Eat the Damn Cake

I’m doing another giveaway! This one is in honor of the weather turning warm, which I know it will soon, because it has to.

I’m in Hawaii with Bear, on a “babymoon.” A little corny, I know. Planning this trip, I realized that Bear and I have only ever taken one other vacation together that was completely a vacation– not like, a few days somewhere we had to be anyway for his work or to visit relatives. So this is a big deal for us. It is also a big deal for me to be a functioning person again, after three months of severe morning sickness. I feel like I’ve been set free!

At the same time, it feels surreal, being here. Like I’ve stepped into one of those desktop background photos that come with the computer.

I am having trouble processing it, and my mind keeps going, “We should be doing something productive!” and then I remember that actually we can just sit on the beach some more. What a weird thing. And then, when I’m just sitting on the beach for a while, my mind slides into a kind of blank peacefulness, and I can’t quite recall why anyone lives in New York City, so far away from green mountains with waterfalls cutting misty white trails down their flanks. Actually, it seems sort of mysterious why anyone lives anywhere with a winter.

We went hiking at dawn, just because we were feeling awesome. Up this twisting, steep trail made out of slippery rocks that the ancient Hawaiians used because they were apparently fearless and in amazing shape. I am pretty sure my baby is convinced I am the kind of woman who does this kind of thing. On the way up, I narrated for her, in case she was wondering.

“Braving the deadly, jagged face of the most dangerous cliff in the world, your mother continues her record-shattering wilderness trek. It is shaping up to be another epic adventure in a series of death-defying feats of unmatched courage. Your mother, referred to as ‘a superwoman among women’– the New York Times, 2012– and sometimes simply, ‘The coolest person ever,’ has undertaken yet another mission that might just redefine human ability. And your father is pretty cool, too.”

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You can find the giveaway winner at the bottom of this post

So it’s my 27th birthday today. Philosophical, angsty post to follow in a couple days, of course. But first, I thought it would be fun to do a giveaway for the occasion. You know, because giving gifts is just as good as getting them, and I really appreciate you guys reading this blog and participating in the little ETDC community. Thank you!!

I’m giving away a $100 gift card for Shabby Apple, because they have some seriously, seriously beautiful stuff and when I’m being fully girly, I admit to myself that winning a pretty dress/amazing earrings would just about always make my day, no matter what.

(black lace party dress…so delightfully fancy)

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This is Terri:

how old are you?

I’m a twenty-something year old trapped in a pre-teens body. It’s true. I’ve got a baby face, am hardly five feet tall, and barely fit adult clothing. On top of that, I’ve got a very high-pitched voice that makes me sound like a toddler. Unfortunately, that means I can expect to have my age questioned on nearly a daily basis. Someone actually threatened to call the cops because the clerk was convinced I was using a fake ID to buy a lottery ticket. That’s right. Even as a twenty-something young woman, the clerk didn’t even believe I was over 18.

There’s always a lack of respect when you look much younger. Yes, it gets annoying. But it gives me the opportunity to weed out the jerks and people I don’t want to waste my time on very quickly. Let’s face it. People tend to show their true colors when they think they are dealing with a child.

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I am bad at the afterward.

A couple years ago, I went to pick up my Master’s diploma in the basement of one of the stately old buildings on Columbia’s main campus. I was graduating mid-year to save money. I had worked my ass off.  This is a crime against culture, and I know people will hate me for it, but it’s the truth: I had been in New York City for a year and I had only been to the Village once, in the pouring rain, to interview someone for thesis research. It seemed like a different city down there, and I had to go right back uptown and transcribe the interview and read three hundred pages and learn a different language so that I could prove that I was cultured.  I tremblingly defended my thesis and proficiently translated academic texts in the new language and then finally I stood in the basement of the elegant building and this guy with sparse reddish hair dug through stacks of diplomas as high as fortress walls, looking for mine. He gave me a cynical little smile when he handed it to me. I walked outside, took the cobblestone path to the memorial library steps and sat down for a minute to think about my accomplishment. But all I could think was, “Shit.” And then I thought, “Shit, what do I do now?”

(this is all i need, right? source)

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Hey guys, so someone wrote to me and said that she’d like to get advice from the people who comment on this blog, because they are so thoughtful and smart. I usually don’t do this sort of thing, but I wanted to share her question with you all. If you have a moment and some insight, I know she’d love to get your response. Thank you!

After months of secretly cutting, my husband’s young teen niece attempted suicide over the weekend and we are all reeling with how to reach her (and her younger sister). It is coming out that it is a case of severe bulimia and body dysmorphic disorder, and she has been admitted to the hospital for seven days of intensive counseling and rest.

My husband and I feel prepared to offer her our support, as we both have backgrounds with counseling and mental health, but we are concerned with the state of her immediate family and extended family, who regard mental health issues as voo-doo, the result of being “weak-minded” (their words). The niece’s immediate family has a history of alcohol abuse, while the extended family has a history of emotional and physical abuse (none of which is acknowledged by the patriarch, so no one has sought counseling except my husband). However, none of these issues are rated severe enough for the state to interfere or take the children away.

We also don’t know how much we can or should help in regards to our physical distance from the family and burgeoning estrangement from each of its members. My husband and I have been working on establishing boundaries and creating distance for a few years now, kind of a “save yourself!” mentality, but of course we cannot apply this to our under-age nieces who are suffering!

What can we do? How much is too much or how much is too little? Our plan is to offer emotional support however we can, but to aim to be role models from afar for the nieces and to keep the lines of communication open, but I would love to hear if anyone has a similar story or what to expect from a professional therapist/social worker’s opinion. 

And of course, let’s all take a moment for our hearts to break about the little string-bean of an athlete who hates herself and her body for not being attractive enough. Agh!

This giveaway is from Carolina, a world traveling woman who created the mi-bra. She was born in Colombia and since then, she has been a staggering amount of places. I kind of want to drop everything and  follow her around.

I wanted to do this giveaway because the three times I’ve been jogging in my life, I really wished that 1. I was brave enough to just be wearing a sports bra and some shorts and 2. I had somewhere to put my keys and ipod.

This is the bra:

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This is another piece from Bethany. The woman can’t seem to stop writing fantastic stuff. She called this her “rant.” Ranting is sometimes the best:

Fat can be powerful.

If wielded just so, fat can send a message.  Plus size women have access to and permission to use a whole set of powerful words in reference to themselves.  There are specialty stores.  There are magazines.  There are groups of people fighting for and celebrating the thicker, curvier woman.

And of course we all know how powerful skinny can be.  Skinny dominates our media.  Skinny is the key to eternal happiness.  Skinny women are admired and applauded, envied for their perceived self discipline and focus.  Studies have been conducted that indicate that a large percentage of women would trade actual years of life in exchange for guaranteed thinness.

So, we have skinny and fat.  We have big, bold, powerful fat and strong, determined, wanton skinny.  We have Queen Latifah in one corner and Kate Moss in the opposing.  Both look stunning, of course.

So where does that leave me?

No one ever talks about being average.  I don’t know of any Average Advocacy groups.  Being a size eight?  Who cares?  Blah, boring, whatever.  What is there to say about a size eight?  The only thing that I can think of is that it falls neatly between six and ten.

(source)

Even the word “average” sounds plain.  When I hear the word “average”, I hear a lot of other words behind it:  unremarkable, without distinction, standard, ordinary.  It makes me think of the color beige, a big bowl of naked oatmeal, a glass of tap water.  I’m neither fat or skinny, curvaceous or waiflike.  Too big for Wet Seal and too small for Lane Bryant.  I guess that puts me at JC Penney’s.

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