Masturdating with B: Throwing Myself to the Wolves

Credit: boredpanda.com

Yes, I realized what I just did there, and yes, I totally did that on purpose. This is me we're talking about after all...

For those of you unfamiliar with the concept of masturdating, see the above picture, it is when you go out on a date with and by yourself. Which is what I've been doing a lot of within the course of the past week.

Now, considering how angry and bitter I've been feeling lately whenever I've been out and about and surrounded by others, and how anxious and uncomfortable I am in the presence of others in general, why in the 'verse would I possibly do this to myself? Well, for one, that's just the way it's worked out this past week. I've had appointments to go to and errands to run, so I decided to see if I could actually go to a restaurant...by myself...as someone who is still (and probably will always be) full(er)-figured...and eat in public. I know! The shock!! The horror!!! How dare she?!?! Well, it is Halloween season and everyone loves a scary story. Actually...that's not entirely true...I can count off on one hand the number of people I know who love horror as much as I do... And as a second major point, and some of you will probably take offense to this, if I were to actually wait on my friends to do anything remotely fun in public, like go to the movies or try out a new restaurant, I would die of old age. For example, I am currently trying to organize a get-together to celebrate reaching my first goal weight, but do you think that anybody has really responded? So far, I've had one friend ask me what I want to do (however, what's the point of me wanting to do anything, if the people I want to do it with can't even be bothered to answer the simple question of whether or not they want to attend this get-together to begin with?!) and another wants to hang out with me in private (which is always nice and needed and appreciated...but not really the expected reaction to that particular inquiry). The rest of the people (granted, I have yet to invite another person, but I was going to wait until I had something more concrete planned, although I'm probably not going to get a definite answer out of them either...) have either been remarkably silent (despite having read the message) or haven't even looked at the message for whatever reason (probably because everybody's switched to Snapchat and WhatsApp and I was stupid and posted the message on Facebook...).

So, long story short: I don't know why I have friends. I don't know why I bother wanting to spend time with or talk to them sometimes. I love them, I really do, but occasionally I have to wonder about the people in my life. There are times when I basically equate them to my appendix. Sure, they're probably supposed to serve some purpose and did at one point or another, but they tend to just exist most of the time and if I'm not careful, they might potentially become inflamed or burst and send me to the ER and be the death of me... I have a knack for the visual, I know...and you're welcome. I guess I've just slowly been coming to the conclusion (yet again) that I'm simply not as important to some people as they are to me. Which is why I'm one of the few dumbasses who has to fend for and entertain themselves... Mind you, like I said before, I'm writing this knowing that it is potentially hurtful to some, but that I also still deeply care for these select few individuals and it's not like I'm suddenly fed up with them or have given up on my relationships with them. I am more than aware that some of them feel bad for seemingly neglecting/ignoring me, I know that they have their own lives and obligations and social activities (as they should and as I expect them to), and as much as I care for them and am mostly forgiving (well, I try to be at least...), it is precisely because I care for them, that feeling ignored/neglected/rejected/dejected by/because of these people stings all the more and this therefore sounds more bitter and accusatory than it is meant to. So, my apologies to anyone in my innermost circle who is hurt/offended by this, feel free to approach me about it (and if I counter with the whole "It's okay...I know you're busy/dealing with stuff too" shtick, call me out on my bullshit and tell me to fess the eff up and open up about how I really feel). This is just me processing my feelings/impressions of how things have been going for me relationally for a while now. That doesn't make them true, or completely true at least. This is how I've been feeling more often than not recently (and not so recently), and my feelings are still at least somewhat valid.

Anywho...moving on...

As far as how my solo excursions went, they were mostly okay...ish... Today and yesterday I sat down at a couple of restaurants and managed to eat without feeling judged too much, even though I think that some people were still confused (I mean, who goes out and eats by themselves? That's just crazy...), but it was still mostly nice...I think. However, I was annoyed during my outing to the movies on Monday (I watched The Magnificent Seven, which was good, but, considering how long it is, they should have edited the amount of commercials they played beforehand...just like I should be editing my blog posts...) and I almost broke down crying during my "celebratory" meal on Friday...

To explain what happened: I decided to treat myself for my successful weight loss endeavors to a burger (of all things because clothes shopping is at least as much fun as eating in public, and I hear that people need food to survive...) at this place that I had been wanting to go to for the better part of a year, but I kept on putting it off because I didn't want to go by myself (people tend to look at you either like you don't belong or like you shouldn't be allowed to eat out in public if you don't look a certain way or they look at you like an abused puppy who they feel sorry for...) or that I was never at the "right" weight to allow myself certain indulgences (I am an expert at talking myself out of all sorts of stuff...it's a gift really). However, after coming to the conclusion that I was never going to get around to making this experience if I waited for a volunteer/partner in crime, I went to this burger joint, I sat down, I ordered, I felt bad for ordering fries in addition to the damn burger (but it was a good burger), at one point a piece of the burger almost fell on my clothes, I looked up for a second to see this other woman who was also eating by herself look at me and laugh (not maliciously or judgey, it was more of a "Yeah...that happens to me all the time too" or "That was adorable/relatable" chuckle)...and I could feel my face get really warm and the muscles around my eyes tense up in anticipation of the tears that were starting to well up. I was barely able to regain my composure and just wanted to call it a day, tuck tail and run back to the safety of my apartment. Unfortunately, I still had to go in to work that day, so no hiding and licking wounds for me.

