*sigh*

Not much sucks more, or is harder, than knowing and telling the truth to yourself.... BUT... what if you can't? What if no matter what you say or do... you are unable to believe it? What if no matter WHO says it you still don't believe it? What do you do?

What if every time you share your honest beliefs someone tries to tell you that you're wrong? What if they tell you something you fully do not believe, and you let them know that you disagree... then it gets made worse by them telling YOU that you're full of shit...that you are fishing for compliments? The irony being that you now feel worse about yourself than you did before anything was said....because getting compliments makes you nauseous.

I have been accused on multiple occasions, by a myriad of people (including trusted close friends), that I suffer from something known as BDD. (Body Dysmorphic Disorder) 

The layman definition is: Delusional belief about body shape or appearance.
(Dear Friends: I respectfully disagree with your Google fueled diagnosis thankyouverymuch.)

The funny part to me is that I see no delusion at all. Does this make me crazy?

I've been made to play this "game" with friends before where we go into a crowded place (like a bar/club) and I wander around with them pointing out people I think I physically resemble. I am always quick to say "only my boobs are smaller", or "but with different hair, obviously"... but we both always know the goal is to point out body shape/size of another that I feel most closely resembles mine.

Every time this occurs I am met with resounding cries of "you're crazy!" or "oh please!", then they lead me around and point out the people they believe physically resemble me. Those seconds leading up to the first person they point out make me feel like I am going to start crying and vomit all at once. My fear being that they will point out someone that I never imagined any similarity to, and would then be forced to view myself in an even more unattractive light.

I can not even begin to tell you, in all honesty, how many times that this is what I automatically assume will be pointed out to me as the view from behind

Spring 2010: The actual view of MY behind. (I WILL say though that the shadows making my elbows look all retarded are indeed just weird shadows)

I do not think I am morbidly obese. I do not think I am grossly unhealthy. I don't even think I'm the ugliest person around. In fact, once in a while I will see someone that I find beautiful, and yet still see physical similarities between myself and them. I love those moments. Sadly the last time it happened I was dumb enough to share that with another and their initial reaction was repulsion to the photograph of my delusioned doppelgängerdom. (Whatever, I know I just made those words up, you know what I mean, get over it.)

model, Tara Lynn

^That^ would be the picture I came across that made me think "holy crap!, she's BEAUTIFUL!" I know my face doesn't look like hers, and my hair is not even close (you know, being short & fuchsia and all)... and her breasticles are bigger (hell, most 14 yr. old's have boobs bigger than mine, I just know where to get good bras) but, I'm not hatin' on myself today".... and then the person I loved and trusted the most at the time let me know they thought the picture was disgusting.

Guess it's a good thing I didn't show them the other one (same model, different pose) that had made me like myself better that day too, I wouldn't want to be responsible for their vomit fest.

You know, I look at these pictures now, like right now this very second, and I still find myself thinking "DAMN! I wish I looked that good! She's freakin' hot!!!"  Does THAT make me crazy? NO IT DOES NOT!!

I wish more people, myself included, would just grasp the FACT that people like the gorgeous woman pictured above (model Lizzi Miller, a 5’11”, 180 pounds (US size 12/14) model from Glamour Magazine in 2009) is the epitome (body wise) of what a pretty much "normal" woman's body looks like. Hell, I'm 5'11, weigh less, and wear a 10/12... but I still find her body "better" than mine... get it?

There is this thingy goin' around facebook right now called the "30 Day Challenge" where everyday, for 30 days, you're supposed to post a picture in "answer" to 30 questions about yourself. Yesterday (for me) was "Day 11 - A picture of something you hate." Know what I did? I got real. REALLY FUCKING REAL... and as much as it killed me to do it (and trust me, I felt nauseous doing it) I posted this in reply:

my body, from head to toe.

yeah... this just got über real didn't it?
If anyone has the nerve to talk shit about the fact that I just took this picture 5 minutes ago and had the balls to post it... fuckyouverymuch. I know I am not the only person with these issues, and for some people it's nice to know they aren't alone.

....and then I posted a picture I took in the bathroom right before I got in the shower....

