Following The Road

Hello Bloghoppers!

I am Jen. I’ve been blogging for three years. I started blogging because I was bored and needed to do something with my day that didn’t involve crayons or spit-up. Blogging fit the bill nicely.

I grew up in Orange County, California. Not the Florida or New York Orange County. That Orange County. After my first daughter was born, my husband and I moved to a ranch near Sequoia National Park. We live on 200 in the Sierra Mountains. It’s an adjustment. It’s been seven years and I am still figuring out what the heck I am doing here. My oldest girl, Bright, recently told me that she never wants to live anywhere else.

I’d gladly live somewhere else if there was pizza delivery involved. Or a grocery store closer than an hour away.

Since we have three kids now, I don’t see pizza delivery in my future. My oldest is Bright, a shy seven year old that loves to read. Star is a mischievous little heathen that cracks me up. Our newest is a four month old boy .

I’m going to school to learn graphic design/web programming. My husband Jeremy is about to graduate with his programming degree in a month. I spend a lot of time playing with my newly discovered skillz.

I paint when the mood strikes me. I take pictures of the mountains when it doesn’t.

I also have a never ending home improvement project going on.

Thanks for dropping by! Please leave a comment so I can check you out too.

You can follow me on Twitter, too.

You know what this world needs? One more thirty-something blogger writing about her weight issues.

I’ve been on a starve-binge cycle for most of my life. Growing up, the general attitude around my house always seemed to be that becoming fat was inevitable. My parents weren’t fat, but that didn’t mean I could avoid my fate. There was no sugar cereal allowed in our house, no soda. I spent years terrified of turning into my aunts and grandma. They are big women. Rotund. At 10, and a size one, I believed with all my heart that I was huge. I started dieting when I was 12 (and a size 5) to fight what I considered my weight destiny.

By 16 I starved myself most of the time. My normal food for a day included a bag of baby carrots and a handful of saltine crackers. When I was 17, I was required by my biology teacher to list a day’s food intake for a project. I lied and added what I believed was a normal amount of food to my list (because I was scared of being fat- not stupid. I knew what I was eating was wrong. I just didn’t care.). I still received my paper back with a bright red note telling me to eat more. Nobody noticed my rapid weight loss because I would punctuate it with outrageous binges that would buoy me back up. Really, I was a terrible anorexic. Despite starving myself, I never weighed less that 125. For my height that’s underweight but not by much.

By 19 I was better- I would eat at least one “normal” meal a day (a plate of chicken. Yep- that’s it. Normal, right?) . I considered myself cured. Sometimes I would get fed up of  being hungry all the time and start eating. I’ve spent the last 18 years bouncing between binge eating and starvation dieting. After Bright was born, I lived off a can of soup a day until I was an acceptable size again. After Star was born I Weight Watched myself back to my high school weight. Weight Watchers works- if you stick to the actual program. When the weight loss plateaued, I adjusted my points lower. And then lower again.

But it’s okay, right? Because I was doing Weight Watchers. That’s a national program. I’m not starving myself- I’m Watching my Weight. I’m hungry all the time, but that’s only because watching your weight makes you hungry. Does that sound cured to you? Yeah- me either.

My Mom often tells me I was born with curves. I was. There is no denying it. I am one curvy bitch. I’ve got wide hips, a round butt and big boobs. I’ve accepted the fact that I am never going to fit my butt into a size 6. So when I start to think about weight loss, why do I always stop eating? A month ago, I did it again. A week of starvation, punctuated by a day of binge eating. I lost a couple of pounds, which always serves to reinforce the cycle. It is so engraved into my brain that I don’t realize I am doing it. I just do.

