into perspective, I'm not just being a brat about wanting more clothing.  In fact, I really don't have the closet space for much more.  (I live in a house built in 1939... apparently everyone was just naked in the "old days".)  Let's keep in mind that I moved from Florida.  You know what I wore in the "winter" in Florida?  Leggings and some Ugg boots and a Northface.  Like, every day.  Oh, in addition, half of my undergrad daily wardrobe consisted of sorority tee shirts.  And then add into that mix that I purged my closet when I moved, of everything too-small or too-ugly or too-worn-out.  And now I'm in a state with seasons and I wear business clothing 5 days a week.  Case-in-point: I need clothing.  I don't think I can get through fall and winter with the two sweaters I own.  I'm probably going to need a real coat.  And some gloves.  I can't wear Uggs to work.  Or leggings.  See my dilemma, people!?!?!?  It's a wonder I'm not showing up to the office in a Snuggie at this rate! 

So, after thinking long and hard about what my wardrobe needs, I've compiled a list, to save me from making any more shopping blunders (*cough* Lilly end-of-summer-sale *cough*).  I know you're really curious about what I want so that you can buy me a gift and mail it to me...

  • A coat.  Like a cute, not-flared-at-the-bottom-because-I'm-not-seven-and-don't-wear-hoop-skirts coat.  I don't want doo-dads and hoo-haas all over it.  I don't want it to be a tacky black felty fabric that collects more lint than a Swiffer.  Just a normal. freaking. coat.
  • Boots.  Not cowboy boots.  Not rubber boots.  I need a black pair and a caramel colored pair.  I don't want buckles and straps and bling.  I despise suede.  They must be real leather.  And no awkward heel. 
  • Booties.  Specifically, this pair of Vince Camuto black suede stiletto booties I saw in the Macy's catalogue.  Because who said booties can't be work appropriate. 
  • A bright-colored cardigan.  I'm thinking a pretty yellow or coral.  I'm starting to look homeless, relying on the same black one every time I'm chilly at the office. 
  • Thin, soft, not-turtle-neck sweaters that can be tucked into pencil skirts and slacks.  Sweaters that don't make me look like I should be in a cottage with ya-ya baking bread while Pa herds the sheep in the mountains.  And I honestly don't know who ever thought a turtle-neck was attractive, but I'm just going to go on record saying it totally isn't.  And turtle-neck-tank-tops are not only heinous, but incredibly pointless.  Your neck gets cold but your arms don't?  What?
  • A colored pencil skirt for work.  Who says winter and fall needs to be all brown and black?  I'm definitely on the hunt for a pretty darker teal color. 
  • I could probably use a good pair of tights.  Like, a textured black pair.  And some thick socks for boots. 
Presents can be shipped to...



Wednesday, September 12, 2012

Tailgating Season is in the Air

So, since the other day I talked quite a bit about why football/Fantasy Football is stupid, I figured I would follow up with a little explanation, so maybe some of you won't hate me as much.

Where I went to college (and I think, oh, about 40 thousand other students would agree,) we weren't very good at football.  I don't mean that in a hating-on-my-alma-mater kind of way.  I don't mean that in a we-didn't-have-Tim-Tebow kind of way.  What I mean is, we kind of suck at football.  I've never been to game for a different college football team, but in my comparison of a group of guys watching NFL and a group of guys watching UCF games, here's my observation:

When guys (or anyone) is watching their team on NFL (and my assumption is, any other "good" college team), they clap and cheer when the team scores or makes and awesome play.  (Don't misjudge me here, I have no idea what an "awesome play" is, but I'm imagining like, the wide receiver catching the ball with his feet and cartwheeling into the end zone.)  When fans watch the Knights play football, we clap whenever we don't screw up.  No, seriously, it's like "wohooooo!  Yeahhhhh!" *applause* *cheering* "Yeah we didn't fumble!!!"  You think I'm joking?  I spent a few hours this weekend at an alumni event to watch the game against OSU, trust me on this one, I'm right.  Still don't believe me?  The next UCF game or watch-party you're at, take a gander. 

