The primary reason I’m giving up sugar is because all I’ve developed some crappy eating habits over the summer. Everything was vacation, so why pay attention to how many chips I was putting down?

Also, though?

I’m hoping to lose a couple of pounds.

Body acceptance (healthy at every size ftw) is sort hard to consolidate with dieting. Am I not applying the same acceptance to myself as I do to others, etc?

Here’s the thing, though.

My Joe’s Jeans don’t fit.

People, I have ONE PAIR of really nice jeans. Every other pair I own came from Gap, on sale. (That’s not to say that Gap jeans aren’t nice – they are. They’re just not nice nice.) My Joe’s Jeans make me look and feel awesome. And they don’t stretch. And since this summer, my waist and the jeans haven’t been as friendly as they once were. The jeans still button, but I can only wear them while standing up.

So – I’m trying to be healthier, yes. Tortilla chips and beer are really only probably part of a well balanced diet, and it’s good for me to make an effort to move away from mass consumption of those items. Also, though? I’m trying to get my damn jeans to fit.

Is it not feminist to care about my expensive clothes? I actually don’t know. I know that I feel sort of bad, but that it is important to me. I like having nice (and stylish) things, and I can’t afford to get a new pair right now. (There are probably other things in my closet that will benefit from a slight pound reduction too).

I feel … inconsistent.

Perhaps it’s because I haven’t had any sugar in two days and my capacity for intellectual thought seems to be directly linked to my carbohydrate intake.

Or perhaps it’s because I’m not practicing what I preach.

I genuinely don’t know.

I think that perhaps part of getting older is a matter of letting practicality overwhelm appearance.

Don’t get me wrong – I want to look cool. I just don’t want to have to peel my bare thighs off of plastic seats four times a day. The red lines that appear during a 50 minute lecture do not go away in the ten minutes between classes, and that sort of ruins the look, no?

Plus, if someone prior to you was also wearing short shorts, aren’t you … like … sharing thigh sweat?

So I have a bunch of hair now.

I say that like it happened overnight. It didn’t. I cut it off two years ago:

When I cut it, I had this whole big thing about whether or not it made me less attractive. (In short (get it? short?) – yes, it did.)

For the last year though, every time I get it trimmed or think about getting it trimmed or walk past a salon or a building that looks like a salon, I’m all ‘I wanna cut off my haiiirrrrrrr’.

Every time I say that, Crockett says ‘ok’. And looks sad.

For six months or so, I’ve been pretending that sad look is the reason I’m not cutting it off. He loves my hair, even when it’s in the shower drain or in his nose while he sleeps. I told myself that I was keeping it long for him. He has to look at me more than I do, so he should have a say in the matter. Blah didie blah.

I was going to write out all my complaints about it, but I figured out a shorter way to get them across: I have the exact same problems that every woman with more than six inches of hair has.

It’s hot. It takes a long time to clean, to moisturize, to dry, to style. (As if I style. Ha. Queen B once told me that no professional woman should come to work with wet hair. As I am no longer professional, I no longer consider that piece of advice as relevant to me.) It dries out, etc, etc.

I’m not honestly sure why we ever grow our hair out. Is it as simple as the men around us loving it and us being considerate about their preferences? Is it so strongly associated with femininity that we just accept it? To say that most women make the choice to have long hair independent of societal pressure is to be wrong, I’m completely sure about that.

There was an article on Jezebel a little bit ago titled How Hair Extensions Made Me A Casual Sex Goddess. The author comes right out and says:

You’re kidding yourself if you don’t acknowledge that your hair communicates a message to the world.

Can that be it? Do we grow our hair long because to not grow it long is sending a message of some kind? Does it say that we don’t care about our looks, or that we’re not good in bed, or that we (gasp) prefer to sleep with women?

Here’s the revelation I recently had about my hair. I freely (and a little ashamedly) admit that keep it long for Crockett, and I keep it long because I am a college student who works, works out, and showers at odd hours of the day. Long hair that’s due a wash is more manageable than it’s short sister, by virtue of the taming power of hair bands and barrettes. I also can’t afford a nice haircut more than once a semester.

I keep it long because I’m lazy, broke, and because my boyfriend thinks it’s pretty.

Once I figured that out, I was able to stop moaning about cutting it.

When school is over and I’m back in the world of paychecks and predictable schedules, though, all bets are off.

Because I’m fabulous, obviously.

Oh, wait. That isn’t me?

