I am not, by nature, a patient person. So when I get an idea, I usually have it accomplished, or destroyed before I can change my mind. While meditating last night (also called riding el biko without a course) I decided to get a few new tattoos. Three to be exact, in three different places and I want them done at the same time. I quickly dismissed my tattoo dreams because I have no money. But this morning, I changed my mind about dimissing the tattoos. I am putting the wheels in motion for more body art.

I've got myself 2 tattoos currently, all have me-specific meaning, all creations of my mind. I love my art, but it has taken me 5 years to think of them as apart of me. I now tread lightly when thinking of new permanent additions. I have wanted a new tattoo to cover-up some physical scarring from an emotionally scarring operation, but I just couldn't fathom anything tattooed onto myself that would hold the same significance. Also, my tattoos I have now are slightly varied in techinique and I want a sense of cohesiveness on my body. So I decided to get three tattoos, one for my scarring and two near or on my current tattoos to tie the body together. I think by then my permanent artwork will be done.

My impatience has infected my friend, and we are gonna go pal-ing around today to various parlors to find an artist that is appropriate and figure our respective budgets. She is a wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am tattoo'r; everytime she has rec'd the needles, it has been a spontanious addition. I am methodical and careful, I want an amazing artist who sees what I see, is dripping with talent and I don't care about price because it is forever. I also require a few visits and rough draft drawings from my artists before I sit down and commit. Maybe she will learn; she is getting a tattoo to cover up a current leopard print piece, not flattering. Cover-ups are also really difficult and slightly more painful, sometimes you are required to alter your vision to fit your current tattoo and the needle has to go deeper into the epidermis for true color.

Eeeeee! I love tattoos!

"The air was fillied with poo and dander,
it was like a German porno."

Is there a better quote than that? Thank you Mike Rowe.

I'm taking an Italian foods class every Tuesday for the next 4 weeks. Actually, I assisting with the teaching, but rustic italian food is mostly foreign to me. I also have the good fortune to be seeing an Italian man that likes to eat. I did the whole culinary school deal, and truthfully only like to cook for others. Put a gun to my head and I still won't make a meal that is solely for me. Unfortunately I'm not great with savory foods, except my hispanic foods, and it has been expressed to me that my man is not happy about eating more beans. Damn.

I happen to be quite excited about the class, despite the carb-overload. The focus is on rustic and celebration Italian foods; breads and stuff. Actually, I think I signed up to assist just so I can learn to make Braciole. It's delicious stuff beef simmered in delicious sauce for hours. Mmmmmm. I can't wait to make me some braciole.

The sadness has crept into my body, akin to withdrawl from caffeine. No more football. I gotta wait all dang year for more football. I usually feel this sports depression about the time of baseball playoffs, when the Mariners, yet again did not make it. Spring training is right around the corner, but I just am lacking the same zest for the leisure sport I usually have. The Mariners are letting me down, and, my dear M's, your number one fan's enthusiasm is waning. I'll be excited, I know it will slowly build like the anticipation of a lover whose been gone too long, but as the years progress, the unthawing of my heart for the mound takes longer. The problems with the Mariner's line up are far too long to voice here. Let me just say Hargrove is still here, 'nuff said. Either we have a streak of mad brilliance in which the M's rise to the top, or we have another mediocre year. You're right, mediocre is too lenient of a term for the performance of last years M's. I just have to say, I'll miss you Joel, I am so sad you have moved onto the PoopSox. Your trader spirit has killed my love and ignited a new fury of passion for the pinstripes. May my father forgive me.

This was my very first year as a football fan, and I took to the sport like flies to shit. I loved it. So much that I didn't even get excited, let alone pay attention to NCAA basketball, which usually holds my sport tooth over till spring training and the frenzy of baseball grows. It hit me that there is no more football this year this morning. What will I watch this Sunday? My favorite NCAA basketball teams are on the East coast, it's so infrequent that I enjoy a good game. I guess I could move onto the rest of NBA season. Or *gasp* women's pro-basketball. No, that's just crazy talk right there, screw yer head on girl!

