"I'm on a Diet"

Holy shit it's February. Where the fuck have I been? Well let's see...

I fought in a local tournament, signed up for a tournament in LA, started training for the tournament, was offered a new job, left my old job, started dating, turned 25, finished the school semester, went to LA, fought in the tournament, lost, ate the depression away and somehow decided that I want to start my own organic bakery, so that I can binge on sweets without having to go through another 30 minute scolding session with myself. Also, you could of stopped at 'started dating'. It really does explain everything.

Like practically every being with an abundance of flowing, growing estrogen, I have a love and hate relationship with my body.

I'm proud of my curves!

Why are these jeans tight and then loose at the top?

My boyfriend said my butt is awesome!

My arms...what the fuck happened to my arms?

Since I was a teenager, I've been a workout maniac, trying to build and morph my body into an intangible and unrealistic form of perfection. Why? so that I can lay in a pile of sand, in a bathing suit, for 2 hours with my head tossed back like some no-name Sports Illustrated model. Now I know that no matter how good I look, I will always find something to nit pick at. I guess that came with the whole Eve eating the apple thing—pfft  you know what? Screw the whole "Tree of Knowledge" crap. You know why she really chose the apple? Because she was on a diet.

Like most Americans, I'm obsessed with eating, to the point where I eat just to eat and I can really eat. Before I met my boyfriend, I out ate everyone but he, he's on a different level. He puts me to shame. We eat out a lot and I love trying out new restaurants but I can't keep up with the man. He eats like he's ready to bury himself into the ground for 6 months...ALL THE TIME. I loved it in the beginning, trying out all the food, stuffing my face to the point of no return but now 10 pounds later, I'm struggling to get into my coat. This morning, my co-worker bragged how skinny her daughter was and how I would hate standing next to her on a beach.

You want to talk about beaches or bitches? I was smiling but I just wanted to kick her.

The other day I felt miserable. I was sick of  eating and my glutenous self. I went to the gym, skipped dinner, had a bowl of cereal and took a nap. Later around midnight,  I met up with my boyfriend and went to a pizza shop in Queens where I anticipated having chicken soup. We got there, placed our orders and sat down. I'll admit I was a bit on the edgy side. All I had was the high fiber cereal which I  probably crapped out by then. I was hungry. The waiter came back to tell us that they were out of soup. Poor waiter. I gave him the dirtiest look, rubbed my eyeballs with my fingers and refused to order anything. I was in total diva mode. My boyfriend  asked me if I wanted pizza. I said no. He looked at me and said "hormones?" I grinded my teeth as I said yes but what I wanted to say was,

You seriously want me eat this pizza?  Is there something on my face that you want me to gaze into this grease reflection? Dassit, I refuse to get huge and become you're family's plate for thanksgiving dinner. I thought you loved me. As a matter of fact, take me home where I'll have another bowl of cereal with almond milk. Grease-free.

:/. It was probably hormones. A week before I bitched about not going to a nice dinner. What's wrong with me? I have a inner diva that I've successfully suppressed thorough out my entire life but this month,  I think she is trying blind out the sun. She wants to shine.

Sometimes I think it would be easier to slowly teach myself to accept my body for what it is; to be happy with no matter how many curves I gain. Its a work in progress but in the mean time, I'll go back to Insanity,  drink green tea, take CLA, and say no to everything with carbs as I cry inside.