On this day one year ago...

...I was getting lost in the Louvre. Literally.

On this day one year ago, I was laughing hysterically at all of the lying "sortie" (exit) signs.
On this day one year ago, I was imitating a statue along with the sweetest (now 14) year old girl I know.
On this day one year ago, I saw the Mona Lisa.

I went to Paris, France on 11/09/12 with two of the most incredible people I have the pleasure of knowing. We laughed, we cried, we wished, we climbed, we bundled up, we ate, we were cold the entire time.

I don't think I could ever fully recount the trip I took to Paris and do it justice. I think it would take about a week ... one full day of explanation for each day we were there. And then some.

I found peace and inner strength I never knew I had on an overcrowded, smelly, loud metro. I locked up a padlock on the Seine river railing, threw one key into the water and kept one... always to remind myself that it's there and my wish is still being fulfilled. I took so many pictures because I never wanted to forget the moments we all had together.

We got lost multiple times, as you should in a foreign country (to an extent). We ate the freshest bread, the most incredible chocolate, and hot wine. Yes, hot wine.

A local bar sang Happy Birthday in french directly to me, of course on my birthday. My 21st birthday.

We hand-fed birds outside the Notre Dame after climbing to the top of it. We shopped on one of the most famous shopping strips in the world. (And spent about $20 each)

We want to go back. We want to have more unbelievable experiences. We want to make wishes on the Seine River. We want the freedom of no phones, limited computer access, and exploration as a foreigner in a foreign land.

I can never thank my (for lack of a better word) "sponsor" for bringing me along and sharing the experience with her and her daughter. Words cannot describe how grateful I still am for the once-in-a-lifetime experience. Hopefully it won't be once in my lifetime that I get to travel across the pond, though.

To Jamie and Caryss,
Thank you from the bottom of my heart for sharing this experience with me. With you, it made the trip that much better. No one could have given me the same experience that you two did. Love you. XO

Study breaks, EMDR, and Yogurt the Pirate

While I sit here, listening to my Bach Pandora Station, trying to not procrastinate this abnormal psych exam I have tomorrow, I remembered that I need to keep blogging my updates with EMDR! So I'm taking a study break to write this. Hallelujah.

I had my second EMDR session today with my therapist. I went in expecting to have the same reactions as I did before, end up with a 4-hour-long hangover afterwards and not be able to study for my exam. I knew what to expect. I have done this once before. There's a pattern to this type of therapy.

Let's rewind a little. A few weeks back, Paul and I decided to go to see Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs II (Hilarious and so, so, SO clever. A definite recommend.) The movie theater we went to is literally one width of a highway away from a local regional airport. I knew this since I have been there before, and I knew that I needed to expect some planes flying all around and landing super close. After the movie, we decided to walk around, window-shop, and people watch (one of our favorite past-times together!) We were crossing the street at a little roundabout, and I heard it. I can hear it before anyone else I know. I heard a plane getting ready to fly over and land. It flew over us, while we walked down the sidewalk. He looked at me, expecting me to get wide-eyed, have trouble breathing, shake, and the most common effect, squeezing the blood from his hand. Nothing happened. He asked if I was okay after I looked up at the plane (ok, so I'm not THAT cured yet...) and I just said a very flippant "yep!" and kept walking and finishing my probably compelling story. I surprised him, and frankly I surprised myself. Why wasn't I freaking out like normal? Why wasn't I embarrassing myself in front of hundreds of people? My track record with this situation is NOT a pretty one.

Fast forward.

I was sitting there in my therapist's sweet little room in a big comfy chair. After the whole check-in that any normal therapist does, she said "so you're sitting in the chair..." (She had asked me after the last session to sit in "the chair" if I wanted to do EMDR and to sit on the couch if I didn't.) I said "yep! Let's do some EMDR." So we did.

Just thinking about the reaction, the fear, the simulated panic, I was starting to tear up just by her talking about what we were going to do. Just by mentioning the situation that I was going to reminisce upon - Mexico in June. Plane flew lower than I've ever seen before. Ran off the volleyball court in a full blown panic attack. Nice and embarrassing to me and my poor boyfriend. So we did things a little differently this time.

First she asked me to think of a different "happy place" than last time. So I remembered this one scene from the movie Just Like Heaven. Reese Witherspoon sitting on a bench in the middle of the most serene garden one can imagine. Thinking of sitting there, smelling the flowers, hearing the trickling waterfall, and feeling the cobblestones under my feet got me out of a very scary panic attack I had a year ago. (I was quite proud of myself, if I do say so)


This wasn't the scene but it's close enough...

So I pictured my mental rendition of this as she moved her fingers back and forth, back and forth, in front of my eyes - the "rapid eye movement" part of EMDR.

With the amount of relaxation I felt, I could have just gotten back from this garden.

Then we started with the scary stuff. As soon as she said we're switching gears, my heart started to beat faster, my breath became shallower, and my torso started to tense up. I was literally bracing myself for what was coming.

So she turns on the little beepy buzzy thing and we start. She tells me to focus on that feeling of "I'm not safe" and it begins.

We went through all the motions and I barely shed a tear as opposed to last time where I was crying so much, I nearly filled my bra up with tears. (Graphic, but hey... I'm only human and sometimes we have to have ugly cries!)