ESPN needs a rugby channel. There is a sport that I would become dedicated too. That or men's nude wrestling, but I just don't forsee that being broadcast during the Sunday afternoon. MMMMMmmmm, nude men.

Last week a friend told me that coffee stands were numero dos in the city on the list of sex-sellers; second only to strip clubs. Laughing, I didn't quite believe her. Then I thought about it. I have male friends that know the best coffee stands and rank them on the hotness of the baristas working there. Good coffee never is a factor in these equations. This morning I was watching some morning news show, Today I think, and it ran a whole piece on sexpresso. Now Seattle is home of the triple tall mocha with whip cream served by a naughty police officer barista. You can order a coffee and have bikini-clad eye candy while your milk is steaming.

I literally live in a land of coffee. Coffee-lovers unite in the espresso-grind of Seattle, the myriad of coffees, roasters, speciality drinks, customizable caffiene fixes, brewing techniques, the list goes on and on when it comes to Seattle area coffee joints trying to set themselves apart. Until recently, every coffee joint and espresso house based their principle on being the creme de la creme of espresso drinks. Baristas and roasters each had their own time tested way of extracting the best creme from a shot of espresso, their brewing technique allowing the full flavor of their specially selected roasted beans to shine in every cup of go-juice. Things are extreme in Seattle when it comes to coffee.

I used to be a barista and I'll admit that I not only have a border-line unhealthy addiction to the brew, but I also have a penchant for amazingly good coffee. I know every kind of drink, have created a few of my own and still believe I pull the best espresso shots, not to mention the most luxurious foamy steamed milk ever. I've perfected latte art, creating drinkable art with pictures made in the milk foam and espresso. (I know, my talents are endless and vast) I've worked at Starbucks (you had to go to a Starbucks barista school to learn their trade) and road-side coffee stands. I liked the independence of the coffee shanties. You got regular creepy dudes who tipped way too much, but I never thought about it. I liked making good coffee. Now t&a are the leading sellers of espresso drinks. I remember Playboy's Gilrs of Starbucks issue. Half naked women wearing the signature green Starbucks apron, and nothing else. I also remembered wearing that apron, smeared with milk foam and chocolate sauce, I never found it kinky or particularly sexy. I wish I had saved my apron, could come in handy.

I don't know why I hadn't thought of this idea. Not that I am a show-your-tits kind of gal (I take pride that not many have seen my goodies), but I'm pretty man savvy. I should have caught on. I'm sure it will turn into some feminist nazi shouting at the dude who created the Sweet Spot (one such shanty where the baristas wear naughty halloween costumes) about degrading women. I happen to be all for this idea. I don't think titty bars and scantily clad barista joints are degrading to women, I find them more degrading to men, yet ultimately it's a freedom of choice thing. If some idiot dude wants to throw a 5 dollar tip to the chick with fake boobs and an eating disorder for his 3 dollar coffee just 'cause he can fantasize about touching her naughty parts that night, more power. If she wants to stick to the "The tips are great and it's the only way I can put myself throw college. Besides, I'm comfortable with my body." routine (we all know you're studying interior design , you ain't gonna cure cancer with that college degree), more power. It's about your ideals and what you are willing to do for money. It's just difficult to grasp that Seattle, a city so hell-bent on pretentious coffee consumption and rare coffee beans pooped out by possums would allow such a thing to exists. I mean for goodness sake, you can't even TOUCH the stippers at Seattle titty bars. You can't put a dollar bill in a top-less ladies g-string, but you can get a latte made by a lady will pour the shot into your cup using her buttcheeks. Weaing a thong swimsuit and stipper shoes. What happened to the sanctity of coffee?

And yes, there are rare coffee beans that are eated by nocturnal animals, passed through the animal's digestive track, collected, and sold for an astonishing $130 some-odd-dollars per pound. Ridiculous.

