"I am still determined to be cheerful and happy, in whatever situation I may be; for I have also learned from experience that the greater part of our happiness or misery depends upon our dispositions, and not upon our circumstances."
The bread basket, a can of frosting, sprinkles by the spoonful — Arianne Cohen was powerless over her food cravings. So she headed to Overeaters Anonymous. But was food "abstinence" the answer?
Let me tell you my biggest secret: If you and I dine together and there is a bread basket sitting between us, I cannot focus on what you're saying. I'll try, but really I'm focused on not consuming the entire basket. After we say our good-byes, I'll go home and get ready for bed — or perhaps I'll salve my work stress with a stop at the bakery or celebrate with chocolate-mint ice cream or be thoroughly haunted by a bag of Sprees in a closet two rooms away. Yes, my name is Arianne, and I am conquered by the bread basket.
I tell you this because you are probably conquered by — or addicted to — something, too. Perhaps you're a shopper or a boozer or a gambler or an exerciser or an overworker; or maybe you drown your problems in a snow pile of coke or have some variation on my food issues. We all have crappy coping mechanisms. At least four nights a month, I sit on my couch, overtaken with a bodily feeling that I must eat something. It feels like a lack in my blood vessels that can be assuaged only by food. Frosting is my crack.
Like many, I am saved by the fact that my crappy coping strategy is invisible. I'm not fat, I have never been the 5,000-calorie binge type, nor have I ever required rehab. But a few years back, in a rush of book and article deadlines, the above was my life, and I reached the point where I couldn't stop eating. I'd like to think that no one knew, but I'm well aware of my friend with thepassion for wine and the one whose weed habit long ago passed social. I was off-kilter. The owner of the 24-hour corner bodega stopped making eye contact.
Goerge Lopez is a funny guy. Admittedly, he's not my favorite stand-up comedian and I don't even consider his talk-show "appointment television." But I attach a certain "Ski Patrol" nostalgia to him and I appreciate his self-deprecating humor.
And when I have watched his show, I do enjoy it. He has a solid writing team, a fun set and a pretty laid-back, non-traditional late-night vibe there. He's got a solid lead-in with Conan so I'm sure he'll last a while despite being on TBS (who, actually, has devleloped a pretty strong presence in cable's original series world).
But enough jargony bull-shit. Let's get to what everyone has their panties all in a bunch over:
So George has, essentially, compared Kirstie Alley to a pig.
In response, via Twitter, here's what Kirstie has to offer: Don't worry about George's comments...just remember what happens to the big bad, drunk woolf...falls in a boiling pot of vodka. Piggy laughs.
George, in kind, responded: I misjudged the joke. No malice was intended and I apologize to Kirstie.
And then, from Kirstie: I don't need or want ur apology...I want your kidney dude..on behalf of ur X and all the women uv insulted...give it back
And finally, again from Kirstie: take life as lightly as u can and then move on ...even u George ....u are forgiven.....:)....
Well, look, of COURSE no malic was intended. When George makes fun of ANYONE, no malice is intended. He's a comedian, people. This is what they do. Lisa Lampanelli, one of the most successful stand-ups in history has basically made a CAREER out of mocking her own weight. Not to mention blacks, hispanics, gays, etc. This is what they do.
If Kirstie did not want so much attention called to her weight, she might have thought twice about going on Oprah in a bikini, or starring in a show called "Fat Actress." OR, creating a reality show called "BIG LIFE."
I want to be clear. I am not condoning making fun of someone for being fat. But let's be real. She's a celebrity and she's put herself out there. She's opened herself up to ridicule. And she had to know, going on Dancing With the Stars, that she would be judged for not only her moves, but her size.
You wanna REALLY stick it to George Lopez, Kirstie? Shutup. Shutup, work your ass off, let Tony Dovolani whip you into shape and be the best fucking dancer on the show. Take home that mirror ball trophy and knock 'em out in some svelt, sparkly dress and I promise you, the only joke George will be making then will be about Ralph Macchio crane-kicking the door on his way home.
I want to go on record as saying to you, George: I am fat. And I laughed. When that "Weeeee!" piggy came on the screen (I love that commercial), I laughed and laughed. Just like I laugh at Lisa Lampanelli's Jew jokes and Stephen Colbert's political satire... Because I am only human. Funny is funny. Own it. This is what you do.
Calm down, people. Seriously, go talk about Japan. Lord knows that's not getting enough media attention. (Please text REDCROSS to 90999 to donate $10 to the relief efforts.)
I'm panicked, readers. You see, summer is actually my least favorite time of year.
It wasn't always this way, of course. As a student, summer meant freedom and fun. At skinny 16, I didn't care what I was wearing.
But.... well.... SHIT.
Anyway, as I progress with my getting healthier and continue to fail epically (I could gain weight from celery these days), I have stumbled upon a couple valuable, new plus size online shops I wanted to share.