I refrained from apologies. I didn't do the whole "ignore the bad camera angle" apology. I did not claim the lighting was bad (in fact I thought it was more than a little flattering, all things considered.) I didn't request that anyone ignore the "boy short" style of underwear I had on claiming that they probably looked like "granny panties"... nope... I just fucking put it out there knowing that I am not ever going to be stupid enough, or even egotistical enough, to believe that my issues/problems are mine and mine alone. I am not alone in this. THAT is why I decided to write this blog post tonight. I would be more than happy to see/read more posts like this from others. I want anyone reading this that has ever questioned if they are alone, in questioning ANYTHING,  to know that they are not, because when I discovered that fact...I indeed felt a little better.

I am kinda like the human version of Pavlov's dog. When a person I care for tells me things that make me feel beautiful... I eventually start to believe them. Not in a scary egotistical way, but in a way that makes me not hate myself so much. The second they tease me, or say anything that remotely resembles criticism, I then believe they initially lied to me and I am as ugly, if not more so, than originally believed. Every. Single. Time. They made me feel like this:

am I "photoshop champion" or what?

The problem with all this is two fold: Not only has every person in my life that managed to make me honestly feel beautiful also managed to be added to the list of those that made me feel worse about myself than when it started, but the other part is that I hate that I am still fully unable to just love me 100% for me. You know what though? I'm fuckin' workin' on it.  This post is just the beginning. 2011 is a year of change for me, changes FOR ME... and we're barely even at the 1/4 mark. Stay tuned.

No Sweat

Starlight over at Crazy Thoughts made the mistake very kindly asked me to write a guest post on her blog about inspiration. So, after I re-read the request, because it was very late at night when I initially read it and my first reaction was "really? a blog post about sweat?!" - no dumb ass, INSPIRATION, not perspiration (*SMH*), it took me all of a nano second to know what I'd write about… SO… please travel over to her blog today, read my guest post (ignore any and all typos on my part) and by all means peruse Starlight's blog. She is one of the sweetest bloggers out there, and I just adore her.

I will be back to my erratically non-scheduled blogging shortly, in the meantime- ENJOY

♥-Goofy Girl

PS. should any of you be interested in doing a guest post on my blog, I would LOVE that. I'm starting a series of posts from other bloggers with a specific topic in mind (which I'll gladly inform you of should you be interested), if you think you'll have anything to say on the matter, or even something else... please contact me ♥ (link to my email is >> over there >> on the right)

Eat Me

You know those nights (or days) when you're just craving something sweet... something almost like a bread pudding? Remember how many times you've looked at the nutritional info for things and thought "damn!" and instead denied yourself what it was you wanted? Wouldn't it be awesome if you could have your "cake" (or bread pudding) and eat it too... without regrets?

You can! I am on the cusp of zombie vag week (*dear men reading this- seriously, get over it. This shit happens monthly- learn it) and my craving for something bread-y and sweet is rather overwhelming.. luckily I know exactly how to fix that, and fill me up, AND still stick to following Paleo (yes, I am still following Paleo)... so here's what you should try... 'cause this shit is good!

• grab a bowl that is microwaveable

• take two eggs (preferably local & organic)

• crack them into the bowl, the add a couple shakes of organic cinnamon 

•  add like 2 packets of Splenda® or Truvia® (preferably Truvia® for health reasons)
• put in the microwave for like 2 minutes

• pull out of microwave, and dribble like 2 to 4 tblsp of Almond milk on it

 NOW EAT THE SHIT OUT OF IT!!

*notes:

you can mush up a banana first (helps to do it first) then add the other stuff

OR.. maybe some diced up apple....

I like to sprinkle some cold fresh blueberries on top, in fact I think that is my favorite.

You can totally leave out the fruit.. but try to still use the berries they rule! It's so ridiculously low carb/low sugar/low everything that you kinda want to laugh at how yummy it actually is. Not kidding. The whipped eggs and cinnamon totally poof up into a bread-y/soufflé like consistency. It's weird and awesome all at once. You can tweak this however you like it... but for some sugar/sweetner packets, two eggs, & cinnamon... it's a helluva quick fix. I just add the almond milk (since I don't use regular milk anymore) so it's more bread pudding-ish. I also know that if I stir the pants off it once it's cooked, then add the almond milk & berries it kinda like porridge.