ARE YOU SURE?

Ok, fine. I freely acknowledge that Emma Email Marketing was around before I took this picture (although I don’t know for sure when they started using their current logo…).

I also acknowledge that the entire world does not revolve around me.

I don’t acknowledge that freely, mind you. It’s more of a teeth pulling kind of acknowledgement, but still. It’s acknowledged.

The Emma company seems cool. Since I’m not in the email marketing world, I don’t know for sure if they’re actually good at what they do, but based on the prevalence of the not-my-Emma-face ads on the internets, they must have be earning some money to spend on adverstising.

Anyhow. In case it wasn’t clear, I am in no way affiliated with this company and I’m not actually accusing them of using me as their logo.

I am considering emailing them and offering to be their real live spokesperson, though.

I had one white eyebrow.

If I hadn’t stopped by the bathroom or had looked at my hands instead of my face, I could have gone HOURS without noticing.

Obviously no one would have told me. I don’t actually have to interact with anyone until 1:30, and the average person doesn’t stop a stranger on the street to say ‘excuse me, are you aware that one of your eyebrows is white?’.

Now that I fixed it, I feel all gunky. I’m obsessed. I’m convinced I have another reservoir of moisturizer somewhere – in my hairline, maybe, or under my chin. Or maybe I have toilet paper hanging from my shoe. Or sweater fuzz in my hair. Or bugs.

Maybe there are BUGS crawling on me.

Gunky eyebrows are apparently the gateway to a downward spiral into insanity.

A few years from now her ears won’t have grown, but her desire for a larger diamond will.

What does that mean? No, really. I know it had a little more context than that. It seemed to have something to do with earmuffs, of all things – like, you can buy her earmuffs but is that a gift that has the potential to keep on giving?

This is a season of endless jewelry advertising. There are gifts to be given and there is the potential for romance. Any man with a woman in his life is told that sparkles are de rigueur. Any woman with a man in her life who ends up without said sparkles is left wondering if maybe her man doesn’t love her as much as that cute foreign guy in the Jared commercial loves his lady.

I’ve grown accustomed to said advertising. I don’t particularly like it, and that’s mostly because I’m not immune to a little emotional manipulation, but I can usually tune it out (or change the station).

However.

Now? Not only are diamonds required, now you have to give/get jewelry that can be upgraded every couple of years?

Last season, women were superficial folks who needed glittery gifts to be happy.

This season, not only do our gifts need to be glittery, they also need to be able to grow as our desire for larger diamonds does?

Why will I want a larger diamond next year?

Because Shane Co will tell me I do.

It’s a diabolical plan, really.

Diamond Company Four Part Plan:

1. We say women want diamonds. We say it loudly and enthusiastically and A LOT and eventually you will believe it, so you might as well just accept it. Women want diamonds.
2. The diamond you’re buying now, person who is shopping for a woman, is fine for this year, but next year we’re going to tell her that it’s too small. We will say it a lot. You will hear it in your dreams. You might as well just accept it.
3. Instead of buying something that will just languish away in a jewelry box embarrassed by it’s  tininess, buy jewelry that you can put bigger diamonds in! We’ll take your old diamonds back (probably) and sell them to someone that you’re clearly better than!
4. Repeat.

I have an alternate plan.

1. Men: hop on the first plane to Bangkok, because that’s where the Golden Jubilee Diamond is. It’s 545 carats, so whichever one of you gets there first will probably be able to keep your diamond needing lady happy for quite some time. Spare no expense and probably bring some machine guns, because I doubt it’s actually for sale. Based on what I’ve learned from advertisers, a diamond larger than her fist will probably lead to tears and also sex. (It’s not 100% clear if those two things will happen at the same time, but since you probably just killed a bunch of guards to get the damned diamond, do you really care?)
2. Um… yeah, I covered it all in step 1.

P.S. Crockett, I don’t want diamonds – upgradable or otherwise. Unless they’re brown. Because those things are fucking gorgeous.

P.P.S. Ok, I’m kidding about the brown diamond thing.

P.P.P.S. Probably.

I have as much makeup as I need, at the moment, because … well, actually, I’ve basically always had as much makeup as I needed. I don’t have as much makeup as I want, because I have absolutely NO SHINY GOLD EYESHADOW, but since I have nowhere to wear shiny gold eyeshadow, wanting is not even close to translating into needing.

I guess I could wear it to school… I digress.

