Dates are apparently not just a weird fruit.

Dating is a rite of passage in the life of a twentysomething.

Well, all of them, except this twentysomething.  I don't date.  I don't mean that I am adorkably clumsy on dates, and end up having an array of bad first date stories and a slew of ex-boyfriends.  No I mean that I don't ever date therefore I don't have any awkward first date stories.  I'm basically like a nun, no that's not right, they are married to Jesus.  I'm like someone that willingly spends all of their time alone.  A HERMIT! That's the word I was looking for.  I knew that if I just kept typing I would get there.

Have I tried it before?  Uhhhhh kind of?  I'll explain later.

There are a few reasons as to why I don't date, actually.  The main one is because I don't want to.  Sprinkle in a deep love of being alone, a little cynicism, disgust of doing anything in public, and a disdain for people, marriage, and children, and you got yourself a "Becca."

Everyone always asks me why I don't date, and depending on how I am feeling when I am asked, I give one of three responses. 

1. I just don't want to.  Never have.  Never will.
2. Why do you want to date?
3. Oh that's simple.  It's none of your fucking business.

All of these garner the same, trite response:  "Oh you just haven't found the right man, yet."

Wrong.

That 100% has nothing to do with my reasons for not dating.

Dating is hard.  Dating is messy.  Why add unnecessary stress to my already unnecessarily stressed life?  I like being on my own.  When it comes to dating, you have to pretend to be someone you're not.  You have to "hide your crazy" as my girlfriends put it.  Especially at the beginning.  You have to reel someone in with the fake you, so that by the time they realize who you truly are, they have put too much time and effort in, so they are stuck with you.  How romantic is that?  You also have to try and convince someone else that you have your shit together just a little bit more than they do so you seem exotic and well-adjusted, and I refuse to lie like that. Newsflash, people, I am none of those things!   I am not ashamed.  I am an abrasive, dinosaur-loving, book-obsessed whack job who hides their true self for no one. 

Not a single fucking person I have ever come into contact with is well-adjusted.  We all have issues. 

Listen, I have never been ashamed, or afraid, to be the first person to admit they don't know what they are doing with their lives.  I say it loudly.  I say it proudly.  I say it in rhyme.  All of the time.  I have a magnet on my fridge that has my name written entirely in penises for Christ's sake, so I'm not really at a point where I can be taken seriously.

See?  I wasn't kidding.

One time, I had to put together a table, and the directions were solely in Chinese, or Japanese, not quite sure of the difference.  And I ended up calling my father, telling him I lost the directions and couldn't do it on my own.  Which resulted in me eating potato chips on the couch, watching, while he cursed and fumbled with loose table legs and screws.  Hey! He likes being needed.  I am only doing him a disservice by not allowing him to help me.  I am the most selfless daughter.  You're welcome, Tom.

My point is that, I can't even convince myself that I have my shit together.   How am I supposed to convince someone else?  Why would I even want to?  The beauty of life is that no one has it figured out, why pretend just to impress someone that may not be in our lives in a day, a week, a month, or even a year?

The reason I am bringing this up is because my annoyingly beautiful roommate, whom I love to death, doesn't seem to understand why I don't date.  She's what one would call a "hopeless romantic."  She believes in fairytales.  I do too, but I believe in the raw, graphic, and dark fairytales of The Grimm Brothers and Hans Christian Anderson.   You know, the ones where the princess ends up almost as bloody as the villains, sometimes worse off.  She believes in the watered-down Disney versions.  I promise you I am not knocking Disney, at all.  I love all things Disney, it's just that in comparison, they are the G-rated movie adaptation of the R-rated book.

She keeps telling me, that I need to try and put myself out there.  So recently, I have.  For three reasons.

1. It's incredibly entertaining watching her get frustrated with me because my opening lines to men are usually puns that only myself and middle-aged dads would enjoy.
2. I'm trying to make her see that I am genuinely happy with my decision to be alone, and that not every girl grew up dreaming of being the Damsel in distress waiting for their Knight-in-Shining-Armor to rescue her.  Some girls grew up knowing that they were the Knight the whole time.
3. I plan on documenting here the embarrassing, awkward, and down right ridiculous encounters I have, and her annoying and never-ending quest to find me love.  Woof.

Stay tuned.

:)


Ps...I predict that this will only end badly.

Literally, a starving artist.