Ok, that's all. I hope someone was able to use this (or even some of this) to make something yummy. I hate it when every recipe out there makes a person feel like they must have gourmet everything, and like need to go freakin' harvest shit under a full moon or a soufflé will fall flat or somethin'. I like fast, easy, & inexpensive, just as much as I like things to be healthy and good for me.


If you're one of those people that needs to know the nutritional value of everything, it breaks down like this:

2 eggs: 140 calories, 1.5g fat, 1g carbs, 6g protein
tsp (approx) cinnamon: 6 calories, 0 fat, 2 carbs, 0 protein

the fruit:
1 small banana (like about 6" long): 89 calories, .33g fat, 23 carbs, 1.1g protein
1/2 cup chopped red apple: 33 calories, .11 fat, 8.6 carbs, .16 protein

berries:
1/4 cup blueberries: 21 calories, .01g fat, 5.3 carbs, .27 protein

Almond milk
4 tblsp Almond Milk: 15 calories, 0 fat, 1g carb, 0 protein

SEE?!

ENJOY!♥

That's What She Said

A friend of mine shared this earlier today... and while I am not one of those "OMG look at the babies!" women... I could not stop laughing at this. Kinda felt I needed to share it with everyone... and possibly see if any of you speak this wacky lil' language. I realize it's no "Nell" *tay in da win*... but they are clearly discussing something of the utmost importance.



Anyone have a guess?

Oh, But There's More!

I've been repeatedly told by a few people (yes, SBW, I listened) that I needed to post a "follow up" to this blog post (it's okay.. go read it, I'll wait.... it won't take you long, it's like a paragraph long at best.)

So.. this past winter when that conversation was mentioned.. one of the people who was actually the person working for Blacks back then had this to say:

Absolutely Click To Enlarge!

Don't you just love it when things not only continue to be funny... but get funnier? :)

*note* on the off chance someone is daft enough to cry racism or tell me that none of this is funny... you A)have ZERO sense of humor and have taken ALL of this out of context & B) should go away, now.

Fence Sex

for real!!

I made it back from New Orleans yesterday fairly unscathed, with the exception of feet so swollen that looking at them honestly makes me want to cry. I've never had this happen before, but I've also never traveled so tired and dehydrated before in my life. I'm more than a little grateful that I was wearing flip flops & jeans (to cover the impromptu cankles that appeared due to swollen feet), 'cause regular shoes would NOT have fit. Yeah, THAT swollen.

HOWEVER, the time in New Orleans was fantastic! Warm weather every day, flip flops & tank tops, cool breezes to help with the heat, an amazing wedding that had everyone laughing and having a good time...

the happy Mr & Mrs ♥

 ...and I even ate alligator!! (It was AMAZING!)

The entire weekend was a dream.... right up until Monday when my friend Graham & I (& his girlfriend Sasha who is amazing) decided that the sunny warm day should be spent exploring St Roch cemetery.
 First thing that caught my eye was this row that I avoided like the plague... who knows what could have happened!? Imagine the blog post nine months from now: Jeebus Is Back!  (No. Just NO.)

After a few minutes of wandering around I came across this:

...and as I drew closer I began to giggle at memories of college and what a few friends and I insisted on doing every time we stood next to a specific painting at the Art Institute of Chicago. I rounded the corner and sought out Graham and his girlfriend Sasha to try to rope them into playing along... which they thankfully did.

♫♪♪♪♫♫ "It's fun to stay at the......" ♫♪♫♪♫

C'mon... you know Jeebus has gotta have a sense of humor! He's supposed to love everyone, so that has gotta include "The Village People"... right?