Like, we're so not-great at football, our school has a saying, "win or lose, we still booze!"  Which brings me to my next point.  I went to a college that had tailgating season, not football season.  Sure, to some die-hard Forever Knights, it was football season.  Of course the fraternity houses set up huge projector-screen TVs for away games.  Of course we had a beautiful stadium and game-time rituals and songs and chants.  But we also had tailgating, and it was epic and incredible and, in my eyes, is a sport way more deserving of an entire season. 

What could be better than wearing your team's colors, running around campus, shotgunning beers (extra points if you do this on a fraternity-guy's shoulders with your roommate,) eating cheeseburgers freshly grilled on a Coleman, chanting Zombie Nation with random strangers, and, did I mention, getting drunk in the middle of the day? 

I honestly don't know if the noon or 7pm games were my favorite throughout undergrad.  For games at noon, we would be up at 6am drinking mimosas, but for the 7pm games, we had the entire day to prance around Memory Mall and consume beer to our little hearts' content.  Now do you see why it's called tailgating season? 

Like I said, I've never been to a football game for any other schools, so maybe everyone does this... but just like those Florida Gators are holding on to their beloved "we have the best football team ever" even after Tim Tebow is long gone, I'm standing by my team: UCF definitely wins at tailgating. 


Tuesday, September 11, 2012

The 11th Anniversary of 9/11

So, I really had a completely other post topic planned for today, but I realized this morning that it is the anniversary of September 11th, 2001.  Which is now called Patriot Day.  So I feel like writing a snarky post about something else was slightly inappropriate. 

Which brings me to the dilemma of not being offensive if I am slightly snarky about September 11th. 

I completely understand how serious and tragic that day was.  I can still vividly see video clips replaying in my mind, smoke billowing from two buildings.  I remember exactly what happened that morning on September 11th, 2001. 

I was in 6th grade that year.  Every morning, I walked to the bus stop, which happened to be not very close to my house.  Middle school started late in my county.  I would stand at the bus stop by myself, since my sister was still in 5th grade.  A blonde girl, named Sarah or Emily or something plain that I don't remember, was also at my bus stop, and her grandmother would sit in the mini van at the bus stop and watch us all, making sure a kidnapper didn't pull over on the side of the road, toss all of us children into the back of a van, and speed off to sell us into slavery. 

That morning, Sarah/Emily/Jane's grandmother repeated what she had heard on the radio.  A plane had crashed into one of the World Trade Center buildings.  Us kids, we all marveled at how tragic that plane crash was, wondering if a pilot had been drunk or sick.  None of us even knew what terrorism was.  I had never heard of Afghanistan.  That morning, at the bus stop, I can't remember if we heard about the second plane or not.  Sarah/Jane/Emily's grandmother let us all on to the bus.  No one really knew what was going on.  Like I said, no one had heard of Afghanistan or terrorism... we all thought it was an accident. 

Fast forward to school, and all I remember was sitting in my math class.  I've always been a nerd, and I was in a magnet program at my middle school with accelerated math and sciences.  Which meant I had two periods of math class that year.  I also think, being my first class, that was also considered my "homeroom."  I don't remember if I went to other classes that day.  All I remember is sitting in my desk and staring at the TV, which had been wheeled around on the AV cart, as the news replayed the video footage, over and over.  Staring at the TV.  Staring.  For hours.  Every student in Mrs. Higgings-Miller's classroom stared at that TV. 

We heard about Afghanistan.  Osama Bin Laden.  Al Qaeda.  Terrorists.  We had no idea what any of that meant.  Surely, no one would fly a perfectly good airplane directly into a perfectly good building on purpose.  But, how could the same accident happen twice?  And then again in the Pentagon?  What was going on?

I think the entire world was confused that day.  I think, in addition to the enormous amount of lives lost that day, the second most tragic part of that event wsa how confused America was.  No one knew what was going on, or why.  Sure, the news attempted to explain it to us, but it was like someone was explaining brain surgery to me.  I was clueless. 

I don't remember if I went to any other classes that day.  I don't remember if our school had a "lock down," as if thousands of terrorists themselves were going to storm little John F. Kennedy Middle School in the middle of the ghetto.  I don't think any of the teachers taught.  There really was no point.  Everyone was distracted.  Once everything started to process, parents started pulling students out of school left and right.  My parents didn't take me out of school.  I got home that day and asked what had happened, and I'm sure my mom tried to explain it to me, but she had no idea. 