I was astounded at myself. Was it really this easy? One or two sessions and I'm cured of my stupid ridiculous plane phobia? Couldn't be.

We were both surprised at the lack of emotion I had to the whole session. Yes, I did want to hyperventilate a few times and she had to make me breathe correctly, but still. Even that's an improvement if you read my first post about this therapy.


Maybe I'm being a little too hopeful but what if just one more session cures me? What if I can go to a county fair (because they're ALWAYS next to an airport) and not have to hide under tents the whole time? This will be a HUGE, and I mean MAJOR milestone for me emotionally.

I can't wait to not have to explain to people why I'm flipping out over a stupid plane. The only time that I want to freak out at a plane flying overhead is if:
1. I can see the people's faces... because that's just too low and I shouldn't be that close to a landing plane anyways.
2. A wing is torn off and it's smoking and going to crash, but anyone would freak out at that sight.

 I'm hopeful. I'm excited.

On a totally unrelated note, as anyone seen this going-viral pup? His name is Yogurt the Pirate Dog. He's a Chihuahua from Eastern Asia (I don't remember which country...China maybe?), he has one eye, and he can't stop sticking out his tongue. He has thousands and thousands of followers because he is probably THE CUTEST DOG IN THE WORLD. Which is saying a lot. Because I think really, really highly of my puppy's cuteness.

My Jackson:

 

Yogurt the Pirate Dog (and his instagram):

.

.

.

.

.

 And a bloodhound running on the beach...

You're welcome.

Eat the Damn Cake

"Pick a card, any card..."
5 of Diamonds. Do 5 Sumo Deadlift High Pulls. Pick a new card.
10 of Hearts. Do 10 Thrusters. Pick a new card.
3 of Spades. Do 3 Box Jumps. Pick a new card.
King of Clubs. Do 12 Kettlebell Swings. Pick a new card.


This was one of our WODs, or Workouts of the Day, for those of you who don't cross-fit. *Dramatic hair flip*

This was probably one of our more difficult workouts, and in true cross-fit fashion, it was a race. My partner and I got through our entire deck, pulling one card after we finished the workout of the previous, in 13 minutes and 38 seconds; we were the first team to finish. I felt exhausted. I felt faint. I felt hot. I felt pretty good. We had finished first! I felt so accomplished because I have never been first in a physical contest. I beat the MEN. Is this real life?

In my moments of mixed emotions of elation and physical exhaustion, why was I feeling so unfulfilled? Every cross-fit workout had ended like this. Was I not doing something right? No, coach said I had perfect form. Was I not going hard enough? No, I was freaking exhausted. Then what was it?

_______________________________________________

This was two weeks ago. I had one or two workouts since then and then I ended up quitting mainly for time constraint. I really did enjoy cross-fit, but I think mainly because of the friends that I was making there. You know, only being on campus for 2 months and having instant friends feels pretty damn good. But I decided that being in a constant time-crunch wasn't worth it. And you know what else? (plug your ears, cross-fitting lovers!)

1. Cross-fit wasn't working. 
 I wasn't getting toned. I wasn't losing weight. I wasn't feeling amazing. If anything, I felt worse. I was so tired all the time. I could NOT get over a respiratory virus that I had gotten 6 WEEKS PRIOR. I'm not exaggerating. It took at least 6 weeks to get over the thing. I thought I was in decent shape... I teach Zumba, I add strength training in my own routine, I'm pretty fit. But I was seeing zero results.

2. I was over working myself. 
 I was over exerting my body. I wasn't made for this.
Here was my schedule...
Monday and Wednesday: Class until 11:15am, dance practice from 6:30-8:00pm
Tuesday: Class until 3, Cross-fit from 6:30-7:30, Teach Zumba from 8:00-9:00pm.
Thursday: Class until 10:40, teach group fitness from 12:15-1:00, class until 3:00, Cross-Fit from 6:30-7:30.

Doesn't sound like a lot on Mondays and Wednesdays, does it? It really wasn't. But if I wanted to have a good dance practice, I couldn't work out ahead of time. I would have been too tired.

Going with this schedule while trying to get over a virus? Forget it. It wasn't happening.

So besides the overloaded schedule, trying to uphold a wonderful relationship with my also-full-time-student boyfriend, and working out literally every single day, why wasn't I fulfilled?

I was so excited to be this active and would joke often that "if I don't get a ripped body by the end of the semester, I'm giving up and eating ice cream every night in the spring."

3. I wasn't happy. 
I wasn't feeling fit or toned. I was tired, sluggish, weak, ended up injuring both ankles, AND developing a stomach ulcer, all the while STILL GETTING OVER THE VIRUS FROM HELL.

4. The kicker...
I had a "EUREKA" moment after one session a few weeks ago. I didn't feel safe. Yes, obviously I was confident in some of the exercises, like squats, running, jump rope, etc. But the Olympic lifting stuff was NOT for me. My hands are too small for the technical "hook grip" (where your fingers grip over your thumb while holding a bar...imagine making an "M" in sign language), I do not feel safe lifting this 35 lb bar over my head because what if, as a fault of my incorrect grip, it comes smashing down on my head? They didn't teach us these things. When I told my coach that my hands are literally too small to do a hook grip, he laughed and said "well, you'll get used to it." Get used to what, holding the bar incorrectly because of my anatomy?

