facebook + size ate on the road.

The Cute made a size ate version of his famous cappuccino this morning. Contains no artificial sweeteners.

size ate finally has a presence on facebook. myspace is so yesterday, or so all of the under 30s tell me.

"it just screams 'rapist' to me," one Barnard College co-ed said to me when i was a guest panelist during their Love Your Body Week.

hm. okay.

so join the size ate group on facebook, if ya would!

and i'm off to the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign to perform size ate this weekend sponsored by the women of the on-campus organization Body Image Network. i hope to blog from the road - all 850 miles of it - but i'm not sure what sort of internet connection (or energy) i'll have. if you're in the area - swing by for a visit! the details are here.

i will drive safely and wear my seatbelt.

vomit valley high

http://gawker.com/5004617/random-house-proudly-promoting-eating-disorders

to use a phrase from my childhood: GRODY TO THE MAX.

(thanks, cate.)

but the tangerines are fluent in mandarin.

i giggled when i saw this store on the way home from my first appointment with Susan Weiss Berry, a counselor who specializes in eating disorder recovery, "no-diet" weight management, and mindfulness practice. now, don't you worry; i'm doing just fine with my eating, but i took her Evolved Eating workshop a few weeks ago, and had a lightbulb moment while i was there:

I AM STILL SCARED OF BREAD AND PASTA.

fuuuuck.

i really don't want to spend my life being scared of bread and pasta. i mean, seriously.

NOODLES. i am scared of NOODLES.

when ya say it like that, it sounds pretty ridiculous, doesn't it?

now, i don't recoil at the sight of a croissant, but i DO plan and negotiate my meals in my head:

alright. i had a sandwich (w/ two slices of bread) for lunch, so no pasta for dinner.

or

i'm going to Don Giovanni's tonight for dinner, so i'll have a salad for lunch (even though what my body is really craving right now is macaroni and cheese and an apple).

many folks would consider this normal and even good planning, but i don't want to plan my meals. i want to trust myself and my body to eat what it wants when it's hungry and stop when it's full, and to trust my body to digest that food and to get hungry again. and when i get hungry again? to eat what i want and stop when i'm full. period.

so, i'm going to work with her for a bit so i can, as she said, "clean up the rough edges" of my recovery. apparently, eating disorder recovery is not a race with a finish line. it is a process with a finish line that keeps moving and changing shapes, dammit. i'll share some of my epiphanies with you as i work with her, but you should check her out on your own if you're so inclined.

(her website is not done yet, but keep checking. she says it should be up w/ loads of info in the next week or so: www.evolvedeating.com.)

eat. if not for ourselves, then for our daughters.

i don't even know what to say about this other than... ugh.

http://jezebel.com/371620/intervention-6+year+old-girl-diets-to-emulate-her-eating+disordered-mom

a flying torso

and the most amazing thing is i'm not even drunk.

my dogs are not poodles. they are great danes. they need room.

i have outgrown this.

i just cleaned out all of the shoes in my closet that hurt my feet. i'm estimating around 10 pairs. there is something that feels so wonderfully self-loving and grown-up about the process of tossing out all of the bitchy shoes that hurt my dogs. no mas! truthfully, i never really wore them much anyway. like a brazilian bikini wax, i love the idea of fancy stilts, but the reality of them is just too painful and expensive.

(if you haven't discovered the Sofft line of shoes, you should. sooo comfy and cute! like The Cute! i just bought a pair that look a lot like these. ohh, these are cute too. yellow patent leather! i mean, c'mon!!!)

blooming compliments.

i ran into my friend E outside of work today. it's rather chilly here in NYC, and yet, she had a big purple flower perched atop her crown of perpetually shiny, auburn hair. she just looks so precious and beautiful, i thought, as i stood there watching her tiptap towards me in her snazzy purple boots (they match the flower, of course).

i didn't tell her that, though. why didn't i tell her that? I SHOULD HAVE TOLD HER THAT! i'm not sure why i didn't tell her that. chock it up to frequent bouts of radical self-absorption.