The most damage that can be caused to any one man's relationship with his girl is her girlfriends. I know this because I have girlfriends with boyfriends and this weekend showed me just how powerful my measly opinion is. The girlfriends girlfriend doesn't even have to not like the boyfriend. In my case, it became slightly apparent that my girlfriend needed a more suited boyfriend. After telling her this via a multiple text message conversation sent in a marginally drunken stupor post dinner and drinks with said couple, I am reaping what I have sowed. I feel guilty. I'd never set out to intentionally break-up a gal pal's relationship. To each their own, even if my friend's prefer complete unhygienic primates. But in the inebriated state I was in, my true feelings for her less-than-par man we're revealed. It wasn't a male-bashing extravaganza, more of a you're-such-a-cool-person-wouldn't-it-be-nice-if-you-dated-someone-just-as-cool extravaganza. After my fury of texts, I was pretty sure I had permenantly disinvited my boyfriend and myself from all future outings with the two. Fortunately, that is not so. I think I have just piqued my friend's interest in how, pray-tell, do I think she could attain such a befitting male-speciman. (In Seattle, I don't know. I had to import my fantastic male from CT.) Never thought my ranting about how lame and unfunloving of a dude she's attached to would amount to anything. Now that I unleashed this can-o-relationship-destroying-worms, I can't, in good concious continue my thought train for her. I will not be responsible for whispering in her ear the wonders of a great guy. Or instigating unhappiness within her present coupledness. Although, I do still stand by my previous ramblings.

On the same subject of a man's way of doing irreversible damage to his relationship, the worst would be to let the true dick-male colors be revealed and unleashed onto girlfriends friend. Oooo, man. That gossip of mistreating her friend would spread like wildfire and her pack would rally to find her a more respectful and goodlooking man. A boyfriend could anticipate exile in the short future.

I think girls got it pretty easy. At least, more black and white. As long as you are decent human being that isn't a friggen weird stalker chick, a man's friends will leave a buddy's girl alone. I guess a girl could always date a man with barbarians as friends, set on conquesting three quarters of the female gender, and insisting on his participation. But then obviously that girl's got the equivalent of peanuts above her neck and probably needs the wake up call. That being said, unless she's a Leper, she's got girlfriends already telling her how unworthy her beast is. Ahhh, the mystery of relationships. It's a wonder marriage is alive and kicking.

Apologies are the biggest waste of time and energy. What a farce. I've discovered that a simple "I'm sorry" has become insufficient. If some one runs over your dog, all you get is an "I'm sorry." You don't get your dog back. Of what if you're at the grocery store and some little kid pukes on your shoe. That kid's dumb genetic donator just apologizes to you. I demand more penance, a tangible reparation. I'd like the opportunity to swiftly kick someone in the neckn for someone's insolence.

i got so angry while at the grocery store on Friday that i thought I was at the limit of making good decision. I was on the phone with my bank. And all I got for the time I wasted listening to some idiotic jackass tell me he couldn't help me, just to keep calling, was an apology. "I'm sorry Ma'am. You'll just have to keep calling, Ma'am." At that moment, reaching through the phone, ripping his lips off and using them as suitcase handles was a brilliant idea. And the action would have been more thearaputic than me telling him that. Instead, I settled for abusing a package of cotton balls. The explosion of tiny soft puff balls didn't help. The apology was just insult to injury, salt in my fetid wound. I hate apologies.

Everyone has friends like this.

Last night, I got a text out of nowhere from a highschool boyfriend. Steve. Dated him for a while, year and a half, for the end of my senior year and into college. The text was just "How's it going," but strange nontheless 'cause I hadn't talked to him in over a year. Last time I saw him, I was disgusted. He used to be one one of those people that showered twice a day, wanted to make a good impression, pressed his undershirts and underwear, smelled good, didn't drink too much, smoked weed. Then he looked like he hadn't showered in awhile. He'd turned into a chain-smoker with yellow teeth. Raging drunk. His bedroom consisted of boxes full of empty forty bottles, piled on other boxes of empty forty bottles. Every surface had empty liquor and beer junk on it. Even the bed was covered in trash. He'd been running the gamut of drugs with his prevalent drinking. I couldn't help but feel incredibly guilt. When I had broken up with him, it was because he would come over to my house in the middle of the night crying. Want to talk about his mom, his dad, how life sucks, all the horrible atrocities that had happened in the life of Steve. I got tired of being his personal therapist, and he was too manly for professional help. So I cut him loose. Shortly after, I got stories through the grapevine of car accidents Steve was in after drinking an entire fifth of gin, or 4-forties, or two-pack of tall cans. Then stories of running into tweeker Steve, high on meth, coke, tranqs. He wasn't like that before. Now he is.