Until two weeks ago. Two weeks ago, I thought about the cycle for a while. I realized it wasn’t really working for me. Sure, I was thin when I stopped eating, but what happens when I start eating again? I’m just going to be back where I started. I decided to try something else. I started eating. Every three hours, I eat small meals. Not snacks, not baby carrots, meals. Meals made of protein, carbs and a fruit or veggie. I’m not hungry, I’m not full, and I’m still losing weight. Two weeks ago, I weighed 160. Today I weigh 157. It’s not miracle weight loss, but it is a miracle to me.

I am not better. I know this. I need to pay attention to my Crazy. I need to make sure I keep eating, even when I plateau. Last Monday night, I ate a plate of lime chips and cheese. Then I ate another. Then I ate two bowls of cereal. The next day I made up for it by not eating anything. It took me until Wednesday to realize what I was doing. I’m putting this here as a reminder, as a warning to myself. Now there are people that know I am not better. Starving myself isn’t a funny little piece of my history. It’s my now and it’s probably not going away any time soon. I’ve lied before to hide it. I’ve rationalized my behaviors to make it sound better than it really is. But now you know the truth. Maybe just knowing that you know will keep me in line.

That’s the plan anyway. We’ll see how it works out.

I think there are serial killers lurking in the woods outside my house. Not serial killer. Killers. They like it out there. It’s like a serial killer convention.

But I only think this between midnight and when ever I finally get my butt to bed.

During the day the woods outside my house are innocuous.

They seem pretty and approachable.

They ARE pretty and approachable. The huge Valley Oaks mixed with Live Oaks and Bay Trees are magical. They filter the sunlight into sparkly fairy pictures on the forest floor. There are deer wandering about. There are wild flowers everywhere. It’s like a storybook. Even the Poison Oak seems welcoming, if that’s possible. Which it is. Because look:

Pretty.

But at midnight, or whenever I finally get my butt to bed, I go out onto the porch to grab a couple logs for the wood stove. You can’t see the Valley Oaks at midnight, or whenever I finally get my butt to bed. You can’t see past the first line of trees. Creepy, spiky Live Oak trees. The moonlight filters through the tree branches to highlight strange, lumpy shapes in the forest. And there are THINGS lurking in there. I can hear them scurrying around. Some of those things are big.

Human big.

Or bear big. I suppose that’s a possibility. But my mind always goes straight to serial killers. The distance between houses makes this perfect serial killer territory. Nobody to hear me scream. Nobody to notice if we suddenly disappeared. At least for a week or so. You might think my big, tough looking dog would make me feel better. You would be wrong. Really? How much of a threat is this lump of fur?

Not much.

My husband doesn’t know why I always try to go to bed five minutes before whatever show we are watching is over.

But now you do. It’s to avoid getting the last piece of fire wood. Shhh… Don’t tell.

When I can’t force myself to bed before him, I stand at my door squinting into the forest, hoping to spot the serial killers before I go outside. I don’t know what difference it would make to see them first. It’s not like spotting them will make them less dangerous. In fact, it might make them more dangerous. If I see them, they would have to kill me. Hmmm… maybe I won’t do that anymore. Maybe I’ll just get to bed first.

And get under my blankets. Every one knows you are safe from serial killers if you are under a blanket. Those things are indestructible.

I’ve spent a lot more time online lately than usual. It’s partly research for a class but it’s mostly my outstanding ability to get easily distracted by the internets. There are three websites in particular that have caught my fancy lately.

The first site I found through Jenny Crusie’s blog. Lucy March is the pseudonym of Lani Diane Rich, who happens to be Crusie’s roomie. (They aren’t that kind of roomies). She’s posting every day for 516 days. Although impressive, that alone isn’t enough to catch my interest. However, Lucy March makes me think. She’s in a place of major transition. She’s getting divorced. She’s losing some weight. She’s started a new life in a new state with her two kids. She’s building a family out of friends.  And while she could be all Oh-Noes!-My-Life-Is-Over, Whaaaaaa!!! Instead, she makes you think. Her words make you consider your life and where it’s going. She makes you strive every day to be your Authentic Self, because that is what she is doing. She’s just started (There are 493 blog posts in her future) and it is already an amazing thing to witness. Really, go read.

