The Story No One Wants to Hear

A little over three weeks ago I started dieting and going to the gym again. Now I've spent a lot of my life working out, but I've never been on a diet before. I've never felt like I needed it because, despite the fact that I've been steadily gaining weight for the last few years, I was crazy skinny before so I was just coming into normal size. The problem was that I was not used to that. I've spent my whole life thus far having size 00 jeans fall off me in the fitting room. There are a couple of brands that made a 0 or 00 that fit me, so I've only ever owned maybe four pairs of jeans at any given time-- and you can forget about any other kinds of pants.

So when those smallest-of-the-small-size pants started to be too small for me, I didn't even realize what was happening for a long time. I've outgrown things, yes, but never in my life have I ever been too heavy to wear something. I was so used to being tiny that once I was no longer tiny I didn't even notice. It wasn't until my skinny jeans couldn't get over my hips at all that it hit me: I was getting chubby.

An interlude here to say that all the people who just rolled their eyes or got offended because that's still a small size and I don't understand what it's like to be REALLY big, I should shut up and be grateful, etc: Go play in the street.

Anyway, the moment I realized this was when I came home one day and peeled myself out of my previously relaxed-fitting bootcut jeans into a much more comfortable pair of sweatpants. That's when it dawned on me-- "These are FAT PANTS. Holy crap I have fat pants. I have to wear fat pants."

Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying that not being a size 0 makes you fat. But when all your pants give you muffin top such that you stopped wearing fitted shirts to hide it and the only thing that fits right is your sweatpants? Those are fat pants. And on someone who's barely five feet tall with a short stubby little torso, a size 2-4 is starting to look chubby. Yeah the size is small, but so is the rest of me. Proportionally it doesn't look small at all.

So I decided to do something about it. I calculated my basic metabolic rate, figured out how many calories I needed a day to maintain, and tried to stay around 500 calories beneath that. I made an effort to keep my calories from fat as minimal as possible and to avoid simple carbohydrates more than once a day. I made sure to spread out my food over the day instead of eating two big meals and a snack like I normally do. I already walk about 45-70 minutes a day to get around, so I added going to the gym 2-3 times a week as time permitted. Since my stamina was really low (mostly from my asthma) I started off just on the elliptical and recumbent bike and, when that got easy, I added some weight training. I never spend more than an hour at the gym.

So now, at a little over three weeks of this, I didn't feel any better. I didn't think I looked any different. Until this morning, I wanted to wear long pants but the only clean ones I had were a pair of extremely unforgiving high-waisted American Apparel skinny jeans... A pair that had ceased to fit over my hips months ago. So I tried them and... POW. Fit perfectly.

I want to share my success with people but, like my original frustration with my weight, no one wants to hear it. People will congratulate me and all but generally hearing about it being easy for me makes other people feel bad. I think Ryan North is right on here when he says "dieting is about commiserating" and no one wants to hear someone going "GUYS LOOK WHAT I DID EASILY" especially when no one thought I was chubby in the first place.

Anyway, so the final punctuation on what I'm sure has been a wholly infuriating read for most of you is this: Today I rushed home from dinner with my boyfriend so I could make it to the gym before they closed because I didn't want to skip a day. When I was adding my workout to my log I realized I hadn't really eaten much today. So on my way home I stopped at the store and got a package of little chocolate donuts as a reward, and also to make sure I got enough calories today.



Now you all hate me, thank you, goodnight.

Honolulu AIDS Walk

April 17th is the 20th annual Honolulu AIDS Walk!

This event benefitsThe Life Foundation is a local organization that does amazing things. They're the state's oldest and largest AIDS-related organization and, as such, serve over 75% of the state's people, providing rapid HIV testing, education and prevention programs, and support services for patients of HIV/AIDS. This doesn't just include counseling and medical care, but home care, groceries, and a wide variety of other essential services. They currently serve over 60% of all HIV/AIDS patients in the state including men, women, and children from every income level and ethnic group. They operate an extensive peer-to-peer prevention effort that targets people at the most risk for contracting HIV, offering support and education. They go out of their way to reach people in the community; if you need an HIV test but can't or don't want to go to their office, they will send an inconspicuous employee to meet you anywhere on island for your cheek swab.