So not thrilled with this model -- I mean, she's a bit MUCH but hell, the bathing suit is sassy, yet plus-size-practical so I'm throwing Monif C. my endorsement:
And here's a cute, trendy shop I'd not seen previously, Sizes to Fit.
I realize I spoke of summer and then showed you a COAT. But it's so pretty. I kind of want it.
So when Tyra was a guest on "Ellen," I chose not to fast forward.
So this is how I got to hear about Tyra's new venture, Type F.
Basically, you login, fill out a somewhat detailed physical profile of yourself (you may even upload a photo) and once you're done, the website contunues to provide you with content custom to your needs or your look.
I kind of love this idea.
It's not totally original but it has her name on it and it's sort of written and operated so simply that a dummy could get into it...
Mind you, there's still plenty of TYRA on the site. No one loves Tyra more than TYRA. (Did you hear she's dropping her last name, BTW? She's like Madonna and Cher, you know.)
So I'd tell you to check this site out... except like I said, Tyra annoys the crapoutta me.
(Ok, you can check it out, but you didn't hear it from me.)
Due to Friday's 9.0-magnitude earthquake, tsunami, and subsequent after shocks, Japan is suffering from what its prime minister is calling the "worst crisis since WWII." The country's northern coast has been totally devastated, leaving the land and the people in ruins. LivingSocial wants to lend a hand, so they are going to match your donations. For each $5 donation through this offer, they will also donate $5 to the American Red Cross Japan Earthquake and Pacific Tsunami fund. Our thoughts go out to everyone affected by this tragedy, and hope that by merging efforts and working directly with the American Red Cross, we can help with immediate aid and long-term recovery plans in Japan. Click here to join in: http://livingsocial.com/deals/32115-5-for-10-donation-to-red-cross-relief-efforts
I'm intrigued that when the Haiti earthquake hit, it was 24/7 news. And while I realize Japan is not the same kind of culture and is actually a rather powerful nation, it does not make what's happened any less awful. In fact, teetering on nuclear disaster after disaster and ravished by tsunamis, this powerful country is being destroyed slowly and painfully.
If you are at all able, please visit http://www.thenation.com/blog/159222/how-help-japan to read about how you can do something to help. There are a lot of options. A lot of organizations have sent people there and can get your financial or other assistance to those who need it.
When I was young, my brother and I would often delight in spending weekends away at our grandparents' homes. Particularly at my mom's parents' house, we each had our own room and were provided with drawers filled with toys and games we'd been taken to pick out, homemade pancake breakfasts and free access to the piano and the funny talking head nailed to the wall over the bar.
Last year, when my grandfather passed away, as often is the case, my mind became flooded with memories of my childhood with him and my grandmother (who passed away in 1991). And ultimately, I became fixated on his favorite hat which, in turn, was my favorite hat.
When you entered their home on Emelita Street, in the tiny foyer, there was a throne-esque wall unit. I don't know how to explain -- it was like a dark wooden throne. The seat lifted for storage. The back piece was a large mirror. And along the border were hooks on which my grandfather hung his hat collection. Mostly fedoras and newsboy plaid hats.
One hat, however, was my favorite. It was bright red and had this hideous blue, yellow and green plaid trim. My grandfather had bought it during a trip to Scotland. It had a snap in the front to change the visor's rise and it had intererchangeable ornaments. You could snap on the standard button OR you could snap on a fuzzy, poofy ball. I, of course, preferred the poof.
When my grandfather passed, I ended up with a few of his things. A chair, some photos, a necklace, some remaining things of my grandmother's he'd had... But all I wanted was the hat. And we could not find it. Anywhere. I was so sad. For weeks, all I could think about was running around that house in my jammies and that hat. And playing chopsticks - BADLY - on his piano.
This past weekend, though: TRIUMPH. In tearing apart my old bedroom, where the closet now contains relics of my childhood and dozens of boxes and containers filled with who-knows-what, I came up empty. I was SO sure, it being the last place I looked, it would turn up. It surely had to be in the storage container where his army hats were. Where I'd put my grandmother's black velvet riding hat and the stuffed animal she made me.
It was not there. And again, I was so sad.
And then I turned around. And it was there. Hanging on a hook on the back of the door. I was ELATED. And also annoyed. How long had it been there?
But I put that hat on my head and with a smile as big as anything, I practically ran down the hallway like a little girl to excitedly show my mom that I'd found it.
We sat down to watch TV and I kept that hat in my lap for the rest of the night.
In my bedroom, it now sits on top of the television. Because, frankly, when I am in my room, it's usually to lay in bed and watch TV and now, in the background, I also see the hat. And it fills my heart with joy.
The picture doesn't even do it justice. It's a hilarious looking hat. Bright, fuzzy and tacky. Oh sure it's missing the poofy snap-top but I love it all the same. It's the best thing ever.