Anyway... we all wandered around taking pictures. St Roch really is a beautiful cemetery, with an interesting history. Apparently St Roch was a man born (with a red cross on his chest- trust me, this is an important bit of the story) in France in the 1290's whose parents died when he was in his 20's. His father was the governor of the town, so when his father died Roche inherited the position, but then ceded it to his Uncle, and after giving away all his wordly possessions, split town and went to go try to help the poor in Rome. The story goes that along the way he stopped in a town that had been hit by the plague, and that every sick person he touched was healed. Allegedly everywhere he went everyone was healed. That's a pretty bad ass talent if you ask me.
However, one day HE got sick, and not wanting to be a burden to anyone, he wandered off into the woods to die. Supposedly a dog found him there and licked his wounds (eweee!!) and would bring him bread everyday, eventually bringing him back to good health.
St Roch returned to France, but the story goes that he refused to identify himself... which landed his ass in jail 'cause people thought he was a spy. For 5 years he and his BFF (the dog) would take care of, and heal, prisoners... then died. Upon his death the red cross on his chest was revealed, and documents that had been in his pockets disclosed who he really was. (Guess the prison system was different in the early 1300's...)
100 years later he was canonized and is the saint of dogs and dog lovers. He even has a "feast day" on August 16. (Man, I want a feast day! I think cupcakes should be the official holiday food for "Me Day!")
When New Orleans was plagued with the yellow fever epidemic in 1868, a dude named Father Peter Leonard Thevis, who was a pastor of the Holy Trinity Catholic Church, remembered St. Roch had cured people during the plague, so he and his peeps prayed to the saint for help and promised to build a chapel to St. Roch if they all made it through unscathed. No one in the congregation died of yellow fever, so Thevis made good on his promise and built a shrine, as well as a cemetery.
On the altar of the chapel is a statue of St. Roch and his dog. The shrine is where people (believers) have have left crutches and other items claiming miraculous cures through the powers of St. Roch. (btw...Father Thevis is buried under the floor in front of the altar.)
There's also an old tradition where young girls would make a pilgrimage to St Roch Chapel on Good Friday (which is right before Easter- when we gorge on Easter candy because it's unavoidable... you think St Roch can un-upset my tummy) These girls believed that if you prayed and left a donation at 9 different churches (the 9th one being St Roch) during the pilgrimage they'd be guaranteed to find a husband within a year. These girls also picked four leaf clovers that had red spots on them, 'cause supposedly the spots came from the blood of a bride-to-be- who committed suicide on the grave of her intended husband and splattered blood everywhere. (uh...again...eweeee!)

This was the best picture I could get of it since the doors were locked, but you can check out this link if you want more details about the weird limbs and things left behind at the shrine: http://morbidanatomy.blogspot.com/search?q=st.+roch

The place was very peaceful (I'd hope so!), with the only exception being some weird guy down the street that had super cheesy music blaring from his front porch. I did take a whole mess of pictures though.
....(click to enlarge if you want to see 'um bigger)

weird image of a ghostie? hmmm?

any takers?

I loved how "80's" this wall looked in comparison to the rest of the place, & upon closer inspection found out that is when all these people died.

....and at exactly 4:29pm I turned to Graham and Sasha and asked them when the gates were supposed to close (answer: 4:30pm), and 'what time [was] it?' ... yeah, we made a mad dash for the gate... and found out we had been locked into St Roch. (!!!!!) I love a good Anne Rice novel about sexy New Orleans vampires as much as the next person, but I really have no interest in meeting one. Mind you, this was not my 9th church/graveyard of the day, nor did I bring any creepy 4 leaf clovers with red dots on them... and after having to climb atop some massive marble mausoleums to get barely enough height to scale the over 8' tall wrought iron fence that enclosed St Roch...  I did not end up with a husband... but I did almost have unprotected, non-consensual sex with a fence. Go me!

Am I There Yet?

This island I live on is making things downright impossible! I have a 1pm flight out of Boston on Thursday (that'd be today since I'm post dating this post)... and you know what I have to do to get there? I'll tell you... off I go:

• wake up around 5:30am (which means I'm just gonna wait and sleep on the plane)
• leave for the ferry boat about 6:30am
• take the 7am ferry
• arrive on the mainland at 7:45am
• take the 8am bus to Logan airport
• arrive at Logan around 10am and sit on my ass waiting for the 1pm flight
• board flight
• arrive in Houston, TX
• switch to next flight in under 30 minutes
• arrive in New Orleans around 6pm
• meet up with my friend Graham so we can go back to his place and drop off my stuff
• try not to drink so much that I vomit... what? it IS St. Paddy's, and I will be in New Orleans....