Looking back at these past few solo outings, I do realize that (as independent and self-sufficient as I am in other areas of my life) this is something I should be doing more often. Maybe not as often as this past week (both my body and scale are not too happy with me right now, which is why I've been trying to get in 2-3 hour workouts as much as I can), but maybe I should try to make it a weekly or biweekly occurrence. Who knows... Besides, it's a good way for me to get some extracurricular reading in, which I don't really get around to when I'm at home.  

B's Return to Jobland

Credit: madame.de

Yes, people, this is the huge secret that I alluded to a couple of weeks ago, this is the secret that has been keeping me from "drowning in K-pop": I now have a job...again.
And before everyone gets super excited, just don't, okay? Because it's not what you think. Considering that my MA studies are slowly drawing to a close, and since I'm not entirely sure how smooth my search for work will be post-graduation, I've been applying to several part-time positions and internships and traineeships. While I had been getting the expected nos left and right...because we all know that I have about as much luck finding a job as I do a romantic partner (which I know shouldn't be super important, it would just be nice to have in my life again)...I finally managed to get accepted at a French-style bakery, which I now work at 3-4 times each week.

Here are a few things I've noticed during my first month there:

1. People are indecisive (and unprepared). - Sure, more than a few of them know exactly what they want, but I can't tell you how many times I've seen blank stares or people looking at the eclairs and macarons as if they were dealing with their own version of Sophie's Choice. Also, if you don't know what you want yet, just take a couple of steps back and signal to other customers that they can place their order before you. Otherwise, you're just holding up the line and keeping me from completing the other aspects of my job. And asking me whether or not we bake something on the premises during lunch or coffee rush isn't only piss poor timing on your part, it's also kind of rude to the other customers. Besides, I'm the late shift, I don't know what we bake and when. I'm just responsible for taking care of your caffeine and carb fix and then cleaning the whole mess up.

2. People don't know how to order. - Tying in to the previous point, and very similar to another customer service job I worked at, people (some of them at least) don't really think things through when placing orders (or line things up on the belt). I personally prefer to be as efficient as possible. When I have errands to run, I try to come up with the most logical way of tackling them, in terms of distance, importance, opening hours, whether or not food/perishables are involved, etc. Now, the average customer already knows that the best way to order at a place like a cafe or a bakery is to place the drink order first, and then to take care of any food requests. Why? Because if you're ordering something like a latte machiato, it takes a longer time for the machine to switch between dispensing hot milk and espresso than if you were to order a regular coffee or cappucino. That is time that I could easily spend grabbing you a croissant or helping you pick out the perfect assortment of macarons for your girlfriend or boyfriend or whoever. In addition to that, ordering something like a big cappucino or hot chocolate requires me to complete several separate steps, so for the sake of both your and my time management (and the sanity of the other customers), place the more elaborate and time-consuming orders first.

3. Cafe au lait vs Milchkaffee (coffee with milk) - This is actually something that a customer brought up a week or two ago. She ordered a cafe au lait (which is what we technically offer), and then asked me whether or not it was a cafe au lait or just a Milchkaffee (so, just coffee with milk). Now, some of you might be confused because isn't cafe au lait, similar to the latte, also just coffee with milk? Technically yes, but those milk/coffee drinks aren't necessarily interchangeable. Compared to a Milchkaffee, a cafe au lait tends to be a wee bit stronger in the caffeine department and features less milk (foam). Unfortunately for this particular lady, the board might say that we offer cafe au lait, but the machine does not. So, needless to say, she was not happy with her plain coffee with milk...

4. Buttered pretzels and dijon mustard croissants out the wazoo - Now, I will leave it up to you whether or not you take that literally. I know some of you love sploshing and are into feederism and other types of food play (and please, for the love of all that is good and pure and holy, don't Google those terms...if you desperately need to know what they mean/entail, ask me...you might not be able to unsee some of the images that pop up on your screen and I have no money for your therapy bills), no judgment from my end. However, what I actually meant was that one of the perks (and nuisances) of working the late shift and closing up is that I can take home certain baked goods for free. Not all of them mind you (no eclairs or quiches or other items from the patisserie section), but leftover pain au chocolat or dijon mustard croissants are free for the taking at the end of the night. Unfortunately, as fun as that might be on paper, my skin and body in general did not thank me for it. Granted, it didn't really affect the number on the scale, but my skin did become slightly irritated and I was starting to develop cysts and cystic acne again. Besides, I actually started to yearn for fresh fruits and vegetables (or any type of well-balanced meal or a real meal period). So yeah, I'm now learning to only take what I might eat that night after my workout and maybe something for breakfast the next day, but that's it. It might pain me to throw away some of the stuff, but I (and my body) can only take so many refined carbs.