Although I know none of this had to do with me, just his weakness as a person, it made me feel bad. I was intimately associated with this guy for a long time. I was his best friend, we had fun. Last time I saw him, he told me I kept him sane during that time, I left and he didn't have anyone to help. Way to lay the blame. I immediately shot back that he had turned into a giant waste of life. He was running himself into the ground, a no-good junkie, drunk just like his dad. Poor him, he didn't have friends. Maybe if he didn't act like a fucking weird druggie, always drunk, making asshole comments, people would come around more often. He was alienating himself with his behaviors and attitude; no one wanted to be around him because he was making them uncomfortable. If no one was gong to be honest with him, I was. Ignorant ass. I obviously have no tolerance for self-pity and wasted lives.

After I got that message, I texted a friend who knew Steve to tell her about the stange coincedence. We had been talking about when he was a stud and the ladies loved him, how I stole him, blahblah. She promptly calls me. I find out his mom had a brain tumor recently found, and his dad had been diagnosed with leukemia, both were dying. Everyone who used to be friends with him in highschool invited him out for a movie; reconnect, see if he's alright, not suicidal. But he was still a fucking strange fuck. As soon as he showed, everyone wanted to take him home it was so weird being around him and his warped thoughts, twisted macabre comments about crap. Everyone felt bad for him, till he showed he wasn't even making an effort to clean up, or move forward. Just wanted everyone to feel bad for him, sorry for him. Stupid fucking pathetic asshole loser.

I was thinking about the impact that whole story made on me. I realized, I'm getting older, and more and more I am hearing of people I used to know making strides in life. Forward, or backwards, I hear about friends getting married, so-and-so has kids, blahblah and who-cares are divorcing, whos-it moved away and anyone died. It's just sad to hear of Steve. It hit so close to home, his life is practically distroyed, by no one's fault but his own. And the older I get, the more I'll hear it. It startles me. Through the grapevine, I hear it all. And it's only gonna get worse, or better. I can sit back and monitor the ebbs and flows of life by listening to what other people are going through. It's a crazy, jarring perspective. Sometimes it's hard to get out of my own tunnel vision. That what isn't affecting me may be affecting others, and what is affecting me isn't always affecting others. Life *gasp* goes on?

Now that I am unemployed, I'd got all the time in the world to catch up on the morning news shows, like Good Morning America and the Today Show. I kind of prefer the Today Show, barely, for no good reason, but that Meredith Viera chick kind irked me. She seemed, um, otherworldly. I just realized today why she seemed so friggin weird. No part of her face moves except her mouth. Nothing. No eyebrow lift, no eyelid squint, not even laugh lines around her mouth. There is absolutely no emotion to her face. Her forehead doesn't even wrinkle during periods of seemingly intense thought. Maybe she's incapable of intense thinking. Maybe she's not human. Either way, she is no spring chicken. It's not like she just feel off the potato truck yesterday and has yet to develop lines of living. This is the first time I think I have witnessed bo-tox. It's just so unnatural!

Just weird. This is the only picture I could find with some emotion on her non-human face. In every other picture, her eyes don't move. It's like a painting.

I found a packet of strawberry kool-aid in my pantry this morning. I was waiting for my coffee to brew, so I thought it would be a good idea to make some sugar-free strawberryy kool-aid. To waste time, ya know. Well, I did and it was good. I forgot that Kool-Aid was delicious. I can't wait to drink my coffee and start in on the Kool-aid chilling in my fridge.

I gave up on giving up coffee. I just love coffee too much. I haven't had my cup yet this morning, so that's all I have to say.

http://franz.org/quiz.htm

This test tells you if you are more liberal (0) or conservative (40) by having you answer standard questions regarding your opinion. When I stumbled on it, I immediately thought of JoeD. I got a 14. I have labeled myself the moderate liberal. Not that I ever questioned.