^^ Aforementioned hook-grip. ^^ 

But that wasn't the only reason I didn't feel safe...

5. I'm a trainer. Not a trainee.
I never went 100% in our workouts because I knew... I just intuitively knew that if I did I wouldn't come out unharmed. There was just something about the specifics of the routines that I wasn't comfortable with. I still can't put my finger on what it was. But the speed at which we had to do everything, the mentality of "unless you're injured, being in pain isn't bad", go as fast as you can, bleeding and bruising aren't a bad thing, puke happens, blah blah blah... I don't agree with any of that. It's one thing for an Olympic athlete to bleed and bruise and hurt and puke because they typically know what they're doing. Getting blisters and bleeding when I'm dancing is normal because it's just what happens at more advanced levels of a sport. But being a newbie in the cross-fit world and just now learning the lifts and the workouts, bleeding and bruising isn't something one should be proud of. Once you're competing, then talk to me about wrecking your body, but being a beginner the only thing you should be getting is sore muscles and calluses.

My friend Mia sent me an article that explains a secret in the cross-fit world. It's called Rhabdomyolosis, or "Rhabdo" for short. Now the article I read was focused on the dangers of Rhabdo and Cross-fit, but truth be told, this could happen with any extreme fitness routine. But since I'm fresh off the cross-fit bus, this hit home. I also have a bunch of friends who are slightly addicted to the form.

Basically, this "Rhabdo" happens when you workout under extreme conditions... and I don't mean working out in the arctic or in the Sahara. I mean pushing yourself literally to your limit of "I physically cannot do any more reps" and then not being able to move your arms the next day. What happens when you do that is your cells actually start exploding under pressure and they leak a protein into the blood stream called Myoglobin. The myoglobin gets filtered through the kidney, and since myoglobin isn't supposed to be in the bloodstream to begin with, it makes the kidney say "what the fuck is in me!?" and then your kidneys go on strike. It can kill.

 People have had amputations and have died from this condition because they went too hard. It happens in Olympic lifters, marathon runners, professional dancers, and cross-fitters alike. (And any other sport than can be extreme.)

__________________________________________________

"But Erin, how DO you get fit?"

Eat well. Work out. Sleep well. Done. 

People often think that changing their diet means to cut out everything they like. The only thing I will swear by cutting out is soda. Cut out the damn soda. It's gross. It's gross for you. Don't drink it. But everything else is fine in moderation. And by moderation I mean, let yourself have one small sweet thing every other day. Not a whole candy bar... maybe half of one. Not a whole bowl of ice cream, maybe a scoop and a half with some fresh fruit. But couple it with a healthy, wholesome diet. Just cutting back on sweets isn't going to do much. Add more color onto your plate. Peppers, leafy greens, veggies, lean meat, a half a cup of a carb. Done. Healthy.

Then you see it. You see on the menu, in your pantry, at the buffet, whatever, a piece of double chocolate dream cake. Damn. Now you want that mother f*cking cake, don't you? Eat that damn cake. Eat it like you've never eaten a (small) piece of cake before.

Then go run. Not immediately obviously because you WILL see that cake again, just not in the most appealing form. Run that evening, run the next day.

People will say "cut out ALL sugars and ALL carbs and you'll lose weight." Well, duh. That will work, I promise you. But you'll be freaking miserable and end up having a bad night and polishing off an entire box of Oreos while you watch The Notebook and wondering where you went wrong in your life to deserve this.

*DO NOT DEPRIVE YOURSELF*

Our bodies need sugars, carbs, and fats believe it or not. Just not all the time or in huge quantities.

Eat the damn cake, then go for a run soon after. Drink water, not soda. Eat carrots, not french fries. Eat a salad, not a meatball sub. Take the stairs, not the elevator. There are so many little tweaks you can make in your life that will make you healthier AND happier... not healthier and wanting to punch a kitten because you didn't let yourself have a crumb of the cake you made for your husband.

*WORK OUT MORE*

Get a personal trainer, seriously, spend the money and get a good one that you like and agree with. It's worth it. Plus we trainers need the money ... trust me. They will give you tips on how to tweak your current diet into something that you can handle. None of this "4 almonds for breakfast, swordfish for a snack, and grass-fed bison for dinner with a side of air" crap. You're not a body builder or a fitness model.

Sure you can push yourself when working out... that's what makes it work. Hard work. Sweat, sometimes pain, sometimes being sore. But it sure as hell beats your cells exploding.

Go on Pinterest. Stalk your fitness friends "perfect body board" (because they don't already have an insane body...) and pick up some exercises that don't make you quiver in fear. Being comfortable with what you're doing is a huge thing. If you're not comfortable doing 107 Thrusters in a row, then you probably shouldn't do them.



But eat the damn cake.

I'm alive!

(Because I have thousands of viewers and followers who regularly follow my blog posts...)

I'm alive. I looked at my most recent blog post and it was from JUNE. I guess I've been busier than I thought. If you do read my ramblings, I posted one about a year ago mentioning an irrational fear of planes flying over my head. I said that I was going to do whatever it took to get over that fear...