The second I found through Jenny Crusie’s blog. Ha! Do you see a pattern here? I can totally blame Jennifer Crusie for my laundry not getting done. Awesome.

Failbooking makes me happy. People that post things like this on their Facebook page make me cringe and then laugh and then wonder what the hell is going to happen to this world when people like this are allowed to vote.




Ah Kaitlyn, my dear, please don’t vote.

This one took Jeremy a minute to get. I’m concerned.




I have couple of relatives that may find themselves Failbooked soon.

The last site I tripped over somewhere along the way. Though, I’m pretty sure if I try I can blame Jennifer Crusie.

Epic Win, FTW is hilarious. The pictures are of the Holy-CRAP-would-you-look-at-that variety. It almost makes up for the idiots represented on Failbooking.

Stephen Hawkin in Lego form?

Oh yes. Yes they did.

Now, forget about your laundry and go get lost online for a while. You’re welcome.

I am never going to be a runner.

I recently tried out a Couch to 5K run program. One day, whilst out running and trying to breath instead of passing out flat on my face, I realized I hate running. Somewhere in the back of my mind I have always been aware of a mild dislike for running, but the actual act of running pushed that into hatred. Running makes my teeth hurt. And you know that buzzing sound that only teenagers are supposed to hear? It comes in loud and clear while I run. And if it’s annoying enough to keep teenagers from loitering in public spaces, it’s annoying enough to keep me from running.

It’s not fun. So I am not going to do that anymore.

*Totally awkward change of topic*

Inspired by my friend Julie, I’ve joined Flylady. Again. It mostly works if you aren’t working and are willing to live your life by a timer.

I guess I am.

Something needs to happen around here. I have some serious issues with project management. I really need to finish a couple of things I started…oh…’round about two years ago. It’s getting a little embarrassing. Okay- a lot embarrassing. The “I’m was pregnant! Now I have a NEWBORN! I’m TIRED.” shtick isn’t working any more. So Flylady. Yep.

Part of the problem is that most of what needs to be done doesn’t have any recognizable results: paint touch-ups, attic cleaning, sticker removal. Projects that need to be finished but have no amazing reveal at the end to make me excited to complete them.  I really love that moment  when you step back and look at the amazing thing you’ve done at the end of a project. Without that moment? Projects are sort of meh. I need that moment to motivate.

Maybe that’s why I don’t like running. There is no grand reveal. I worked ridiculously hard and all I get is hurty teeth and an annoying buzzing sound in my head? FAIL. At least when I finish getting my ass handed to me by Jillian Michaels, I have a pleasant adrenaline buzz and a few sweaty, happy moments. Why is it that I feel energized after one kind of workout and like a failure after another?

You know what I need? A Jillian Michaels moment mixed with my project management. I need a healthy adrenaline buzz at the end of my attic cleaning spree. A reward for doing laundry. A freakin’ parade for putting said laundry away. Why don’t adults get rewards for doing incredibly tedious chores?

Give me a lolly-pop, damn it.

Because if you do…

We’ll want to take the beer out of your hands.

Then we’ll replace it with a banana.

And that will make us laugh enough to replace the banana with a tampon.

Which won’t show up on camera well enough, so we will have to replace the tampon with a tiara and a cheesy 80’s romance novel.

Then we’ll spot the bowl of fruit. That never leads to good things.

This might inspire us to use you as a human target.

And let you sleep the rest of the night like the Chiquita Banana Lady. Ole!

Run for the hills! There is water- coming from the sky! What will we do? Where will go? How will we survive this DEADLY WINTER STORM?!

What? What was that? It’s rain? Just plain, old winter rain? Oh no. No. No. No. This is deadly. This is the worst thing to ever happen anywhere. Ever. It water! WATER! We can not drive in it. We can not get wet. We will melt. We will dissolve into nothing. There is MUD out there for goodness sakes. Mud that will squish. Mud that will ruin my brand new hot pink Uggs.