I'm kicking coffee and have begun caffeine withdrawls. I don't know how much more difficult this is going to get, but I'm not happy right now. I hear caffeine addiction is intense, and I figured that if I stopped smoking, I can do this. I started to feel that the unhealthy combonation of coffee and sugar is weighing me down, wearing me out and making me feel like dog crap. I decided to drop them both. At the same time. Now I want a pack of Skittles, a cigarette and a cup of extra strong Dunkin. I may start shaking; that dose of death I just mentioned sounds surprisingly like heaven.

These withdrawl symptoms are only supposed to last 1 to 5 days. I'm tough, I've got this. I'll just be crappy and sleepy for a while. With a headache. Trembling. I don't want to stop coffee forever, I love my brew too much to cut it loose for good. Just long enough so that I know I'm not dependant and I'm not sucking down a pot a day for a nice little caffeine effect. I miss my Dunkin.

Ok. I decided to hit the gym for a second round today with a friend of mine and workout partner, Meg. In our super motivated-ness, we hit up a high-intensity step class with plans to cool off with a pilates class afterwards. The step class was so intense I turned into a beet red huffing hispanic, and Meg was my blonde friend who kept getting confused on the complicated choreography. We jetted directly from step to pilates, and it was like another world. Step was a motley crew of overweight ladies, over-hyped Asians, and a smattering of men. Meg and I were the only normal gals in that damn class, but everyone was steppin and dancing over risers in our attempt at fitness and weight loss.

Pilates, on the other hand was the land of leggy blondes lacking waists and curves. Prim and prissy gals in their designer yoga/pilates gear, Meg and I (wearing practically pj's for workout gear in baggy yoga pants and t-shirts, flattering and sexy!) stood out like sweaty chubby rejects. We got down to business though and soon were halfway through the class and onto leg workouts. So, I'm lying on my side, facing at Meg doing some leg lifts. Remembering I had a horrible case sweaty crotch, I glance in the mirror to check myself out. Confirm my dryness 'cause I'm wearing flesh-colored pants that show moisture. I'm looking in the mirror, marveling at the fact that i am still sporting a sweat thong and Meg catches me checking at my crotch. It looks like I pee'd my pants. Like I am so turned on by pilates, that I've started leaking. Any moment, I could queef, and it would be a loud sweaty queef-call. She starts laughing at me, which makes me laugh too. I have to put my head down on the mat to control myself, and I'm still shaking with laughter. Horribly, it's in a pin-drop silent pilates class. No other sounds, but Meg and I laughing at my own sweaty crotch. And these blonde ambiguous-looking aloof babes are so disgusted at our rudeness. Good times at the gym.

Below is an excerpt from a CNN article I stumbled across today. A temporary uterus for those of us who are broken. Or you had a hysterectomy and changed your mind. I just don't know really how I feel about this. I understand and support a couple (whole-heartedly believe it take two to raise a kid, no gender specifications required, just decency and love) who cannot bear children on their own and do not want to use a surrogate mother. I find this slightly crazy. At least women wanting a child through transplanted uteruses would be properly screened for child raising.

"MILWAUKEE, Wisconsin (AP) -- A New York hospital is taking steps to offer the first uterus transplant in the United States, a radical experiment that might allow women whose wombs were removed or are defective to bear children.

The wombs would come from dead donors, just as most other organs for transplants do, and would be removed after the recipient gives birth so she would not need anti-rejection drugs her whole life.

The hospital's ethics board has conditionally approved the plans, although the hospital's president warned women not to get false hopes because a transplant is not expected "any time in the near future."

However, several experts cautioned that much more research needs to be done before the procedure is actually attempted on a woman.

The New York doctors just did a six-month trial run, showing that wombs could be obtained from organ donors, and now are screening potential recipients.

"I believe it's technically possible to do," said lead physician Dr. Giuseppe Del Priore.

However, even some scientists involved think they should produce more healthy offspring in animals before trying the procedure on women.

Others note that about a thousand women already have become pregnant after kidney, heart and other transplants, with generally good results. They view uterus transplants as a way to help women whose only option now for a biological child is through a surrogate mother.