A quick background if you are already lost. I have a very intense phobia of planes flying over my head. It gets so bad that I've hyperventilated at 80mph and almost driven off the road. I shake uncontrollably, I am crying so hard that I can't breathe, and sometimes I've almost thrown up. It's bad. And it's been in my life since I can remember, complete with a home video of 1-2 year old Erin screaming "Ehpane! Ehpane!" with the familiar buzzing in the background of a plane flying over. So since it's starting to affect my safety along with others safety, I decided with the push of my boyfriend, that I needed to end this. I have to get over this fear before I hurt myself or pass it down to my kids. So I started looking for a therapist about a year ago.

You know what helps getting over fears? Therapists that actually listen to you. Even though I never posted a follow-up like I said, it was because I couldn't find a damn therapist who could work with me. I felt really alone and like no one had ever heard of an irrational fear before. Other people have to have phobias or there wouldn't be a word for it. Most of the therapists I had been to before now either didn't know how to approach the phobia and said they couldn't help me or said "it's because you're angry at your dad". Yes, this fear appeared at a year old because I was angry at Dad for not giving me my mac n' cheese in the right bowl.

It's more than that, it's bigger than that, and frankly, I think that's just an easy way out for some psychologists.

Here's my very belated follow-up...

Before I moved up here to the Smoky Mountains (UNCA), my mom found a little blurb on a business card or something that said "Open doors you never knew existed". Boy howdy, was that true. And is continuing to be true.

I went to the Health and Counseling Center to not only find a counselor for normal counselor superpowers, but I wanted to find someone who would be willing to help me tackle this strange phobia. I was recommended this one counselor who was said to do EMDR therapy for phobias. I had never heard of it before, but it sounded legit, so I set up an appointment. No harm in simply trying anything, right?

Here's what EMDR is... *clears throat in a scholarly fashion*

(If you read it with a British accent, you feel SUPER smart.)

"Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing is a comprehensive, integrative psychotherapy approach. It contains elements of many effective psychotherapies in structured protocols that are designed to maximize treatment effects. These include psychodynamic, cognitive behavioral, interpersonal, experiential, and body-centered therapies².

EMDR psychotherapy is an information processing therapy and uses an eight phase approach to address the experiential contributors of a wide range of pathologies. It attends to the past experiences that have set the groundwork for pathology, the current situations that trigger dysfunctional emotions, beliefs and sensations, and the positive experience needed to enhance future adaptive behaviors and mental health."

"... a target is identified and processed using EMDR procedures. These involve the client identifying the most vivid visual image related to the memory (if available), a negative belief about self, related emotions and body sensations. The client also identifies a preferred positive belief. The validity of the positive belief is rated, as is the intensity of the negative emotions. After this, the client is instructed to focus on the image, negative thought, and body sensations while simultaneously moving his/her eyes back and forth following the therapist's fingers as they move across his/her field of vision for 20-30 seconds or more, depending upon the need of the client. Although eye movements are the most commonly used external stimulus, therapists often use auditory tones, tapping, or other types of tactile stimulation."

What you just read..."science, science, blah blah, EMDR, client, blah sciencey science". But this crap actually works. Well, I don't know if it works like it gets rid of my fear, but I know it does something to me during that session. 

My therapist uses what they called tactile stimulation along with auditory stimulation. I have to put on these headphones from 1998 and a little 1"-long bulb in each hand. The headphones have a tone that go back and forth, I can choose the tone to go a range of speeds, whatever is comfortable, and at the same time, at the same speed, the bulbs vibrate. 

During this time, she has me visualize a very specific event at which a plane flew over my head and subsequently had a panic attack. Normally, I can recall any event without it affecting me in the slightest. I could be telling you what I had for dinner last night it's that easy. But holy moly, thinking about the same plane occurrence with the stimuli, I actually have close to a full blown panic attack, as if a plane were in the freaking room. It's crazy. I kept hyperventilating and she had to tell me to take deep breaths. I was freaking out not only because of the panic attack, but I was kind of freaking out that I was no where near a plane and these stupid little vibrating balls were making me cry and having trouble breathing. I was so taken aback. I felt like a test subject. Or a mouse in a testing lab.

After my freaking out off and on for about 20 minutes, she still had the headphones and vibrating bulbs going, and she had me think of a very pleasant time when I was at a party, or when I was chilled out. I had to very specifically focus on the smell of the place, on the feel of the floor under my feet, what I was talking about, who I was talking to, etc. I couldn't believe the amount of relief I felt in just my face. I didn't realize how scrunched my face had been when I was thinking of the planes. I was so much calmer.

So what does this all do? It makes me have panic attacks? Cool. I'm doing this to STOP the panic attacks. I'm doing this so I DON'T drive off the road and kill myself of someone else. I'm doing this so I'm not horribly embarrassed when I fall down in the fetal position in a parking lot. So why am I going to therapy to be scared shitless? It's apparently worth it.

This type of therapy is supposed to rewire the brain, essentially. Instead of seeing a plane and firing along the same neuropathways to tell me to FREAK OUT, it rewires to fire along a different pathway to tell me to relax. The goal of EMDR therapy is to process these distressing memories, reducing their lingering effects and allowing clients to develop more adaptive coping mechanisms.