The next few years of my life were peppered with commercials for commemorate plates, coins, figurines, posters, photos, books for 9/11.  Every English class I had for the next few years assigned a paper to write about your experience that Tuesday morning.  Every house suddenly had a flag hanging outside.  The American camraderie was incredible.  Quite possibly, the post card I have of the Twin Towers will be a relic in a few decades.  Everyone learned where Afghanistan was on a map.  And all the other "-stan" countries. 

September 11th is probably the most eye-opening tragedies of my generation.  Maybe it was party my 6th-grade naivety and ignorance, but I feel like a lot more of America realized there were countries in-between Germany and China.  The entire scope and war as we know it changed.  I can't say I knew anyone who lost their life in the towers or the Pentagon.  I didn't know any of the rescue heroes.  I didn't have any connection to New York City.  I'm not Muslim, I don't deal with prejudiced repercussions of extremist hate.  I didn't suffer from September 11, but that event and America after will remain an incredible and powerful influence on the life I lead. 


Monday, September 10, 2012

Fantasy Football is Stupid.

Good morning ladies and gents!  Why the hell am I so cheery on a Monday?  Have you SEEN the weather outside?  I'm going to be probably the six thousandth person to comment on how beautiful and fall-like it is! 

Regardless, I'm wearing a very "springy" blouse to work today.  I don't really have the closet space or cash to invest in an entire wardrobe for each season.  I think it matches my mood. 

Excuse the mirror shot.
 ANYWAYS, I'm not here to talk about girly things like clothing.  I'm here to talk about the sport of the season.  The only sound that perfectly harmonizes with throwing the windows open on a fresh Fall afternoon.  The perfect excuse to eat buffalo wings. 


And, more specifically, my lack of ability/interest/obsession with it.  Don't get me wrong, I love going to football games.  I don't mind watching the Patriots play on a breezy afternoon.  But I'm far from a super-fan. 

My roommate and my boyfriend (and practically everyone I know) does Fantasy Football.  In case you live under a rock, that's where you pick players to make your own team, except your players come from all different teams.  And then there's some mystical points system for every play or do-dad that happens on the field.  Whatever.  Point is, I don't get it.  It's like, the average game of football is too boring with the teams that have been carefully selected by coaches and draftsmen (I may have made that title up) and the teams... so let's have everyone make up their own imaginary teams.  I really think it's just an excuse for guys to sit around all day on Sunday (and Monday night... and Thursday... and Saturday sometimes) and drink beer and yell at the TV.  That's fine, you want to act like a barbarian for the 4-hour game where your team is playing their rival?  Cool, go do that.  But you're telling me you're going to spend twelve hours yelling at an inanimate object because some running back for the Jaguars didn't get you enough points for your imaginary, non-real, pretend game?

Am I the only one who thinks this sounds completely insane?  Maybe I'm just bitter because I have to hear about how many points Wes Welker didn't earn anyone yesterday... but then again, how long could you listen to complaints about a completely made-up and pretend game?  Thought so... looks like I'm not alone.

I'm not going to lie, when I originally heard of Fantasy Football, I thought it was women playing the sport in lingerie.  Which, apparently, is also a sport in it's own league, also (confusingly) named "Fantasy Football," but at least that one makes sense for guys to be glued to the TV for hours on end.  Oh, no, instead of gawking at beautiful and toned women in lacy thongs, our men are hooked on watching sweaty, 400-pound, dreadlocked men run around in tight spandex pants and grunt at each other.  I know when I put it in that perspective, you're thinking the only thing gayer would be if the half-time show was a chip-n-dale pole dance.  In which case, I might start watching more football...

Alright, since you think I'm a huge hater of everyone's favorite fall activity, I'm going to go now. 


Sunday, September 9, 2012

Rejected, but Inspired.

So, I was a little unsure if I even wanted to write about this today, but, you know, why the heck not.  It's my blog.  I didn't want this to come off as tooting my own horn or rubbing my selflessness in everyone's face, to show off how great of a person I am.  If anything, I was selfish.

On my drive to the super market each week, I often pass a man who sits on the median with a shopping cart of his belongings, reading books.  He doesn't beg for money, or hold a sign.  He just reads books, in his grungy clothing, next to a shopping cart of his belongings.  I normally drive past thinking how hot he must be out in the sun all day.  Today, I decided I wanted to do something nice for him.  I bought a sandwich and a box of granola bars and a bottle of water from the grocery store, and on my way home I put it all in a grocery bag and at the stoplight, I rolled down my window and offered him lunch.