Since I’m all set in the makeup department, I swung by the hair section. The humidity in Colorado has dropped to  – well, currently it’s 9% here in Louisville. 9%. Do you know what that does to ones hair, if ones hair is even a little bit inclined to be dry?

The girl in Sephora tried to convinced me to buy this conditioner.

Oh, it smelled delicious. It can be used as a leave in, in the shower, whenever. It is apparently a hair miracle in a jar.

It’s also $38.

Six months ago, I would have bought it. I would have been pissed about how much it cost, but I would have paid for it anyway, because I’ve filed my dry hair under ‘a problem that needs to be fixed’. I would have justified the purchase by saying, ‘well, I could buy a bunch of crappy conditioners and waste plastic and money and time, or I could just buy the one that will work’.

That, y’all, was my version of financial independence. Getting to buy minor luxuries that were a little bit ridiculous. I didn’t buy a sports car. I didn’t buy Louboutins. I bought expensive conditioner.

I miss my moisturized hair. I do not miss my job.

Fair trade, I guess.

I’m not going to do that, for two very good reasons. The first is that this is the week of midterms, and I have no idea what the hell I was thinking. Crockett has seen nothing but the back of my head, my brain literally feels like a muscle that I’ve over-exercised, and I haven’t taken a single test yet.

The other, better reason, is that I feel like sort of an asshat.

I let Marie Claire, a magazine that currently has a photoshop yourself ‘virtual weightloss tool’ on their homepage, suggest to me that some women were doing something wrong. Some women that do what I do every day – give some lovin to the internets and hope to get some in return.

Remember that day when I drew a silly picture? Or that day that I was freaking miserable and wrote some barely coherent a blah-didi-blah? Or that plethora of days when I purposely didn’t write about something that was going on, because it was was too painful or because it would make me sound like a whiner or because it was as much Crockett’s secret or Star’s secret or someone else’s secret as mine?

What I’m trying to say is that these women, the two that I already wrote about and the four that I didn’t, are doing their best, and they’re sharing those attempts. I don’t know what I expected, but I didn’t find thinly veiled references to pro-ana lifestyles. I found  some chicks who I would totally run with during a marathon. At least, until mile 18. At mile 18 I get mother fucking cranky and none of them would want to run with me.

Anyway, sorry. I’m sorry for not finishing if you were interested, and I’m sorry for starting if you already knew what I discovered.  I am glad I found out for myself, though.

Carrots ‘n’ Cake is written by Tina, who lives in Boston. (I would really like to go to Boston some day.) She’s married to a nice seeming fella named Mal, and they have a pug named Murphy. Her blog has led to a book deal, which basically makes her the queen of the universe.

It was hard for me to approach this blog with my serious face on, because Murphy is adorable, but I did my best.

Like Kath, Tina gained weight in her early twenties and has now lost it. Perhaps all ‘healthy living’ bloggers follow this format? This actually happened to me too. I gained weight in the last year of college and the first two after I graduated, and one day I woke up and realized I was a smidge heavier than I’d realized.

Not that I said ‘than I’d realized’ – not ‘than I should be’.  About her weight gain, Tina said something similar, but with a different spin.

I saw photos from our trip. Looking at the physical proof, I was embarrassed by how much weight I had gained. Every photo was a “bad” photo of me. I was so depressed that I threw most of them away.

Both  of the blogs I’ve looked at today have that same theme. That weight is embarrassing and that thinness will lead to approval. This, right here, is the theme that I was hoping not to find in these blogs. I wanted to find that these women were eating and running and writing about it without talking about how much better it made them look. Obviously, that was somewhat unrealistic.

I was a chubby kid and sort of stretched out in high school (prior to my post college shape change). I remember my father giving me a workout and diet book, and one of the tips was ‘eat fewer calories. If you normally eat two pieces of chicken, eat one. If you normally eat one, eat half.’ I was twelve or thirteen and I expressed to my dad that she didn’t seem to have put in a lower bound, and that that sounded like anorexia waiting to happen. He said that no, that’s just how you lose weight – you eat less. Technically true, sure, but not the best way to approach health and nutrition.

I dig that Tina doesn’t seem touting the ‘eat less’ philosophy. There are no pictures of muffins with a single bite taken out (ahem, Kath) – instead, there are cupcakes and lattes and big bowls of oatmeal. Overall, I like this one and have actually added it to my RSS feed. Triggers? 0.