I don't mean to whine, but I'm so hormonal I can't help it!
What's the deal with women's hormones anyway? Did the universe, in all its infinite wisdom, decide that pain, irritability, exhaustion, water retention, and out-of-control food cravings are punishment for not getting pregnant each month? Oh, no bun in the oven, eh? You're gonna be sorry...
Here's more than you wanted to know about me: I have a short cycle. I don't know the exact number of days, but it ain't 28! That means that I spend more than my fair share of the time battling moodiness and ice cream cravings from hell. What possible evolutionary purpose could that serve?
Here's the real problem. I don't think I got any of the good hormones. Where are the energetic, go-get-'em, yay! spinach! hormones that other people seem to have? What about the crowd-working, center-of-attention hormones? The neat freak hormones? The I-love-aerobics-so-much-I-want-to-marry-Jane-Fonda hormones? The... oh, you get the picture. I'm absolutely certain that those hormones exist and I just didn't get any of them. Instead, I got the lazy couch potato hormones. And the "I'm too tired" hormones. And the "fuck you, Jane Fonda!" hormones. And the Ben & Jerry's hormones. And the "it's OK but would be better with sugar" hormones.
I understand the hormones that are all about attracting a mate and propagating, but what's with all the negativity? I don't want to be pissy for no reason. If I'm going to be in a bad mood, I want to know that it was caused by something external, something I can see, touch, and/or hear. I want to be able to slap it in the face or kick it in the balls. I want... mmm, you know what sounds good? Cheesecake. No, warm cherry pie a la mode! Brownies! Those really great chocolate squares with the gooey caramel inside. Oh. My. God.
Let's see... What do I have in the house? Apples. Peaches. Lettuce. My hormones do not want any of these things or any other things that are similar to these things. If it's good for me, then just forget it. My hormones are not interested. They want chocolate and candy and potato chips and ice cream, and I don't have any of those things!
Cue bursting into tears mood swing plus fetal position in t-minus 5, 4, 3,...
Friday, July 26, 2013
Saturday, July 20, 2013
Nothin' Normal About It
The following nugget is inspired by the blog hop prompt below from me swell friend Mardra...
This is a Blog Hop. So, hoppers: What do you think? What are the ups and downs of normal? What’s normal anyway? Do you wish for it or abhor it?
"Body image" is a modern term that never should have been invented. Why do we insist on over-thinking the shape and size of our bodies? And what are we comparing ourselves to? And what is the point? There are so many other things to worry about. Why do we worry so much about squeezing ourselves into an unrealistic societal mold?
Being skinny isn't normal. Being fat isn't normal. But worrying about it has become so commonplace that's it's impossible to avoid (you know, as long as you insist on having contact with the outside world). The diet, health, and exercise industries thrive on paranoia created by the fashion, entertainment, and media industries. The fact that a place like Baby Gap even exists is testimony to how much personal appearance - the right personal appearance - dominates the everyday lives of everyday Americans.
As a girl, my sister suffered from Barbie envy, as have, apparently, millions of other young girls. I was fortunate enough to not fall into this trap. Barbie is, after all, nothing more than a doll. But Charlie's Angels? They were real. That's what women were supposed to look like. Tall, thin, and fashionable with perfect hair who never sweat, never left the house without the exact right amount of expertly applied makeup, and simply always looked gorgeous. In the 1970s, that's what women and young girls thought was normal. That's what they thought they were supposed to look like. It's what I thought I was supposed to look like, and it was devastatingly frustrating to discover that my reality would never, ever include any of the aforementioned Angels ideals.
The Angels were also wicked smart, clever, brave, talented, and often heroic, something ugly fat girls were definitely not.
As I've gotten older, I've learned some important things. I've learned that normal is a myth, a ruse concocted by people who are just trying to sell something. I've learned that I will never fit into anyone else's mold (and that's not just because my thighs are too big). I don't make the mistake of thinking that I have a true handle on who I am or what I want out of life. I'm too addled by contradictions. I'm environmentally conscious, but when leftovers go bad in the fridge, I just throw out the whole container instead suffering through cleaning it out to reuse it. I value making good food choices, but I consistently make bad ones. I love baggy clothes (especially pants) while envying the women who can pull off skin tight outfits. I delight in having a clean house, but rarely actually have one.
I'm a mess!
But that's OK. It's normal.
This is a Blog Hop. So, hoppers: What do you think? What are the ups and downs of normal? What’s normal anyway? Do you wish for it or abhor it?
"Body image" is a modern term that never should have been invented. Why do we insist on over-thinking the shape and size of our bodies? And what are we comparing ourselves to? And what is the point? There are so many other things to worry about. Why do we worry so much about squeezing ourselves into an unrealistic societal mold?
Being skinny isn't normal. Being fat isn't normal. But worrying about it has become so commonplace that's it's impossible to avoid (you know, as long as you insist on having contact with the outside world). The diet, health, and exercise industries thrive on paranoia created by the fashion, entertainment, and media industries. The fact that a place like Baby Gap even exists is testimony to how much personal appearance - the right personal appearance - dominates the everyday lives of everyday Americans.
As a girl, my sister suffered from Barbie envy, as have, apparently, millions of other young girls. I was fortunate enough to not fall into this trap. Barbie is, after all, nothing more than a doll. But Charlie's Angels? They were real. That's what women were supposed to look like. Tall, thin, and fashionable with perfect hair who never sweat, never left the house without the exact right amount of expertly applied makeup, and simply always looked gorgeous. In the 1970s, that's what women and young girls thought was normal. That's what they thought they were supposed to look like. It's what I thought I was supposed to look like, and it was devastatingly frustrating to discover that my reality would never, ever include any of the aforementioned Angels ideals.
The Angels were also wicked smart, clever, brave, talented, and often heroic, something ugly fat girls were definitely not.
As I've gotten older, I've learned some important things. I've learned that normal is a myth, a ruse concocted by people who are just trying to sell something. I've learned that I will never fit into anyone else's mold (and that's not just because my thighs are too big). I don't make the mistake of thinking that I have a true handle on who I am or what I want out of life. I'm too addled by contradictions. I'm environmentally conscious, but when leftovers go bad in the fridge, I just throw out the whole container instead suffering through cleaning it out to reuse it. I value making good food choices, but I consistently make bad ones. I love baggy clothes (especially pants) while envying the women who can pull off skin tight outfits. I delight in having a clean house, but rarely actually have one.
I'm a mess!
But that's OK. It's normal.
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