(Holy Sucktastically Long Travel Day Batman!)

I'll have all day Friday to recoup, and try to get any last minute stuff from the stores near Graham's place. I'm leaving the majority of toiletries here to save room and make sure I have just one small carry on bag, all I really need is the dress & shoes I'm wearing on Saturday. Seriously, a change of clothes is like all I need. If I need a t-shirt or somethin' I will borrow one from Graham. Though... I am kinda excited to wear this one dress I bought last year that has yet to see light of day. So, ok.. the outfit I'm wearing to the wedding AND the other dress I am dying to wear.

this'd be the dress for the wedding

and the shoes... like you care haha!

Graham conveniently lives in the Garden District in an area called "Black Pearl"... and yes I am always on the look out for pirates when I wander up to St. Charles to catch the trolly into the French Quarter. (I have yet to see one, but that DOES NOT mean they aren't there!) I'm not overly afraid, Graham is like 6'6 and while he convinced me to look all "goth-y" last time I was down there.... he is the real deal...and I can't imagine any pirates would want to do anything other than run away screaming. Stupid pirates.

Me & Graham lookin' all gothtastic last April in N.O

Graham is the bass player for 'Suicide Assyst'

He's also one of my favorite human beings with a true heart of gold. The older I get, the more I realize how rare that is. Everyone should be lucky enough to have a friend like Graham in their life.

Brandi & her daughter Hannah

On Saturday my ex fiance (Brett) who is, bar none the best ex fiance a girl could ever hope to have, (seriously, he rules! ) is driving across lake Pontchartrain causeway to pick my ass up and take me over to Mandeville for his sister Brandi's wedding. She is the reason I'm going down there. I adore that girl, and I think I will always consider her my sister... and her daughter Hannah is, for all intents and purposes, my niece. I'm sure my ex's wife still hates me, and hates the fact that I am still close to his family, but I am sick of trying to go out of my way to help her understand that I have no interest in being "with" my ex. We broke up for a reason, that reason being we were never meant to be anything more than the very best of friends, anything beyond that was just stupid wishful thinking on our part. Wishful thinking that lasted 5 years, over TEN years ago.

Brett & Brandi

Last time I was down there Brandi & I were walking along the riverwalk and sorta fell back from the group so we could have a lil' "one on one" convo... and as she slowed her gait she looked at me and said in that sweet southern accent of hers....

"Damnit Gill-yin, you were supposed to be my sister."

I linked my arm into hers and said .....


"What makes you think I'm NOT?"

Yeah, I love that girl, and watching her get married this weekend is going to be the cherry on top of all the awesomeness that has taken place so far.

Brandi & her soon to be hubby Don

When I stop to think about all that has transpired since January 1st... my brain sorta turns to pudding.... I still can't believe I experienced it all, thank jeebus I take a zillion pictures!

My year so far:

• Welcomed 2011 in London
• Went back to the highlands of Scotland to see all my friends for my birthday
• got to go to Paris (!!!!)
• had my feet eaten by fish
• came back to the USA and scored an awesome 2nd job for the summer
• and now I'm going to New Orleans to spend time with some of my favorite people?!

it's not even Spring yet!... Man, 2011 is lookin' pretty good!

More Fun With Spam

So there I was signing into my email account.... and what should appear??!
A personal letter just for me?!

(click to enlarge)

"hey stranger your pictures are really hott[sic]"

 Me? Lil' ol me?! You think MY pictures are hot?!
 
 
(they think I'm hawwwwt, they think I'm hawwwwtt!)

"seen you on that site"

Um... time out... what site?


"Im a 24 year old..."

Wait a minute, you're 24.....?



"...female"

and you're female?


c'mon....WTF?


"just looking for some fun..."

But you did say you were just looking for fun, right?... I can be fun! I like fun!


"add me and send me a line go to MSN or yahoo messengier[sic]..."

Um... the whole finding you on MSN or yahoo messengier [sic] is kinda strange....


"lets talk further in private please"

I really don't think I want to talk to you "in private" Ms.Madison20rango, you're kinda off putting you know....
 