"If this is a passionate desire for a woman who's had surgical removal of a uterus, I would think this would be something she'd really want to pursue," although the risks would have to be carefully weighed, said Julia Rowland, director of the National Cancer Institute's Office of Cancer Survivorship.

The transplant project is being led by Del Priore, a cancer specialist, and Dr. Jeanetta Stega, a gynecologic surgeon, at the New York Downtown Hospital, part of the New York-Presbyterian Health Care system.

Transplants for quality of life"

Find the rest of the article here:
http://www.cnn.com/2007/HEALTH/01/15/uterus.transplant.ap/index.html

I miss the good ol days of Mariners baseball. Like back in 2001. Trip down memory lane with these friggen baseball stars we had on our roster: Buhner and Mike Cameron (one of my all-time favorite Mariners) in the outfield, Edgar Martinez (another favorite Mariner of all-time) was DH, Olerud infield with Boone, Wilson behind the plate and Piniero, Moyer (when his arm was HOT HOT HOT), Freddy Garcia and Sasaki throwing. Now, of course, not all of them were amazing super stars, but they came together and made one hell of a baseball team. My brother used to shave his head for Buhner nights. There was a bar that would sell beers for whatever Dan Wilsons batting average was (I heard they had to stop when his average dipped considerably and the beers were going .97 cents). Martinez, well, we named an avenue after him, nuff said. And to top this roster off, we had Piniella. I love Piniella. At least he paid attention to the game, got fired up, instead of plaing crosswords and counting daisies on the infield. (Stupid fucking good-for-nothing nose pickeing old fart dipshit Hargrove).

Now we got some middle reliever pitcher with an elbow injury, playing on his word that hes healthy. Pineiros out, and Ichiro is't gonna stick around very much longer if he wants to make a decent living by baseball standards. We dont even have soemone set for centerfield. As far as I know, we are just gonna circulate three different mediocre hitters till someone takes initiative and stabs Hargrove in the thigh. I wish I could quote my Ma, she's a huge Jets fan and at the beginning of the year she told me they were going through a re-building year. They werent gonna win much, but were getting the team in order. Then they go to the playoffs. I wanna say the Mariners are rebuilding and they miraculously end up in the WS. In actuality, they are building their grave of mediocricy. Poop heads. I hate Bivasi too. For the record.

And, I gotta get this off my chest before some Sox fan mentions it and I try to hang myself. Where did Pineiro end up? On my all-time rival team. Boston. Is that not a kick in the sweet spot? I dont got balls, but I felt the nausous kick. Watch, they won't even play him (despite me thinking he'll do amazing) and Ill show up for every freaking Mariners/Sox game at Safeco for the chance to see his gorgeousness. Then get piss-ass drunk and probably repeat my performance at the Mariners/Giants game last year, i.e get my ass kick the fuck out of the stadium. Im sad.

I love me some 'b' rated zombie movies.  LOVE them.  I had a good friend a few yesrs ago whose boyfriend was a huge zombie freak.  He ended up getting me hooked on zombie flicks, although after I lost contact with him.  Ever since, I have been an addict.  The more cheesy and bad acting the better.  Prior to him, I was a weird horror flick addicted person.  I freak myself out so bad I get bad dreams.  I know that the flicks are fiction, but I have a really overactive imagination.  I'll hole up in my room and act like a scared three year old.  I really do get an adrenaline rush from blood and guts psychokiller movies. 

I watch Freddie vs. Jason last night, had never seen it.  I know it is a horribly bad make-you-groan movie, but I watched it.  I'll admit it, I enjoyed it too.  There were parts that I physically twitched in fright, other parts that I couldn't tear my eyes away from the screen while I let out little girly whimpers (hopefully inaudible to my boyfriend who rolled his eyes the entire time, yet didn't change the channel when given supreme remote control.)  I hadn't seen a horror flick in quite a while, since Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Beginning.  I saw it in theaters with my pal Dom, and he will never see a horror flick with me again.  I think he walked away with bruises and my high-pitched squeals left him temporarily deaf in his left ear.  It's been even longer since I saw a bad zombie film.  Now that I am unemployed and have endless time to workout and sleep, I feel the need to host a zombie film marathon.  I bet I'll be the only attendant though.  I may need a new hobby.