I've volunteered for them in the past, and this is really amazing considering that they operate out of one tiny office the size of a small apartment in Honolulu. Now I'm the captain of team Psychic Unity of Anthropology. We're the UH anthropology department's team and, the event being so far in advance, we are woefully short on people and donations.

You can help by spreading the word about the event or donating directly to our team page. I don't receive any compensation for bringing in donations, this money goes directly to Life Foundation programs.

Thank you very much for anything you can give and any efforts to help us reach more people. You are helping us create a safer, healthier Hawaii and for that you have our great appreciation.

Job Applicants Are People, Too

I've spent way more time than I'd like to admit applying for jobs over the last year and a half since I moved here. In that time there have been periods where I was applying to something new every few days for weeks at a time. I can't rightly estimate how many jobs I've applied for, but I can give you the exact number of times I've been rejected: Zero.

That's right, zero rejections! But I'm still unemployed, right? How is this possible? Because I got no responses at all. None that said yes, or no, or hey we got your application. Nothing. And every time I called a place to say "did you get that thing I sent ya" after sending applications by email (maybe it got lost in the internet tubes somewhere?) they were generally dodgy and annoyed that I was wasting their precious phone time. One place I applied to was a wee little business run by one woman, so she can't even use the too-many-applications-to-contact-everyone excuse. In fact no one can, because this is a tiny island and I know that there will never be more than MAYBE two dozen applications for any job opening ever.

So to all potential employers I say: what gives? Don't you understand that we're people, too? We have feelings, for one, and it is very stressful the weeks after applying for a job when you're wondering if you'll get an interview and then you never hear anything at all. It's rude, on top of that, to treat applicants like we should be grateful for any time you ever spend interacting with us. What more, we are customers. We probably want to work for you because we like your company, but if we apply for a job and never ever hear from you, that's gonna turn us off. And if we apply by mail and then you get all huffy when we call to see if you received it? We are not going to like your company anymore. And just like any bad other customer experience, that is really bad for you.

What more, you have no idea how little work it would take to make us happy. This week, after a year and a half of this crap, I emailed an application and the company replied to let me know they were looking at it and that if I didn't hear in four weeks I could assume I had not been selected. They also asked me for additional information and when I supplied it they replied again to thank me for responding promptly.

There, two emails consisting of about three sentences each. And now I love these guys and I won't even be mad if they reject me. I'm even more hopeful that I'll get this position now, and even if I don't I'll gladly keep supporting their organization. By contrast, runs-her-own-business lady lost me completely. I had been really interested in supporting a new business that did a lot of things I liked, but not anymore. This is the most effortless good press you can possibly buy yourself as a company, don't ruin it by treating your applicants like crap.

Why I Don't Want Prince Charming (And Neither Should You)

No, I'm not here about to tell you that Prince Charming doesn't exist. That's a big load of bullshit conjured up by bullshit guys who want you to think you can't do better than them. Oh no, Prince Charming exists. Not only am I sure he exists, I'm relatively sure there are thousands of men who can qualify for the Prince Charming label in any given generation. That's not the point. The point is that you're not a fucking princess.

And by princess here I don't mean prissy and fussy. I mean classy, charismatic, cultured, etc. I'm pretty sure you are not on Prince Charming's level in any of these facets, and if you do match up with one or two, there are probably some other big gaps in your Princess Charming qualities because you're a goddamn normal person and that's how it is.