5. Like father, like daughter/History repeats itself - When I think about all of the stuff my father has to do at work, he basically does everything a manager has to do (minus the pay and title). In addition to that, he's also a jack of all trades-type of employee, meaning that he's reliable and competent enough to be "punished"/entrusted with multiple tasks in varying sections of his workplace. Because why ask someone else to do it or learn how to do it when you already have someone who can and who also happens to do it well? Similarly to my previous job (and I'm not counting babysitting assignments), I not only proved myself to be a quick learner (which was surprising both to me and the person who trained me), I also started closing the bakery (and taking over the responsibility of the register) my second week in. Of course, there were a few bumps along the way, but now I'm closing up pretty much all by myself (the boss only comes in for a few minutes to see how things went). However, the moment that it really dawned on me that I am my father's daughter is when I stood in the freezer taking inventory of the week's delivery (those of you who know about my father's job and his tasks there will get why I say that). And I was wearing short sleeves, which is also fairly typical of the guy... It was just an ever so slightly bizarre moment of clarity, but then again, it was very cold in that freezer, so maybe I just spent way too much time in there. And as much as I would like to say that I feel honored to be tasked with so much responsibility (and so quickly), I also feel like I'm being punished (yet again) for being too reliable or good at my job...but someone's gotta do it, right?

Either way, right now I'm just glad to be working and productive in a different way again. Hopefully, I won't be stuck working late shifts all the time, even though I don't think that I'll ever get that lucky... Let's just see how the next four weeks go, shall we?  

On the Quest to a Lesser Me: Month Nine (Crossing a Finish Line)

After nine months of blood, sweat and tears (and I mean that literally), I finally, FINALLY managed to reach my first goal weight a couple of days ago. And yes, I have multiple goal weights and no, I still won't be revealing any numbers. Okay...fine, I only have two specific goal weights...the third one is more like "Let me see how much weight I can lose before I collapse" and I think the fourth one is "Am I socially relevant, conventionally attractive and loveable/dateable/f***able now?" Oh what?! Don't you dare judge me from the safety of your computer/smartphone screens!!!

But yes, I finally managed to cross one of my self-imposed finish lines...and I'm still not satisfied. While I, on the one hand, realize that I've accomplished a lot and I know I should be proud for pulling off such a tremendous feat of badassery, it almost feels like I'm in a perpetual slump now. In fact, I almost feel more ashamed of being seen in public now than I did a few months ago. I mean, I've become even more protective of and hyperaware of my physical presence (you should see me walking through the downtown area, I'm pretty sure I look like a wounded animal trying to find a hole or cave to hide in)...and in a twist of almost Shyamalanian proportions, I still see myself as being heavier than I actually am and am always shocked when I look at myself in a foreign mirror.

Here's the thing, it almost doesn't matter that I've worked so hard and lost so much weight because whenever I look at myself, it just pisses me off and sometimes even kind of disgusts me. Now, does this mean that I'll quit working out and paying attention to my "diet" (and yes, I know some of you hate that dirty, dirty d-word...)? No, because I've already made it this far, so I should see how far I can take it and maybe, just maybe I'll learn to at the very least tolerate my outer shell and not feel like punching a hole in the wall every time I have to look at it.

And to those of you saying "Well, if losing weight is making you so miserable, wouldn't you simply be better off staying on the more voluptuous side and being happy in your own skin?" First of all, thank you, smartass. You're clearly new to the party and don't actually know me. Your sass is not appreciated at the current moment. If I had actually been happier at a higher weight, don't you think I would've stayed at that weight and not even bothered losing it to begin with?! The plain and simple truth is: I was neither happy as a heavier person, nor will I be happy in the near(ish) future...even if I suddenly and somehow managed to lose half of my current weight. My happiness/satisfaction isn't tied to the number on the scale. So, considering that I'm going to be miserable either way, given the choice, I would rather be skinnier and less of an eyesore to everyone else. And no, I'm not saying that heavier women are eyesores or even ugly or unhappy or that I even think/believe that. This is specifically and exclusively about me. Because this blog is my playground and I get to be a narcissist for once in my life. I've even said that I might be okay with being overweight, if my body didn't look so jacked up (and if I looked more like Loey Lane or Ashley Graham). And yes, my body is a friggin' train wreck, an absolute dumpster fire... It looks like it tried to contain the blast of ten H-bombs, failed horribly and then just got duct-taped back together. (Of course, I should add that this isn't necessarily true, I just currently feel like it is.)

Anyways...this post was actually supposed to be more celebratory, considering what I just managed to accomplish...and then it turned into a brutal slaughtering of my self-image/esteem/confidence. I'm in a foul mood, okay?! Miss Bettina is so far removed from happy (whatever that might entail or feel like) that she can see the birth of the cosmos.

Oh well...here's to hoping that this month will see me being slightly kinder to myself... Granted, I don't think I deserve much self-compassion right now, but I hear that it's an important trait to have.