I've been watching a good deal of football this weekend and am startled by have freakishly hot these QBs are.  Colin Cowherd, from ESPN radio, had a theory that QBs are always good looking because in middle and highschool, the popular dude got to be QB.  The popluar dude also was the goodlooking dude that got all the chicks.  Cowherd happened to be a college QB, leading to his theory.  I'm thinking Colin's onto something.  I mean, even the Patriots quarterback, Tom Brady, who I don't consider the best looking guy, isn't half bad.  I mean, I wouldn't kick him out of bed for eating crackers.

Wow, I had never considered the common male eating issues.  I have a friend (had a friend, thanks Tim) that had an exercise addiction and an eating disorder who was male, but that obviously is an extreme.  I admit it is difficult to imagine what the stigma is for a male to drop a few pounds without typical male ways.  As a female, I imagine you dudes staddle up to some gym, do a couple of bicep curls and call it good.  The point of the blogs was not the 'healthy' aspect, because I'm disgusted with how unhealthy females have become.  It's normal for me to respect people for obvious reasons: great intellect, good humor, decent personality, but I feel like ladies want recognition for how much self-control they seem to have in the way of eating.  Should I bow to your omnipotent will because you subsist on carrots and mustard and run 5 miles a day?  No, it's akin to someone lying to make friends.  Or, to me it is.  I hit a head yesterday listening to my friend jibberjabber about something so meaningless in the scope of life, but so incredibly hard for me to grasp.  I don't grasp normal healthy eating, I don't grasp the concept of eating to live sometimes.  Somedays they can control themselves enough not to eat, do I appluade?  The recognition they demand for such a "feat" is what I crave days I eat.  It's difficult for them to resist the temptations of food, which in our day, I feel is more taboo than the temptations of the flesh, while I have difficulties justifying eating.  Beyond basic weight control, I have not really come around to the basic common principal that I need to eat to live.  I feel more that someone, a doctor, friends, family, literature, have duped me.  Hearing friends talk about eating only almonds all day feeds this feeling of being lied to.  And jealousy.  Why can she go without almonds all day and I can't?  I want to throw a tempertantrum like a three year old, but I also understand why I can't.  While I read and comprehend the detrimental effects of malnutrition, the real reason I strive for balance in my eating ways is my body.  I haphazardly flew into an eating disorder unknowingly because I felt my body was incompetent.  Now, it will forever remain dysfunctional.  Shrug.  You can't ever go back, but that doesn't mean I don't miss it.  Like smoking.  It's bad for you, but a stress reliever, and when you're stressed, you want a cigarette.  When I'm stressed, I blame food, my body, blah and blah.  It's a weakness, but as humans, we are all weak. 

 Blah, lost the damn thread, stupid thought refuse to remain coherant!!!!

I think competition is the biggest waste of energy ever.  It has never really occured to me that I could lose, at anything so competition has never entered my mind.  I assume that I will outsmart my opponent.  It is a given, like, naturally no one can possibly be a competition for me.  This whole sting of thoughts entered my mind 'cause my friend called me to tell me her new name in aerobics class is Ms. Competitive.  Huh?  We happen to be workout partners and I have never considered her competition, but I guess when we would hit the gym together, she was instigating secret competitions with me.  Weird.  Talk about an insanely low self esteem.  Or, OR maybe I have an overinflated ego.  'Cause when I was thinking about how retarded it is to secretly have a competition with someone who is supposed to be a close friend, I was also racing some chubby who was speed walking down the street.  Subconciously I was trying to out-walk this lady.  Is it justified to secretly race some chubby lady out getting her daily exercise in the persuit of health, yet unjustified to secretly compete with your friend?  Maybe I am a hypocrite.  An egotistical hypocrite. 

I still think competition is a waste.  I would be the person told to race a mile and find the flatest mile to run just to beat someone's slow behind in wits and speed.  I need to know how to handle this competition thing because I am uncomfortable with her chilling on the elliptical trainer next to me trying to out perform.  What if she keels over in an attempt to jog faster.  I'd feel guilty for ever.  Huh, an egotistical hypocrite with a conscience.