Me 33 years ago

For anyone who didn't know me at the age of 13,  8th grade/freshman year of high school was the time when I began running compulsively and eating rice cakes with peanut butter for dinner, in the hopes of looking like Brooke Shields and the other leggy chicks in the cheesy early 1980's designer jeans commercials. When I began receiving compliments on how fit I was, etc, it negated any unpleasant feelings of adolescent angst or vague insecurities about my lot in life as a privileged teenage girl growing up in a post-modern feminist (yet-still-heavily-partiarchal) Ronald Reagan world.  When the numbers on the scale crept over 100 lbs, this was a catastrophe; I sensed that all control was lost.  I loathed the prospect of a bra.

33 years later, (and at least 33 pounds heavier, with one awesome healthy 13-year-old child of my own, and one failed marriage) I now realize that the female body is a life-giving, miraculous machine, NOT something to be measured, evaluated or judged, or a piece of meat to gain approval or validation from lascivious onlookers.  Having an eating disorder - whether anorexia or overeating/food addiction - is a peculiarly American epidemic propagated by unrealistic media images that MUST be dispelled once and for all.  It's a horrid psychic addiction that can be more insidious and destructive than substance abuse like heroin or crack...because you can't exactly kick FOOD, can you?

This haunting song was on a mix CD someone made for me once, and I just stumbled upon this rendition of it.  

 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gle1bcBpISE

Dad - March 1st Hospitalization.

I have been in a time warp for the past week...Dad went from being on his last breath (pneumonia), to partially recovered, to being on his death bed again, and now back to "improved."  This is an Emotional Rollercoaster Like None Other.  We are cautiously optimistic, and reminded of the frailty of life.  And the importance of Family.

Pillows

I went pillow shopping at Target, and settled for a one that featured a label: "For Stomach Sleepers."  But really...what in particular would make a pillow specially suited for a stomach sleeper?   Do the manufacturers/advertisers of these pillows really think we are that impressionable?   A pillow is a pillow is a pillow, thank you very much....and I am still trying to figure out why the tag may not be removed except by the consumer, under penalty of the law:   "Yeah, I'm doing hard time because I ripped the label off my pillow.....{sirens in the distance wailing}"   Anyway...I am getting delirious from sleep debt, so off to la-la land on my special STOMACH SLEEPER PILLOW......aahhhh.....

?

My $1299 bridal gown is on sale at the Goodwill Store for $79

I think back on what kind of jello my brain must have been composed of at the age of 25:  the typical twenty-something oh-my-god-some-of-my-friends-are-getting-married-and-i'm-almost-30-so-I better-get-married-soon horseshit.  Just like a scene out of My Big Fat Greek Wedding.  (And girls...is there anyone finer looking than John Corbett's character in that flick?) 

My parents immigrated to this country in the 1950's when my brother Michael was 2 years old. (He'll be 57 in a few weeks..holy crap!)   They worked hard at their optical business...good ole Protestant work ethic.  Even though they lived in Mendham (ka-ching $),  they were always very thrifty in that Olde World way, and taught us never to use credit cards or buy stupid things.  Naturally, the idea of a dress costing more than $1200 was ridiculous to them, especially my father.  (And, if you really looked into my heart, you could have seen my own tortured thought bubble:  "...it's only made of silk, not spun gold!")   Upon hearing the cost of this prospective wedding dress that I just had to have, my father said in German: "Are you out of your ever-loving mind?"

But, I HAD to have it. (cue: "But Daddy, I want an Oompa Loompa now)  So, in the interest of perpetuating every girl's dream that included the perfect wedding and marrying Prince Cheating...(uh, oops, sorry...Charming)...that beautiful dress was purchased from Gwili Ann Bridal in Summit, NJ.  

And, 16 years later, after a gloomy divorce, I brought that same beloved dupioni silk gown to the Denville Goodwill Store in a large white cardboard box.  And now it is on a plastic coathanger with a tag for $79, crushed and stained among teal prom dresses.  Dust to dust.

Signed,
A Former Material Girl

What a difficult life.