He turned me down.  He said no.

I was shocked.  And embarrassed.  And confused.  This man is homeless.  His survival relies a lot on the graciousness of others.  Yet he was turning down a cold bottle of water, a turkey and cheese Boar's Head sub, and a box of nonperishable trail mix granola bars.  I didn't understand why he would say no.

I think that doing nice or helpful things for others isn't just to benefit the other person.  After today, I realized that it is just as much for us as it is for them.  I needed to feel like I helped someone, and when I couldn't, it hurt my feelings.  As silly as it sounds, doing things for others is kind of selfish.  Then again, it's probably the best kind of selfish we can be.

It doesn't happen often, but those few days where the Starbucks barrista gave me my drink for free, or a random person complimented my outfit on campus one day, or someone offered to take a photo of my boyfriend and I instead of us having to ask, those moments make my day a little brighter, and renew my faith in the people around me.  I would like to be the reason someone else's day is a little better.  It might not happen all the time.  I may not be able to afford to make a huge difference, and solve large problems, but I do want to try harder to be a better person to others, just because.  Because I shouldn't be upset when someone doesn't receive a favor as well as I would hope.  You never know what battles someone is fighting each day... the least we can do is try and be kinder.


Thursday, September 6, 2012

Why Americans Suck: Weight Loss Edition

So, I know I've written a little bit about why I hate diets, and I'm not the only person in the world to admit that they are completely asinine (see Jenna Marbles' video about diets here.)  But it's about time I expand on this rant.  Welcome to part one of why current American culture is screwed up in the head when it comes to being a healthy, normal human being. 

First of all, I'd like to take a good look at this whole "clean eating" nonsense.  "Eat real food!" captions every other Pinterest photo of a vegetable these days.  Oh, excuse me, what were you eating before?  The plastic sandwich from a Fisher Price play kitchen?  What is "un-real" food? 

I know like, all of you have your hands raised, butt bouncing out of the seat to answer my question.  "Real food isn't processed like McDonalds and Lean Cuisine and cookies!"  Very good, young grasshopper.  I am in full support of the concept of eating real food.  Or clean food.  (Trust me, anyone who has ever thought the 5-second-rule was okay for something and then ended up with a piece of lint in their mouth knows that un-clean food is not the way to go).  My issue is with the fact that Americans have to be told things that should just be common sense.  Eating an apple wasn't popular until it became a fad diet.  That's like if I started bottling air and selling it, and everyone started breathing expensive bottled air, and one day someone said "HEY GUYS, THE AIR IS FOR FREE IN THE ATMOSPHERE!".  The stupidity of my generation really just astounds me. 

I get asked quite often how I stay thin, and healthy, and beautiful, and gorgeous, blah blah blah.  People make money off of the secrets to being thin (Betheny's entire Skinny Girl empire).  I have definitely thought about marketing my "secrets to being thin and healthy."  Except... they're not secrets.  It makes me so infuriated whenever I see people pinning on Pinterested "OMG amazing weight loss secret!"  The "secret" is to get your lazy ass of Pinterest, run around the block, and don't make that crock-pot recipe that uses six cans of cream of mushroom soup... the "secret" is to use your brain.  It's not that difficult, people...

At least, I didn't think it was.  I guess I live in a culture who didn't grow up with a diabetic mother who is probably one of the last people with diabetes on the earth who isn't overweight.  I guess it's close-minded of me to assume that everyone was taught that vegetables have nutrients in them and eating carbs isn't a bad thing and that it's really not that hard to cook anything that comes in a Healthy Choice frozen meal...

So, here's my wight-loss-skinny-healthy-secret: stop being a dumb-ass, eat some carrots, and get your ass off social media sites once in a while.  You don't need that sixth cookie.  Buy ice cream in those small single-serving containers.  Or just use a little self discipline and don't eat the entire carton.  Stop starving yourself.  Eat breakfast.  Stop drinking soda.  And, finally, Pinterest-ing photos of Victoria's Secret models and eggplants are not going to help you achieve your goal weight or a healthy lifestyle.  Actually.  Go.  Do.  It.