I've only had one session so far, and I go back for one in about two weeks. I'm pretty nervous just because I know for a fact that I will have a panic attack. After the session, you have what's called an EMDR hangover. I was exhausted just walking back to my hall. And then I sat in bed and watched about 4 episodes of Lost. 

I know some of my friends also have irrational fears and I thought this might help keep y'all encouraged. It's scary as hell. I won't sugarcoat it. Just admitting that you need "help" (I hate that term) is the first scary step, but I'm banking that it will be worth it. I'll keep you posted. 

In the meantime, keep away from any and all airports, airplanes, movies about planes, paper airplanes, and airplane drawings, kthnks. 

E

This is my determined face...

You Are Infinitely Stronger Than You Imagine

As a lot of you know, I have struggled with anxiety for many years. I mean, this stuff dates back to when I was 5, clinging to the front door frame of my mom's house, screaming and crying, and being pried away by my dad for his weekly visitation. My current battle with anxiety started with my separation anxiety from when I was a wee one. I have overcome it, fallen back into it, and overcome it so many times that it's now hard to trust myself when I think I'm finally overcoming it for good. I was really okay when I was in my mid-teens, but after a break up that turned my world upside down, I spiraled back into it, worse than I had ever been. It has taken years and a lot of therapy to get my mind back to a normal amount of regular anxiety (i.e. car payments, food, gas, broken dogs, etc. Normal stuff, ya know?)

I have always noticed that my anxiety gets worse before every big trip I make. Whether it be to Orlando (a two-hour drive) or to Mexico... where I will be flying to in two days for a fab vacation. Hence this post, and hence my current anxiety.

The past few days have been weird. I'm exhausted, slightly nauseous constantly, and I can't decide if I have a sore throat. This is the epitome of my anxiety... worrying that I will get sick before I go, so then I have to travel while sick, or get sick there and not be able to enjoy myself. I'm basically making myself sick with the fear that I will get sick. It's all psychological and the mind is powerful enough that it's affecting me physically.

This is one of my biggest fears. It stems from a horrible experience with my dad yelling at me for throwing up in a restaurant when I was 10. I know where it comes from, but it doesn't help knowing. I know it's anxiety and I'm not actually sick, but this knowledge doesn't help either. It's still there. I still have anxiety.

When I'm out of my comfort zone I have these constant mini panic attacks. They used to be bad enough that I would carry a plastic bag with me just in case I had to throw up. I never used even one. I don't get sick to my stomach easily. Ever. (Thank god.) *knocks on wood* But it eased my mind to know that just in case, I had it there. Instead of a safety blanket, it was my safety plastic bag...?

It all came to a head during a certain time. There was no one occurrence that made me realize I had to change some things. I just knew. I didn't want to look back on my 20's and remember my panic attacks. I wanted to remember the amazing times. It was time to change. So I took control.

I thought of this idea from seeing all the motivational memes and pictures on Pinterest. (Some amazingly inspiring shit is on there, guys. Go explore it.)

Well I saw all these quotes and sayings, and I started pinning the ones that really spoke to me so I could see them again eventually. But I knew this wouldn't be enough. I needed to see these words daily. Multiple times daily. So I wrote them down on little snippets of paper and started taping them all over my house in places I knew I would see them daily. I even put one in my car.

These were some of my favorites:
"You are infinitely stronger than you imagine."
"Keep moving forward." (I put it on my dashboard. It confused every one who got in my car. Definitely funny!)
"You might be Jesus to someone."
(Ok. No, I don't think myself a prophet. I cannot walk on water. I cannot feed 500 people with a loaf of my gluten-free bread. To me, it means I might be an idol or a role model for someone, and I might not know it.)

Seeing these every day and repeating them to myself when I saw them really reassured me and made me realize that I can be as strong as I want to. As cliche and tacky as it sounds, I hold the power to recovery.

I've done it before, and I will do it again. This will be a life-long struggle with anxiety, but like I said, we are so much stronger than we imagine.

No matter the level of anxiety, we are strong enough to overcome it. It's hard, but oh my god is it worth the fight.

Explaining PMS to a Man

I want to set something straight...

I've heard many, many times from many, many different men that PMS is basically made up. Either it's an excuse for women to act like a MegaBitch or blown out of proportion for women to have something to complain about or so we feel sorry for them. While there are extreme cases of women who over exaggerate and ruin it for the rest of us, PMS is a real, true, freaking painful time in a woman's life. We cry at a commercial of a baby (that isn't a sad commercial at ALL), we double over clutching our abdomen for 10 seconds at a time and then are fine for hours, we're pissed off about not fitting into the jeans we wanted to wear that day, and we can BLOW UP at you because you are unwrapping our chocolate bar the wrong way. It's crazy. And it may seem like we're being unreasonable. It's because we are. But we also know we're being unreasonable.

For the record though, just because a woman is pissed off or acting irrational does NOT mean she's on her period. Take it from a fairly reasonable woman... do not ever, EVER assume the chick is on her period. Maybe you're just being an asshole.

Let me break it down for you men...