later on, as that perky purple anemone blossomed in my mind, i thought about how important it is for me, a woman, to tell other women how beautiful, stunning, well-dressed, hottie-rocking-those-boots they are on a regular basis. we get the comments, welcome and otherwise, from the guys with relative frequency, and don't get me wrong, that's nice! needed! you think you might like to see me naked wearing only this aubergine bloom in my hair, and that is definitely a confidence booster!

but there's something, genuine and innocent and sisterly about getting props from another woman that just feels good and special and empowering. there is no ulterior motive; she just thinks you got it going on, and she took the time to tell you so as you left the bathroom stall and she went in. getting a compliment from another woman is almost like her saying in some little way that she might kinda wanna be like me when she grows up. i'd like to give that feeling to other women more often.

E. i'm sorry i didn't tell you before. i kinda wanna be like you when i grow up... flower 'n' all.

meg

my cousin Lauren's little girl turned four recently. she got a new bike that she describes as "cotton candy blue."

tee!

and i know exactly what color she's talking about, don't you? oh, the unintentional brilliance of a 4-year old.

this little girl makes my heart melt like a Hershey's chocolate square snuggled up to a freshly roasted marshmallow. if i ever have a little girl, i hope she's half as sweet and spunky and kind-natured as this little one, but i'm fairly certain mine will come out rolling her eyes, droning motherrrrrrrr and wearing combat boots.

it's called karma. kicks your ass every time.

one girl's trash is another girl's treasure.

bon appetit!

i remember reading somewhere that you have a "food issue" when you find yourself digging food out of your trash can and then eating it.

i've done this. a number of times. i am not ashamed to admit it. well, that's not completely true. of course i'm ashamed to admit it, but i'm admitting it because i know you all have done the same thing one time or another, or you've thought about it, and if you haven't at least thought about it, i'm not really sure why the hell you're reading this blog.

back when i used to deny deny deny myself, back when i was convinced it was the ice cream, the cookies, the chocolate bars that were The Problem, not some other deeply-rooted problem in my psyche like, oh... one dead parent, one absent-in-spirit, alcoholic parent and a codependent core so tightly wound around my colon that an aroma of steamed brussels sprouts followed me everywhere.

(seriously, ask The Urban Family).

i'd gorge myself on The Forbidden Foods, and then in a redemptive tizzy, toss what was left into the trash. i'd bury it underneath piles of garbage, convinced that if i couldn't see these foods, i wouldn't want them, and that i would then lose the weight (or keep the weight off, whatever it was that day), and presto change-o all my problems would be solved.

moments later, i'd be back at the trash can, or at least hovering near,

GOODNESS, I NEED TO GET THOSE DISHES DONE.

a silent debate raging in my head between Prudence and Sloth, about whether to dive in and retrieve the sugary corpses at the bottom of the can, or not; by mentally ramshackling myself to the couch.

DO NOT GO BACK TO THE KITCHEN. DO NOT GO BACK INTO THE KITCHEN. SATAN LIVES IN THERE, AND HE TASTES LIKE VANILLA ICE CREAM.

Sloth usually won. i'd find myself digging through the fortress of sticky styrofoam to-go containers, rank tuna fish cans and days-old beer bottles to the bottom of the can to rescue the melty, leftover 1/2 cup of Haagan-Dazs i'd so ceremoniously discarded just a few minutes before. i'd shove the remaining melty mess into my mouth as quickly as possible, not even noticing it go down. as if the faster i swallowed, the less it would mean i actually ate it, and the less it would mean i actually had a problem.

and boy oh boy, did i have a problem.

i don't do that anymore. not in the same way anyway. i don't binge, throw all the food in the house away, and then return moments later to "rescue" it and devour it as if my entire life depended upon it. i do however, on occasion, still eat food out of the trash can. on principle, i know this seems a little strange, and i know that if my Aunt Charlene is reading this she's going to gasp as loudly as she did when i told her that i sometimes go commando, and she'll either send me 1) a check because she thinks i'm too broke to buy food and underwear or 2) a care package with food and underwear or 3) a check for therapy because i'm eating food out of the trash can and not wearing underwear. i am none of the above.