So if you have been following my life lately, you know that I started working out again for the first time in over 2 years.  What you may not have realized is that along with exercise, I have also been dieting, because why not torture myself?

Now, if you are lucky enough to have never needed to go on a diet, congratulations.  But also, get away from me.  I never want to be friends with you.  I'm sure you're great, but like, I hate you?

All the rest of you ugly nerds, come sit down and complain with me.

DIETING IS THE FUCKING WORST THING EVER!

Dieting is terrible because there are no loopholes.  There's no substitute.  You either eat healthy and lose weight, or you don't.  You can't have ice cream because it's bad for you.  There's no such thing as ice cream that's good for you, and I swear to God if you say, "What about frozen yogurt?"  I will stab you in the leg.  If frozen yogurt were like ice cream, IT WOULD BE CALLED FUCKING ICE CREAM!  When it comes to working out, instead of running a mile, you at the very least can walk 5.  Walking is easy.  I mean, I still hate it, but I would rather do that, than diet.

The hunger is constant, and I mean constant. 

I mean I think about food all of the time anyway, but your desire is heightened when you are going through withdrawal a.k.a. dieting.

ALL I WANT IS A GODDAMN CUPCAKE, BUT INSTEAD OF A CUPCAKE, I GET TO EAT KALE.  IN EVERYTHING.  KALE IS THE NEW SUPERFOOD AND IT SHOULD TAKE UP 90% OF YOUR DIET.

ENOUGH WITH THE KALE, PEOPLE!

Do you know what kale is?  What kale has always been?  A mother flipping garnish.  It has been used by restaurants for MILLENIA to beautify your plates of steak, chicken, mashed potatoes, waffles, or whatever delicious poison you have decided to ingest.  Growing up, I constantly heard, "Don't eat the kale, it's just garnish."

That is a code by which I have lived for 27 years.  Until, well, yesterday when I bought the world's largest bag at the grocery store for two bucks.  I am not exaggerating, it is bigger than my face.  It's no wonder it's always been a garnish, it's cheap enough to purchase and directly throw into the garbage without any significant effect on your budget.

Kale.  Ugh, even the word sounds disgusting.

Alas, I am trying something new here.  Not new per se, but new-adjacent.  I figured that eating Chick-fil-a four times a week, while delicious, probably isn't the best thing for you.  So why not try the opposite and be fucking miserable for the next year of my life.

MY GOD, am I ever.

I know that life is too short to be miserable, but it's also the longest thing you will ever do, so shut up inspirational Instagrammers.

It has been 8 days.

I.
Am.
So.
Hungry.

My stomach is growling, in sync, to every tap of the keyboard.

I love eating.  Obviously.  I mean, who doesn't?  I wouldn't be in the situation I'm in, if I didn't.  When you are dieting, eating isn't the same, though.  You have to eat constantly.  While normally this task would render me near catatonic with joy, I am not eating what I would love to be eating.  Ya know, cookies, pie, mashed potatoes, hot dogs, CHEESE, etc.  :::drools:::

I am eating fruits, vegetables, and plain ass chicken.  It's awful.  I literally have to measure my food.  Seriously.  I have to use measuring cups and spoons to make sure that I don't overeat.  I am constantly counting calories, out loud.  I sound like an insane person.  I have to keep a daily food diary to make sure I don't go over my allotted 1200 calories a day.  A FOOD DIARY!  I don't even keep a normal, every day diary where I write down my thoughts and feelings.  Oh.  Wait.  Yeah, that's what this blog is.  Right.  Shut up.  I'm delirious from the hunger.

I just want to cave and have a cheeseburger with a side of pizza.

Yet, with every day that passes I realize how far I have come and don't want to give up.  Willpower is a bitch.

Honestly, the worst of it all though, is having to be at work while dieting.

I work in a restaurant where I spend 100% of my shifts smelling food.  That isn't my job title, I'm not  a professional food sniffer or anything.  I don't even think that career exists.  Although, I would probably be amazing at it.  If any of you hear of this job becoming mainstream, I'm no hipster.  E-mail me the details.  Hello, new career path, here I come!

I have to serve food to people which I am unable to eat.  I watch them as they drink the alcoholic beverages that I have made for them.  I watch them eat piece of bread after piece of bread, wishing for one bite.  I have to serve platters of food knowing that, even on my break, I can't enjoy it.  I have to eat vegetables, rice, and chicken.  That's it, that's my amazing and healthy dinner.  Every. Single. Night.

