The Relationship

Mel 7

Mel 9

Mel 21



I’ve been overweight for the past 13 years. Of course my weight did the obligatory yo-yoing, but I haven’t been within a healthy weight range since the Clinton administration.  Literally.  I never had a real weight struggle, and I thought that with time, the weight would just melt off.  It didn’t. Gaining weight didn’t really have an impact on my family, social or dating life, so losing weight didn’t seem like an imperative to me.  I’m not diabetic.  My blood pressure is slightly below normal.  My knees are a little worse for wear, but that was going to happen at 35 anyway, right?

Except, this New Year’s Eve, I spent twice as long in the mall than I should have, and spent twice as much as a thinner woman might have.  And if that weren’t enough, my relationship with food is not normal.  I’m from the South, arguably from a food Mecca, so a good meal borders on artistic expression.  It’s how we show love and give comfort.  That’s not new to me.  I always enjoyed pastries and good meals.  Just now, it seems to be more of a compulsion.

I want to go back. My relationship with food has to change.  I’d like my relationship with food to NOT be dramatically referred to as “my relationship with food.”  I think the way we gain weight is a disorder, but the obsession that this country has with losing weight is equally dysfunctional.  Because it has so little to do with the actual losing of weight, and EVERYTHING to do with how the people surrounding you perceive you and how you perceive yourself.

If you look at daytime television, particularly channels geared toward women, it’s commercial after commercial for diets, “lifestyle changes,” diet products and anything else you can think of, and it’s slightly overkill.  How do we find a happy medium, where food does not have to be the difference between victory or defeat?  Have we gone so far, that we can’t just see how normal it is to enjoy a good meal, then stop after we have enjoyed a normal sized portion?

Year after year, I’ve come up with a plan of attack on my weight, and year after year, I’ve watched myself get larger and larger.  I talk myself right into failure sometimes.  “Well, I want to be smaller, but not AS small as I was.”  It leads to me not pushing myself, and falling deeper into this dysfunctional relationship I have with my dinner plate.

So I’m trying a new strategy, where I begin to incorporate meals as normal parts of my day, rather than the parts of my day that I live for, then regret 20 minutes later.  I’m also exploring what activities I should take up that I can enjoy without relying on the gym. When I was younger, though I did spend time at the gym, I also had a lot of activities that didn’t involve going to the gym at all.  Simply put, I want my life back. And I’m gonna get it too.



There’s the life I have, the life I want, and the road connecting the two.  I’m literally exhausted.  A few short weeks ago, I was banging out 4-5 blog posts a week.  These last few weeks, I’ve been struggling to get two.  Of course, this is due in part to the fact that I’m spreading my wings and working on other writing projects.  Fear not.  I’ll NEVER abandon blogging.  I don’t even wish that I wasn’t so busy.  I just wish:

  • for 25 hour days and 8 day weeks (with only four of those days being work days);
  • that pie wasn’t so damned delicious;
  • that I had a cute geeky boy to rub my shoulders and talk me through my writer’s block;
  • I had hypnotic body rolling powers;
  • for French doors that I could dramatically throw open and sip wine on my verandah when I’m stressed;
  • for that extra “oomph” when I need the drive to get through the difficult times.

Being busy, unbearably busy at that, makes me feel like I’m doing something right.  I am anxious about being able to do what I love full time, but my passion and drive for this is so intense, I know it’s only a matter of time.  I just have to be tenacious. Tenacious is an awesome word, and I like doing awesome things, so it’s only right.

I hate when I haven’t posted in a while, because the pressure to be awesome and deep looms.  Today, yall will just have to bear with me being anxious and unsure.  Stay tuned though.  It won’t always be like this.

This Morning

I decided that getting to work in a timely fashion was more important than my self affirming post.  To type such a post whilst neglecting one’s duties is the epitome of counter-productivity, wouldn’t you say?  Fortunately, I’ve achieved most of the goals set out for today.  (Yes, keeping up with day to day tasks and minuscule details is, in fact, a goal.)  I am proud of myself that for well over a month, I have been arriving to work in a timely manner.  I’ve also kept track of my arrival and departure times. Again, this seems like a small thing, but for a woman whose life exists in a state of generalized clusterfuckery, it’s a massive accomplishment.

Today was a one cup of coffee day, but I feel moderately energized.  I’m feeling in it to win it.  I haven’t cleared up all of my other stuff, but Rome wasn’t built in a day either.  Like I tell the shawties, “The best way to eat an elephant is one bite at a time.”  I hate when I have to believe my own hype.

Selling Out…or Getting Them to Buy In?

“No one on the corner…”

Allow me to be the first to say that I believe hip-hop took a decisive turn when the man of many names, who I will simply refer to as Sean Combs, entered the stage. I cringed at his “don’t worry if I write rhymes, I write checks” stance, because I saw it as a frontal assault on my earliest passion: hip-hop. Every time he would do that little hoppity-hop dance, a little part of me would die inside. I believe it was the RZA who said something to the effect of, “Son is alright for what he’s doing. It’s just that what he’s doing is not hip-hop.” I hated him for years. How dare he engage in this mockery?

When I saw the “Puffy is Poison” video, like the other 70,000+ people that saw it, I was entertained.  But then I began to think:  “If I do believe that this life is for the strong and the rich, he has made himself both a strong presence damn near everywhere and rich, can I really knock this dude?”  Well, sure I can in the literal sense of the word.  But, Chris Rock said you can kick an old man down a flight of stairs – but that doesn’t mean it should be done.  So I decided to relax my “Diddy” rule, and observe what he does.  In addition to watching the occasional “I Want to Make a Band With Diddy At Work” episode, I perused his youtube posts and listening to the occasional ignored song.

The video above – I was horrified when I watched it.  A friend sent it to me to lift my spirits.  I thought, “I’m going through some shit, and this dude is sending me Diddy!”  And then I watched him pour the Froot Loops and all was forgiven.  It was then that I realized that he was not quite the ass-clown I thought him to be.  No, I don’t think he became a better rapper.  No, I don’t think that his cologne is no longer overpriced.  No, I don’t think that sunglasses indoors is suddenly cool.  But he has a bead on giving the people what they want; and for some reason, they want him.  He doesn’t have to do it well.  He simply has to do it the way he does it.

Now, I’m sure that some of what he does is for effect, but I simply attribute it to him putting on his “work face.”  We all do silly shit.  I was pop locking (poorly) while I was getting everyone ready to head out the door this morning.  You think that if I could get rich off someone watching me engage in my shenanigans, I’d say “Nah bruh, I’m straight.”  Shiiiiiiid.  Organic chicken breasts don’t drop below $3.99/lb and they for damn sure don’t pay for themselves.

This isn’t a love letter Mr. Combs.  I’m not saying I’m going to buy his next album.  But I respects the hustle, so, player to pimp, you do the damn thing Whatever Your Name Is This Month.