Usually you look at a subject and paint the picture, this time I looked at the picture and painted the subject.

I know this is a cat food commercial, but this is amazing...

A moment of light

This is where I'd like to be. In the middle of a breath taking place, staring my life in the face. I feel the need to be extraordinary, and I feel that I haven't even scratched the surface. I'm excited for summer and I'm excited to start something new, something better - whatever that may be. I can't deny the overwhelming urge to shed the people I've met like snake's skin. I want to scrub them off and then gloat about how much better I am without them. I'm just.....so tired of being tied down. I'm thankful for the happy, nice moments. But really, for someone like me, a girl who means what she says, the emotional weight of expecting people to be as true as you is.....crushing. And I'm done. So see that picture? Let's go there!

Nothing Tastes As Good As Skinny Feels

I read this today on the wall of a bathroom stall in Evans. (For those of you who don't know, Evans is this monster of a building with dungeon-like classrooms and a tendency to cater to those who feel like jumping from its rooftops.)

I thought about this quote for a while, and realized that I actually agree. Nothing feels as good as knowing that someone isn't judging your fat. It's one thing to know someone is judging your unbrushed hair, your hangover face, your smudged makeup, or the stain on your shirt - since all of these things can be changed within 24 hours. But when someone judges your body shape, you feel the need to fix it, and you can't. And even if you can in the long term, constantly thinking about "fixing" yourself is horrifying.

Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels because in our world, skinny means you're not only comfortable in your own skin, but you feel worthy of praise, something overweight people don't usually feel.

I love food, I love eating, I like sharing food with others, but it has come to my attention that I never feel good after a meal. I almost always regret what I ate. Each bite is always delicious; the tastes, textures, and colors all seem worth it. Until after, when I wish I could take it back.

You know that saying, "I can't even remember what I ate for breakfast"? Well I always remember, and I always wish I had skipped it. I feel about food how insomniacs feel about sleep. It's unnecessary and holding me back from all the things I could be and do.

I tend to judge people's worth in the first five minutes largely based on how they look, as I expect they judge mine. It's rather ironic, since the appearance of all the people I have truly loved couldn't have mattered less.

It seems dangerous to admit the truth of these matters. To admit that sometimes I'm superficial, sometimes I feel bad about the way I look, sometimes I don't eat dinner, seems to bring with it a label of "troubled."

But the bigger truth is that everyone feels this way sometimes. I'm just one of the few that speak honestly about it.

One day the dreamers died within us when all our answers never came

It's fun to vomit your feelings. I still practice sometimes getting it out in creative ways.

Dear Universe, what are you getting me for my birthday? How about a boyfriend? Maybe one that loves me this time. K thanks! love, alex

Motherfuckin Breakfast Rant

I did not come home to make all your meals for the day. I do not stand in the kitchen after an hour of boot camp thinking, "What can I make YOU for breakfast?" I barely have enough energy to drag my feet to the effing stove, crack some eggs in a pan, and down my quick and dirty protein.

Do not assume you're included every time I need to ingest something. I know you survive the other ten months of the year when I'm not around. Furthermore, don't stand behind me, telling me the pan is too hot when you're NOT WILLING to make your own food. I am a stone-cold boss in the kitchen. I can make a meal out of whatever is in the fridge. I'm a sassy ass bitch in the kitch and I happen to make a lot of delicious meals all the time with my TOO HOT PAN.



Bottom line: I need to move out.


/rant

Makeover

This blog needs a new look. It needs something that matches my moods, my confusion, my humor, and those moments I laugh so hard I want to pee. Gone are the sunny, easy days of summer that this blog once portrayed. What's here now is a slightly more grown up pair of short shorts and big sunglasses that say "talk to me, I dare you."

The new year is on its way. So long candy-colored cradle of my thoughts. We will meet again in tomorrow land, and I promise to have a prettier smile and an even bigger chip on my shoulder.

<3

Eat. Pray. Love.

“I disappear into the person I love. I am the permeable membrane. If I love you, you can have it all. My money, my time, my body, my dog, my dog's money. I will assume your debts and project upon you all sorts of nifty qualities you never actually cultivated in yourself. I will give you all this and more until I am so exhausted and depleted that the only way I can recover is by becoming infatuated with someone else.”

“It begins when the object of your affection bestows upon you a heady, hallucinogenic dose of something you've never even dared to admit you wanted. An emotional speed ball of thunderous love and excitement. Soon you start craving that attention with the hungry obsession of any junkie. When its withheld you turn sick, crazy, not to mention resentful of the dealer who encouraged this addiction in the first place, but now refuses to pony up the good stuff. God damn him. And he used to give it to you for free. The next stage finds you skinny, shaking in the corner, certain only that you'd sell your soul just to have that one thing one more time. Meanwhile, the object of your adoration is now repulsed by you. He looks at you like someone he's never met before. The irony is that you can hardly blame him. I mean, check yourself out, you're a mess, unrecognizable even to your own eyes. You have now reached infatuation's final destination: the complete and merciless devaluation of self.”

“It's one of the quietest and loneliest places in Rome. The city has grown up around it over centuries. It feels like a precious wound, like a heartbreak you won't let go of because it hurts too good. We all want things to stay the same. We settle for living in misery because we're afraid of change, of things laying in ruins. But then I looked around in this place, at the chaos it's endured, the way it's been adapted, burned, pillaged, and found a way to build itself back up again and I was reassured. Maybe my life hasn't been so chaotic, it's just the world that is and the only real trap is getting attached to any of it. Ruin is a gift. Ruin is the road to transformation.”