Sometimes, I walk into the kitchen just to stare at the fryer, and I'm consumed with jealousy because it spends all of its time with delicious food inside of it.

Dieting makes me hate eating.  Becca loves eating.  It is her favorite thing to do, next to trivia games and judging people.  Dieting has made me hate that which I once loved.  Do any of you know what that's like?  That's like, if Jack and Rose survived and made it all the way to New York.  Then upon landing, Rose found out she was suffering from sea sickness the entire boat ride, and once on stable land, realized she actually hated Jack.  So she dumped him.  Food is my Jack, and I'll never let go.


Rebecca's Adulthood Survival Tip #11:  Eat. The. God. Damn. Cupcake. Screw. Kale.

Roof Stoof

I joined the gym today.

I have been wanting to do it for some time now, but I am lazy and never felt like actually going.

It was a terrible experience from the second I stepped in the door, until I walked out of it.

I don't mean that "ugh, I hate working out, everything sucks, and I'm dying." Those were my thoughts, the entire time, but I mean that I'm an embarrassing person.  I also have only gone to the gym by myself, twice in my entire life.  The second of which was today.  It is one of my irrational fears.  I don't know why I am so scared of it, I just am.  Shut up.  Don't judge me.

It was a rough day.

Let me start this off by saying that four years ago, with the help of my psycho best friend/trainer I worked my ass off, literally.  I worked out nearly every day, ate like a rabbit, and lost nearly 60 pounds.  It was the worst, yet most rewarding, experience of my life.  After losing that weight, I took some time off from working out because I finally didn't hate what I saw in the mirror.  I learned how to love myself, my body, and every single flaw I have ever found over the last 20 years.

The reasons I took a break are because, I genuinely hated it and truly believed that I could keep the weight off.  While the latter is mostly true, I did gain some back, and I am completely okay with it.  I look how I look, and if you don't like it, then don't look at me.  What I realized is that working out helped  me manage my anger, as well as my anxiety, so I decided to give it another go.  If I lose weight, great, if not, that's okay too.  I like who I am.  I liked who I was yesterday, and I will like who I become tomorrow.

Now, it has been over 2 years since I have stepped foot in a gym, because I HATE DOING PHYSICAL ACTIVITIES! I am not exaggerating.  Two. Whole. Years.  I chose the workout station on Pandora and it said "last played January 2014."  I am honestly not surprised in the slightest, because I genuinely hate doing things that can be construed as exercise of any kind.  Running, is the worst.  Climbing stairs, is the worst.  Laying down on the couch watching Netflix, is the best.

When I woke up today, I forced myself to put on my work out clothes.  Naturally, I searched for a long time, because they had gotten themselves shoved into the back of one of my dresser drawers somehow.  I begrudgingly waddled to my car and drove to join the gym.  The whole while thinking, "this is stupid, just get food and go home."  Had I actually eaten, today might have gone a little differently, or it wouldn't have, and I would just have been full whilst being embarrassing.

I nervously walked into the gym to find this really adorable girl at the counter wearing a shirt that said "Cute guys? I thought you said French Fries." So naturally, I knew we would become best friends.  She said hi with a smile, and I was like, "Yeah, okay, she is approachable and cute.  I can do this.  Sisterhood at its finest."

"Hi," I said, "I would like to join your wonderful gym please."  BECAUSE I'M THE MOST AWKWARD PERSON ON THE PLANET!
"Oh! That's great,"  She said as she jumped up and down in excitement, "Let me get Andrew for you. He will help you get started."
HUH!??! ANDREW?!?!? OH GOD!! A MAN! I CAN'T DO THIS! ABORT MISSION! ABORT!

Andrew walked up to the desk, looking like a Greek God: bearded, tan, and over 6 feet tall.  He was just a solid wall of sinew and muscle, and I couldn't look him in the eye.

He went over the basics of the gym and I was nervously sweating just standing there.  He then told me he had to take my picture for my membership, and at this point I was profusely sweating and panicking.  I don't do well with "professional" and "important" pictures.  I clam up.  I am basically Chandler Bing.  So, I awkwardly smiled as he took the picture.  Or at least that's what I thought he was doing.  He didn't actually take the picture until I started to walk away thinking he was done.  MY GYM PICTURE IS A BLURRY, OUT OF FOCUS SHOT OF ME SMILING WITH A CLOSED MOUTH AND WHAT APPEARS TO BE 3 CHINS!!!! I know this because I saw it pop up on the computer.  Andrew laughed and I gave up.  I grabbed my purse, wishing I was dead and said bye.