Cramps.
-Imagine holding all your farts in for a week, and then laying on your stomach. The only way I can describe it is a twisting, throbbing, hot, dull pain that will not cease unless you medicate yourself or wait for it pass. If you stretch out, it hurts. If you push on the area, it hurts. If you walk too fast, it hurts. There's no winning.

Mood swings.
-We don't know why. We do get true mood swings. Some are worse than others, some women's are worse than her friends. It varies. But imagine eating a burger when you are famished and in fact biting into warm tuna. You would be pretty pissed, right? Imagine how you would feel if someone turned off the game right as someone was going to score? (Check this Jimmy Kimmel vid out if you're one of those...) Do you know what something like that feels like? Got it? Okay, now imagine you're driving on the highway and your wife says "you got something on your pants, babe" and immediately, without warning, you get the feeling that she just called you the most ugly, incompatible, incompetent, goofy-looking person on the planet and then turned off your TV. Yes. That's how it is, and that's how sudden and unpredictable mood swings come on for us.

Bloating.
 -You know that feeling you get after eating WAY too much at dinner? And with beer, it's just over-the-top full? That's kind of what bloating is like. Except we didn't eat a lot and we can't take accountability for not fitting into our cute skinny jeans that make our ass look amazing.


Cravings.
-During that terrible week before, we're short on Magnesium. Chocolate has magnesium. Hence, we crave chocolate. We could get it other ways, like a supplement or in our normal diet. But chocolate tastes so good and it has higher levels of magnesium. If you've never had a craving as bad as a woman's, imagine someone taking your favorite food (let's go with a delicious steak) and they cook it in front of you, wave it in front of your nose, and let you lick it once, but not eat it. Not one bite. Your mouth is watering, you can imagine what it would feel like to bite into it, chew it up, taste all the herbs, the juices, but you can't. You aren't allowed. THAT'S a craving. It sucks. The thing about men having a craving or being tempted is that it can be satisfied with a good meal of what you are craving. It doesn't work like that for women. It's not satisfied easily. Hence the stuffing-the-face-with-as-much-chocolate-as-the-eye-can-see.  

Now for some proof.

My co-worker showed me this a few days ago while we were talking about this kind of thing. It's scientifically proven that women are prone to feel these fluctuations more than men do... because apparently MEN HAVE THE SAME HORMONAL CHANGES! Who knew?!

Ok what the HELL does this mean?

It means the week before our period, our Estrogen, Testosterone (not shown), and Progesterone plunge. (Look at 22-28) All women vary on this kind of chart. One may plunge, and the next may simply dip down. Either way, they go down. And the change in the hormones tends to make us uberbitches for that week. We can't help it. Blame our ovaries.


I hope this helps explain to some men who think that PMS is psychological and made up by society. I'm not looking for sympathy for women, breakfast in bed, Pamprin on a silver platter, or anything like that... just understanding and patience that our PMS complaints are not usually made up (some bitches just ruin it for the rest of us). Once we get through that week of crying at a Zyrtec commercial, driving 15 miles to the nearest Walgreens for the "good" chocolate, and complaining that NOTHING FITS OUR FAT ASSES, we're our normal complicated selves again.

 
Now someone explain to ME why we as women are punished for not getting pregnant.


Seriously. 

A Changed Life is Coming...

I am visiting North Carolina this weekend to see my boyfriend who goes to school up here and to visit the school I will be transferring to in the fall semester.

I was on the plane last night, descending into Charlotte around 9:00pm. If you've ever flown with me, you probably know that I will give you my first born and my left shoe just to sit at the window. I love the window. But more than that, I hate being in the aisle. (Center of gravity when turning mid flight, seeing the ground, etc.) I love watching the ground moving slowly below me. At night, my favorite thing about a window seat is the twinkling lights. If I could come back in my next life as a pile of glitter, I probably would. I love anything twinkly or sparkly.

As I was watching the cars creep along the highway, some people rushing to get home because they are hungry, some meandering and just driving as much as it takes for little Johnny to fall asleep, some coming home from work, some going to work, and watching the silent manic police car pull someone over, the entire world just continuing below me as I, the silent plane in the sky, flew right over them. They don't know me. I don't know them. But we could see each other and know, someone is there. Someone is living their hectic life below me... and to me, they're just a cruising ball of light among hundreds. I could feel my world shifting in that moment.

I'm moving hundreds of miles away from a home that I've considered sacred and secure for 22 years to a 2x3ft room with concrete walls and a campus of which I know one person. At once, I was paralyzingly terrified and so excited that I could have peed myself.  So many things are changing within the next 4 months, and when those 4 months are up, I will just be getting started.

I had to center myself when I had this thought because it scared me so much. I thought "Jesus Christ in a Chicken Basket. Millions of people have done what I'm doing and have done far worse. Chill, Erin."

I thought back to a flight I took in December from Jacksonville, FL to Dallas, TX, to Seattle, WA. On my flight from Dallas to Seattle, I sat next to a really nice girl who told me her final destination was Alaska - home. She was a student in Texas and hadn't been home for 4 months. Thinking back to this made me realize how easy this should be... at least I'm not moving across an entire country.

Whether or not I'm ready for this, it's happening. I am going to force myself to go on this amazing adventure because I can only grow and learn from it. There's no going back now.