You are not beautiful and unique in your own snowflake way. Your kindergarten teacher lied to you just like she lied about the class hamster Mr. Scoots going to live on a nice farm. The things that make you interesting to some people are also the things that make you intolerable to others. There is no one on earth who thinks all your weird little quirks are on the awesome side of the lameness spectrum, there are only people to whom the lame quirks are tolerable and/or unimportant. When compared to Prince Charming, who is the classiest of class acts, your lame quirks are going to look a lot less tolerable and a lot more important. And when this happens, one of you is going to get pissed. Most likely, it will be you.

Yes, you. Why? Because Prince Charming is a reasonable person, odds are good he's not going to insert his head up in his ass and start nitpicking at you for not being good enough for him. If you really get under his skin, he will probably be decent and leave. And if you don't get under his skin, his acceptance of your issues will get under yours. When he doesn't notice that he's out of your league, you will, and it's going to bug the crap out of you. Every time he takes the high road, you get a little more angry, sneaky-hate-spiral type angry. You don't realize it's making you angry until one day he goes and does something awesome and you just hate it.

Because when you're surrounded by people who do things better than you, it makes you realize all the ways in which you should be better, but aren't. It makes you feel bad about yourself, and that can make you resentful. You most likely won't understand why you can't just be happy with a good thing, and that will make you feel worse. That's why, when a normal guy surprises you with breakfast, it's okay that he follows up by whacking you in the shins to see how long it takes before you kick him. That's what makes you feel okay when you do something ridiculous that afternoon. It's all balance. If he surprised you with breakfast and then did the dishes and didn't do anything weird up until you left the house with your pants on backwards later that day, then you're the loser in the relationship. No one wants to be that person, so being made that person by comparison to someone amazing hurts.

And if you don't feel that way, you're a jerk and you don't deserve Prince Charming. So there.

Hawaii: Where Every Day Is Opposite Day

I'm beginning to think that people here actually do make an effort to figure out what the best plan of action is, then they willfully do the exact fucking opposite.

I've been suspicious of this for a while now, but this week I really think I've come across irrefutable proof. Monday, January 10th, was the first day of class for all the schools in the University of Hawaii system. The first week to two weeks of every semester is marked by extremely heavy traffic around campus, impossible parking, and lines with waits of twenty to forty five minutes at pretty much every office on campus. The longest and most annoying lines are for student ID validations, textbook purchases, and financial aid office help.

Those first two things are located in the Campus Center building, which is also the student union. The book store is here, along with the ID/bus pass office, student government, university credit union, a major computer lab, all the meeting and conference rooms, the campus copy center, and most of the eateries available on campus. It's a lot of things in a large building.

UH decided that the weekend before class started was the best time to start massive expansion project on Campus Center. They also decided that walkways are for chumps and completely blocked off the entire center of campus, AKA the place with the heaviest foot traffic and the intersection of every path necessary to get from one building to another. For good measure, they also repaved the second busiest walkway on the other side of campus and blocked it off entirely, too.

So now to get anywhere, we have to make massive detours that don't make any sense, and you have to stalk in circles around Campus Center before you can find a way in. There is only one way in now, by the way.

And just in case no one cared that foot traffic was an ordeal, the city also decided to repave the major road that runs alongside campus and in front of all the dorms on the first two days of school, shutting it down. And because they also hate pedestrians, they made it impossible to cross without walking for two blocks in either direction of the major intersection at which we all normally cross.

Hawaii: You Will Run On Island Time Or We Will Fucking Make You Run On Island Time.

The C-Word

I've realized something recently. All the things that make my life the hardest are called cancers.

It's extremely appropriate, I think, that people born between June 21 and July 22 are Cancers. Every boy in my entire life that has cause me large amounts of trouble, with the exception of one, was a Cancer. They stick on you like that, too. In a lot of ways they never go away entirely. You might stop seeing them and you might stop hearing about them, but you start acting differently because of them. You probably never stop thinking about them.