In fact, come to think of it, I'd really like it if you'd stop writing to me all together.

Thanks- GG

PS.
If you write to me again....

And You Are.....?

My first & middle name actually start with a "G" ... so signing anything "GG" makes sense already, but less than a year ago the man I no longer know what to call, (... BF? X-BF?Sorta BF? ... I'll call him SBW... 'cause that's his name on his blog, ok?... anyway...)  after much conversation, told me that I needed a nickname, and I said "I like my name as it is, so thanks, but no." He then proceeded to tell me that I had no say in the matter since among his friends everyone had, or ended up with, a nickname. Most had no say in what theirs were, so getting one was inevitable. (I didn't fully believe him till I started hearing some of the things they call each other.)

As time went by he kept calling me his "goofy girl"... 'cause I'll admit it, I'm slightly silly at times (read: most of the time), and eventually he'd just greet me:"Hey Goofy." It became a term of endearment that I was never honestly bothered by. Though I did find it funny that before his best friend ("The Northern Monkey") had met me SBW had referred to me as "Goofy" so often that TNM could never seem to remember my actual name.  I changed my name on this blog because it was just easier when SBW would refer to me on his blog, and I'd comment, so it didn't look like some weird love triangle. Not even sure if all that just made sense, but it is the story of why my name here is "Goofy Girl".... but the reality is (& if you plow back through my blog further than last spring you'd see) ..........

My name is Gillian.

  Most can't seem to wrap their heads around that simple fact.


And here is what I have to say to them.....

yes, this is me :)

My name is Gillian.
My name is Gillian.
My name is Gillian.

As a child, as most of you know/remember, if your name is mispronounced-especially by a teacher- and other peers hear it... you're pretty much fucked if the mispronunciation is even remotely funny.
I had to deal with YEARS of people pronouncing my name with a hard G... to which I still reply ""G" followed by "i"... think about it, do you call them Guh-raffes as well?" (i.e. giraffes)
So, what did I do? I changed the spelling. The change wasn't legally done or anything, I just started spelling it with a "J" in hopes that people would get it. THEN you know what happened? People just went ahead and started shortening it to "Jill." I HATE THE NAME "JILL", I HAVE ALWAYS HATED THE NAME "JILL", AND I ALWAYS WILL HATE THE NAME "JILL."(for me, if it's someone else's name-that's just peachy)... but as a kid I didn't know that I had the right to tell people, especially adults, that I didn't like it... so I was stuck with it....... until I moved to Scotland a few years ago.

In Scotland people automatically spelled my name "Gillian"... they never called me "Jill". After living there for about 6 months and then having to come back to the States... I put my foot down, I corrected EVERYONE... yet some people still can't seem to get it through their heads.

So... in short...

My name is Gillian.
It is spelled G...I ...L ...L ...I ...A ...N
Neither my first, middle, or last name has a "J" in it.

I do NOT like the name "Jill" & I do not respond well to people being ignorant about this. If I am introduced to someone named "Elizabeth"... I do not, nor would I ever, have the audacity to just call her "Lizzy" or "Beth" unless A.) they told me to go on and do so, or B.) I asked first.
So, no need to ask... I am not Jill/Jil/Gill/Gil ... my name is Gillian.

"Would you please fucking learn it?!" I tell them... alas... so many still don't. That's where I give them the "3 chances" rule. 1st time they do it, I ask them politely not to call me that... 2nd time I remind them that it really bothers me and I'd appreciate it if they'd stop... 3rd time? I stop speaking to them all together. (Not even kidding.)

My only exception to the rule is if it's someone that is either a) significantly older than me AND they've known me pretty much my whole life, or b) has brain damage. If it's BOTH? Well, they can call me anything they want.... but shouldn't be surprised when I don't respond.

ps. "gilly" doesn't make me crazy, and I've grown oddly accustomed to "goofy." ;-p

pps.  FYI anyone that is thinking of referring to me as Jill/Jil/Gill/Gil in the comments is about as original and funny as the people that think they are the cleverest person in the world and the first ever to say "Woah! Where's the saddle?!" or "Is that a horse?" when they see me out with the dog.

..... just sayin'....

She is lovely though isn't she? ♥