Well. Yes these are boots. Technically. Hmmm..? Oh. Well. Some boots are made for mud. But these are Uggs, ridiculously expensive sheep skin boots that are meant to be worn on paved California streets. They aren’t meant for actual mud. Or water. They are meant to look good with my super short shorts in the middle of summer.

Aren’t you listening? Don’t you realize that we are all going to die? There is water! In LONG BEACH! And Fresno. And here. Right here.  And the mud… it’s sliding! RUN! Didn’t you see the news? There was six inches of water that barreled into a news van and almost got the newscasters wet! ALMOST GOT THE NEWSCASTER WET.

Well, no. I’m not sure why the newscaster was standing in the middle of a flash flood area while it was raining. But I’m sure there was a good reason. They report the news. This is NEWS. Quick, take my picture while I stand under this suspiciously dangerous tree, getting soaked. We need to preserve this moment. The moment it rained on my head. I’m not even in the shower and look at me! I’m wet. HAAAA—–LLLLPPPPPPPP!

Hmmm??? What? Oh. It’s not raining anymore? Oh. Well. Okay. I’ll see you in a couple years, when this happens again.

The other morning I was contemplating my homework when I walked into the kitchen to pour another cuppa. The assignment called for combining two pictures to create a single image with photoshop. I wanted to do something original but it’s photoshop, everything that can be done has. It’s a problem. Out of the corner of my eye I spotted my coffee bean container that I have labeled “Life.”

This made me think that if I was a giant, I would keep people in there for a mid-morning snack.

Naturally, that lead to this:

No, I’m not sure what’s wrong with me. I don’t know why I think in terms of being a giant. I don’t know why I think cannibalism is funny. And if these people I randomly found on the internet are your friends? I apologize. If this is your kitchen? I don’t have anything to say for myself.

But I did get an A.

I don’t know where my mom finds these things. It’s a special talent she possesses. It’s like a gift radar.

These little jewels were tucked into my stocking at Christmas. They are small, about 3×4 inches. Just the right size to keep in my purse, which is were I keep one for list making and quick notes. I keep another on the end table next to my laptop. It contains my very detailed and extremely long To-Do list. (Oh yes- my To-Do list is actually an entire notebook. What of it?) While the outside is fun, designed to look like a dance card from a Jane Austen novel, my favorite thing is the inside, where you can sign up for a dance.

I love when things are just as pretty inside as out.

She didn’t get them here, but you can.

*This is not a sponsored post*

From the Smart Bitches:

Glance at your bookshelves: do you remember font and layout, or color, or what? With all the attention (or lip service, take your pick) paid to branding and author identity, I’m curious what you identify visually in or on a romance novel.Heck, take a small pic (no wider than 350 px please) and link or post it in the comments, and see what people can identify from halfway across the room. Spot the romance! Woo!

Because this bookshelf at the Crate and Barrel website, which is loaded with romance books. While the picture is funny, the shelf is clearly not meant for any kind of actual reader. I suppose it could serve as a To Be Read pile, if nothing else. Every one knows that anyone who actually reads has books spilling all over the place. Or piled on top of their bookshelves. Or shoved on top of other books.

Or maybe it’s just disorganized souls like me that have this problem. Anywho.

I’ll admit I can spot more than a couple of authors based off of the author’s signature font alone, even with books I’ve never read. So I guess branding works, even if it doesn’t get me to read a particular author. I can spot a Nora Roberts from a mile away because of her font. And when I stumble across an older copy of hers without the font, it throws me for a minute.

So, here’s an actual bookie’s Romance Shelves. Can you spot the romance?

Okay, I know my camera is crap, so here’s a slightly closer view:

And yes, there is some sort of organization to this. Or at least there used to be…