And if my tattoo is any suggestion, I'm more than a little shaken up about my dad's illness. Like Steve Irwin, you keep seeing him do crazy shit and you think "that dude is gonna get killed!" and then when he finally dies you're shocked because, really, how can someone who has to frequently defied death actually die? After seeing someone dodge it so many times, you start to believe it can't even happen. Unlike Steve Irwin, my dad will not go out in a way that's appropriately absurd. He will gradually decline and we'll see it coming, and we'll try to stop it but eventually it will come back and that will just be that.

I've heard before that it used to be that you didn't talk about cancer. It was the c-word, something you didn't want to talk about. Something you only brought up in trusted, intimate company. In some ways, this is still true about the disease. For me, this is also true of all kinds of cancer men. I don't talk about what's happening with my dad to most people. I don't talk about what's happening with my boyfriends to most people. Because it makes people uncomfortable, and it exposes something about yourself that you don't always want to expose.

Unless you're me and you prick it directly into your skin so everyone can see, and then you don't really have to explain.

Updates On Inking, Pain

I got the tattoo and it came out better than I could have hoped, which is about the last good thing that's happened in the last two months here. I got it on October 16th and we've been pretty much all downhill from there. I haven't really been updating because I know no one wants to hear about how I hate everyone sometimes. Yes, everyone. ESPECIALLY YOU.

Anyway, to continue what I was talking about way back then, the hair and the tattoo. I went back and had my hair re-done and it's red now, but I'm still not entirely happy. It's red and people call it red and all, but I know natural redheads whose hair is WAY more red. Anyway, right after I get it done it looks something like this but eventually it fades considerably. People still call it red but I don't feel like it really is. It still looks better than my natural color, though, so I'm keeping it. And the lady who colors my hair seems incapable of going any more red (I keep asking and it keeps not happening) so I guess it's going to stay this way until I feel like undergoing the grueling task of finding a new stylist-- which I don't plan on doing anytime soon.

The tattoo is pretty cool. I know its one wing looks all mushed up in that photo, but it's 'cause I was holding my arm back. That was right after it was done and it was really sore if I had my arm anywhere other than pinned directly at my side. Anyway, it's all healed now, so I think it's time for another one.

You know how if you ask someone if their tattoo/piercing hurt a lot, they always tell you it doesn't hurt? Same for waxing/threading and stuff like that. "Oh Brazilian waxes? Those don't hurt AT ALL, just go for it!"

All of these statements are lies. All of those things hurt. The thing is that they hurt, but it's tolerable, and its manageable. I think we come to assume that pain is something we can't reasonably have-- the reason why people get angry at me for not taking aspirin when I have a headache even though it doesn't affect them. To most of us most of the time, pain of any amount is something to be avoided at all costs, and to cause any amount of pain is abhorrent. If you and your friends are slinging rubber bands at each other and someone goes "OW, dude that one HURT!" then the game is over. You apologize. Why any of you assumed that getting hit with rubber bands WOULDN'T hurt is questionable. What's solid is that, if you sling a rubber band and it hits someone and it stings, you're an asshole.

So when you encounter pain that is manageable, you don't really know how to categorize it. Furthermore, since you actually sought out and paid to have this pain, you feel like you can't reasonably say it was painful. Why would you go out and pay someone to hurt you? So you end up saying it doesn't hurt, because that's the only category we have that accurately describes your relationship with the pain you experienced.

Just before my tattoo I suddenly panicked. What if the pain was more than I could handle? I was there with my then-boyfriend who had a massive tattoo all the way down one arm. If I couldn't take it I would have to concede that he was tougher than me, something I will never ever do otherwise. He told me he ended up watching TV and cranking up his headphones at full volume because it hurt so bad, and the sound of the machine made it worse. What if I couldn't take it?

Not only did I take it just fine, I didn't have any distractions. I just kind of starred off into space for two hours, occasionally chatting with then-boyfriend, mostly scanning the titles of the books on the shelves in front of me. I think this annoyed him because he kept offering me my iPod or phone and I kept declining, and finally he got cranky and decided to go get a soda from the store across the street so he wouldn't have to watch me be way tougher than him.