Of course, this wasn't the end of it.  Andrew had to get the last words in, "Rebecca, right?  Well, it was nice meeting you. I better see you in here again."  Of course, my response wasn't to say "Nice to meet you as well, I'm sure I'll be seeing you."  My response was to laugh like some sort of demon possessed goose.  Just a loud honk filled the gym, as I rushed to find the locker rooms.

This isn't where the embarrassment ended.  'Twas only the beginning.

I put my stuff in a locker and proceeded to the gym area.  Now, this locker room was very complex and almost maze-like.  There were twists and turns and cubby holes, and secret closets, and it was all a very daunting experience.  As I was heading into the gym, I turned into, what I thought was the hallway, and it ended up being a little cubby hole with a giant mirror.  I proceeded to slam into it because I was untangling my headphones as I walked, and also BECAUSE IT WAS A FUCKING LABYRINTH AND PROBABLY HOME TO A MINOTAUR AS WELL.  A girl in the locker room gasp and then laughed as I rushed around the corner to, what I prayed, was the exit to the gym.

I headed straight for the treadmills because it was the only thing that I recognized.  Gym equipment has drastically changed in the last four years, I can tell you that much.  I saw people hanging from ropes, and bars, and they all stared at me like I was a piece of meat. 

The first treadmill I got on, was broken.  I found that out after about a minute of pushing buttons with no result. 

The next treadmill worked just fine.  I put it on a high incline but low speed as to get my heart rate up and ease my way into it.  I had a book and my music and I was actually feeling pretty proud of myself.  After reading a few chapters in my book, I decided to set it down and run, for the first time in years.

I lowered the incline, popped up to the speed to a quick jog/low run speed (for me, not for like, normal people that work out all of the time), and proceeded to push myself.

I was in the groove, I could barely breathe, I was sweating, but I thought to myself "I remember this feeling, I hate this, but it's kind of nice."  All was well, until all of the sudden I jerked back and nearly flew off of the treadmill, because I ran too close to the bar that measures your heart rate and MY FAT ASS STOMACH DECIDED TO HIT THE EMERGENCY STOP BUTTON ON THE TREADMILL!  Everyone around me saw it happen, because I of course yelled out "Whoa" like I was trying to reign in a horse.

I almost gave up and left, but I still had 15 minutes left on my cardio time and Mama didn't raise no quitter.  I pushed myself through the embarrassment, and the stares, and finished my session.  After cleaning the machine, I went to this treadclimber thing.  Now, I have never used one, but I am not comfortable with doing any weight lifting yet, solely cardio.  I guess it is an elliptical crossed with a treadmill, and I thought "how hard could this be?"

Let me tell you, very hard.  I was on it for about a minute and a half before it made this screeching noise and stopped.

It was at that point that I said, OUT LOUD, "fuck it, I'm done for the day."

I grabbed my stuff out of the locker room, and rushed out of the gym because if I actually broke the machine, I didn't want them to catch me.  I can barely afford the membership to the gym, let alone the equipment in it.


Rebecca's Adulthood Survival Tip #10:  Working out sucks, but it doesn't have to be boring.  Have fun with it.  Cause a scene.  Also, dancing to the Cupid Shuffle on a treadmill, while very dangerous, is also incredibly fun.

Gracias

I just want to take a moment to thank everyone that spends a little bit of their time each day, or every other day, or once a week, or even once a month reading my blog.

I truly appreciate it.

Also, I apologize for my absence the last 2 weeks.  My mother came to visit me, and I took a break from blogging to make sure I could spend every free second I had with her.  Sometimes, I feel that people get too wrapped up in themselves, and comparing their lives with another on social media/ in real life that we forget what is truly important.  For me, that's my family. 

I hate that I have to remind myself to put my phone down every once in a while, that I should step away from my computer for at least an hour every day, but that is the world in which we all live.  It's annoying, sure, but I would rather have a reason to step away, than not.

Thank you again, and I hope you all continue to enjoy the random thoughts that come to my mind.


Becca.