so, last night, i tossed some food because i thought i was done with it, and then i thought:

wait. i'm not done. i'm still hungry. i want another dumpling. but wait, the dumplings are in the trash. if i take the dumplings out of the trash and eat one, does this mean i have a problem? it certainly meant i had a problem before.

no, silly. it means you're still hungry, and it's not as if they've been sitting there for days. they've been sitting there for a few minutes. you're only problem now is that you don't trust yourself.

so i ate one, and then threw the rest of them away. for good. because i was done.

what a lovely word DONE.

i've spent so much of my life stopping eating before i was done, satiated, full. i'm not gonna do that anymore. i'm allowed to change my mind, order a second serving, eat what's in the to-go container on the subway ride home. now, i admit, taking food out of your trash seems a bit extreme, i guess, but it works for me, and i'm convinced the main reason i've stopped binging and reached a healthy weight is because i've learned to eat according to my body's needs. this has given me the freedom to eat ALL foods ANYTIME with no qualms (most of the time, anyway, and provided it's not covered in blue fur. use your noggin.).

there is no such thing as a forbidden food, a bad food, an evil food. food does not come equipped with angel wings or devil's horns. food does not have moral qualities. this even means the food ya just tossed into the trash can.

retrieving food from the trash can doesn't mean you have a problem. it might just mean you're a little bit thrifty. and have ya ever sampled a room temperature dumpling? tasty. just be sure to scavenge for a bit of the scallion sauce too.

another non-diet that's a diet... sigh.

i am so disappointed.

sigh.

a friend of mine brought this by my desk today.

http://www.amazon.com/Writing-Diet-Write-Yourself-Right-Size/dp/1585425710

sigh.

i like julia cameron. i've done The Artist's Way, and i know it helped me unleash size ate, but i am sooo disappointed in her right now. this, this just annoys me.

sigh.

of course, i haven't read it yet, so it's not really fair for me to judge, but i'm gonna anyway.

sigh.

i'll skim it, and i'll find many of the things she says helpful and insightful. many of the exercises useful and interesting, even fun, i daresay. i might even do a few.

sigh.

but why-oh-why must it be pegged to weight loss? why-oh-why aren't these exercises worth doing just for the self-knowledge that follows? why must they be done in hopes of losing weight?

sigh.

because, margaux, the word DIET on the cover of a book, no matter how simple and dignified the serifed font and cover design, SELLS BOOKS. and we continue to buy them because DIET is the only sort of "self-improvement" many of us have ever known and maybe even care to know. all the rest of those self-improvement books are full of nothing but self-absorbed balderdash, but DIET. there's something we can really sink our teeth into. we SEE the results in one's newly unveiled cheekbones. the way to world peace is through the gaping space between your well-toned, very thin thighs. Eileen Ford said so.

sigh.

i'm not an artist so i can be skinny. i'm an artist so i can be the most fully, self-actualized human being i can be.

sigh.

i am so disappointed.

EAT

one word, two syllables: goosebumps.

thank you, michal.

mit cream anyone?

ever notice how zits tend to be symmetrical? meaning that if one pops up on the left cheek, it's only a matter of days before another pops up in the exact same place on the other cheek? i don't think this is what they mean by the "beauty of symmetry."

anyway... maybe it's just me. but my zits seem to do this all the time. maybe they get lonely. maybe they suffer from stage fright; they need a fellow hussy with whom to toss up their red petticoats. they get shy out there all by themselves.

my skin got very confused this week. i developed a large, very large, zit directly above my upper right lip exactly opposite from the mole on the left. a zole. a mit.

my skin invented something new! i'm talented that way.

and this might be the most ridiculous post i've ever written.