My life is changing whether I like it or not.

And I think I'll like it.

Why I want to delete my Facebook...

I want to delete my Facebook for so many reasons. I've been toying with the idea lately of just up and leaving it, or at least severely limiting my activity on it.

It's an addiction for most of us in the social media world. We're in fear of being left out, in fear of not knowing what's going on in the world, in our friends' lives, etc. If we really do have "true friends", as cliche as that sounds, we won't need Facebook to keep tabs on them. One of my good friends deleted hers a few months ago, and she keeps saying it was one of the best decisions of her entire adult life.

It's a source of unwarranted jealousy, unnecessary envy, material want, you name it. I will see pictures of my gorgeous friends and think "why can't I be like her?" or "why can't I be as pretty as her?" It's absolutely stupid. I'm judging my entire self based on a decent angle of someone else, as seen through an Instagram filter. I'm comparing my workout schedule to someone who works out for a living. I'm comparing Likes on my pictures to this persons Likes on her pictures, and the people who are Liking the picture.

It's a sick cycle to be drawn into, and it is an absolute confidence crusher. A lot of fights wouldn't have occurred (in my life and others') if Facebook wasn't around.

The reasons why I cannot delete my Facebook are plenty. I have two business pages that I maintain, I have publicity for said businesses on my own personal page, I am a Zumba instructor, so I get invited to all of the latest Zumba parties and workshops to teach. How else will they find out about me or contact me if I'm not on Facebook? What the hell did we do 10 years ago without Facebook?! I can't remember. I literally cannot remember a life without social media. I will admit that one main reason I won't delete it is because I have so many friends all over the world, and have no other way of knowing what's going on in their lives. Like it REALLY matters. Again, if I really wanted to keep in touch with them, we have email, hell we have old fashioned REAL mail.

I love posting these blogs to my Facebook Timeline because how else will people read it? I have 5 followers on the actual blog. Just 5! And with the publicity from Facebook, I have over 1100 views since the beginning.

I check my Facebook almost every time I get into my car. To drive. I think that's worse than texting and driving. I'm not even doing anything productive. I'm looking at a friend's delicious lunch or a baby in a pool. Come ON. I could kill someone or myself by uploading stupid FACEBOOK to just see what my friends are up to at that exact moment. I've really tried my hardest to stop. When I realize what I'm reaching for my phone to do, I drop it and focus on driving. I'm still working on it. But it's ridiculous.

I really want to try and not use Facebook for a whole week. Delete the app from my phone, read before bed instead of scroll through the mundane posts, make a news source my homepage for my internetz, and see what happens. See my life happen. See my time open up. See my productivity skyrocket. See my confidence soar.

I wish I had enough gumption to just up and do it, but I can admit that I don't.

At least I can try and be gumpt.

Mama Bird prepares for an empty nest...

So my baby girl is getting ready to go away to college. I mean REALLY away - like a nine hour drive or a $250 airplane ticket away. She will be in a different zip code, a different area code, heck, even a different climate than I am.

We should both be well prepared for this transition. Erin stayed at home with me for these extra two years (or is it three?) while she got her AA at Santa Fe College. No need to spend money on an apartment when her classes are about a mile and a half away from home. I have relished this time with her while I watched her friends go away to college and leave mom and home behind. I know it's been a gift of time and I have appreciated it.

I've tried to walk a careful line between being a caring and attentive mother and slowly letting her go.  I backed off on giving her any kind of curfew and we compromised with a 10pm phone call if she was going to be late. (But that still didn't keep me from lying awake in bed until I heard her come through the front door.) When she is  upset about something, I try to keep my mouth shut until she ASKS for help. After all, if she lived on a campus far away, she'd have to work these things out for herself. I never ever want to be a stifling mom, but I also don't want to leave her feeling abandoned either.

As she excitedly talks about the things she'll need and the activities she wants to get involved in at UNC, I am slowly getting my head around the idea that I will be living alone for the first time in my life. Ever. I've always had sisters, roommates, husband, and/or kids in my home with me and I've never spent more than 10 days in a row all by myself.

I look forward to lots of wonderful things about being alone. I can control the tv completely and not have to listen to "Dance Moms" or the latest Kardashian show. I can watch "My Cat From Hell" on the Animal Planet, or "The Property Brothers" on HGTV and no one will roll their eyes at me.

I can clean the house and it will STAY clean. I won't find a pile of eleven pairs of shoes, three sets of flip-flops, two pairs of boots boots, three purses, and five grocery sacks stacked right inside my front door, or face a pile of paint cans, paper, scissors, and glue left over from a camp project all over my dining room table - which will usually stay there for weeks until I complain about it enough.

I can do laundry whenever I want and not have to move a load of jeans, Victoria's Secret undies, or Starbucks aprons out of the washer first.

I will no longer find a leaning tower of dirty dishes in my sink. (Erin is especially skilled at balancing a variety of dishes in a precarious pyramid all the way up to the faucet. So close to the faucet that you can't fit your hand under the stream of water without moving a few glasses, bowls or plates.)

I won't have a steady stream of clean laundry spread out on my living room floor, where Erin sits cross-legged, watching tv while she folds her clothes. The only problem is that some pieces of the clean laundry always, ALWAYS stay behind on the living room floor for days and days until I finally pick them up and toss them on her bed.

My power bill will probably drop by half, if not more. Erin does more laundry than a family of five, and she is infamous for turning on lights all over the house and leaving them on. All of them. She can have the living room tv, her tv, her computer, and my computer on all at the same time and if I try to turn anything off, she says "I was watching that!"

Yeah, there are a lot of things I will look forward to. But I am gonna miss the girl. I am going to miss her blowing through the front door, tossing down her purse and keys, flopping down on the sofa and venting about some awful customer she served today, or something funny that happened in class. I am going to miss the wide variety of projects she takes on, from cooking to painting to jigsaw puzzles to plants. I am going to miss her laughing at me when I misunderstand the lyrics to a Beyoncé song. I am going to miss her help when I am trying to figure out how to reset the garbage disposal, or rearrange the plants on the patio.

I am just plain going to miss her. I am going to miss her energy, her scent, her noise, her voice. She is the kind of vibrant, energetic, and enthusiastic personality that can take all the oxygen out of the room when she walks in. She has a magnetism about her that can both enthrall me and exhaust me at the same time. 

I know this will be an important time for her. She will grow into her own and start taking on more responsibility for herself. She will discover things about herself that will surprise, disappoint and/or thrill her. After all, there are things you can learn only when you are on your own in the world. I have no worries about her or her success. She can do almost anything she wants and make it work. I've never seen anyone with more determination than she has, when she really believes in something. She has more self-awareness and confidence in herself than I had at....well...more than I now have at 56 years of age.

This will be an important time for me, too. For the first time ever, I can direct all my nurturing and mothering energy and use it for myself - take care of myself in a way I've never been free to before. I will have the time and freedom to swim, walk, read, or even do my "Yoga for Fat People" dvd without worrying about anyone walking in on me.  And I will probably discover things about myself that have been completely overshadowed by the kids, finances, worries, noise, and responsibilities I've juggled for the past 28 years.

So, here we go. The Two E's will be turned loose on the world in a way we've never seen before. It might turn into quite a wild ride for everyone. I know we'll have fun, and grow, and learn things, and be scared by things, but we'll make the best of it, as strong women always do.

But I am still gonna miss the girl.

On a More Serious Note...

Today at 2:45pm, Boston became a large-scale crime scene. The Boston Marathon was attacked by two bombs, and possibly a third. Officials claim they do not know whether all three are linked, or a combination of the three, but they went off within seconds of each other.

I saw one article on this tragedy saying the suspect was possibly "a Saudi Arabian man" who was taken to a nearby hospital for his injuries, either from the explosions or from being apprehended.

I have two problems with this, as I'm sure many others do as well.

1. Why did he have to be Saudi Arabian? If it was a white man, they wouldn't say "white man" unless he was on the loose. Even when it was official, it would be something along the lines of "John Doe, a Boston local, was apprehended and charged on the accounts of blah blah blah blah..." but they don't usually say white. If he was on the loose, that would have been different, he would have been labeled as "Caucasian male. Brown jacket, gray hair, etc." This guy isn't even charged yet, he's just a suspicion and they still say "Saudi Arabian man". But since this man was born in a different country, he's more likely to be the perpetrator, right?

We are feeding false fear into hungry minds. Stating that he was of a different race means that those words pose a significance. It means that we should be afraid, or at least aware that he is a different color, he prays to a different God than we do. This doesn't change the fact that he detonated bombs in large crowds. Now when people see the words "Saudi Arabian", they may think twice if they are gullible. Didn't America used to be a safe-haven, a growth opportunity for foreigners? Now we're afraid of all of them because a few people from different countries ended up killing Americans on American soil. I'm sure that if we moved to Japan and there happened to be a white guy who had too much Saki with his anti-depressants and went on a shooting rampage, we would be viewed differently as Americans, and as a whole. This is what we're doing with these beautiful countries in the Middle East. We're now afraid of all the people who come from these places. It's not necessarily our fault. Blame the media.

2. My second issue with this is simply that people need to stop killing people. This world is going (even deeper) in the shitter if we don't do something about the increasing large-scale violence. Victims from the Newtown shootings have barely had time to cope with their changed life, and not even 6 months later, we're faced with a new tragedy that we have to deal with as a nation. I read that there was a section of Newtown bystanders/supporters of the Marathon, and happened to be some of the closest to the first explosion. I would be afraid to go anywhere if that was me. I just couldn't imagine what's going on in their minds right now.

And the kicker? If the suspect is in fact Saudi Arabian, he will be targeted and labeled as a terrorist or Islamic Extremist. The shooters of the Colorado movie theater and the Newtown Elementary School were "disturbed" or "mentally imbalanced". Because apparently Middle Easterners cannot be mentally imbalanced; they're terrorists. Which, in case you were wondering, are not the same thing. Not all mentally imbalanced people are terrorists. I would argue that all terrorists are mentally imbalanced. But again, because this guy might have a different nationality, he is not labeled initially as mentally imbalanced. It will be "the Saudi Arabian terrorist (or) extremist".

My heart weeps for these victims, and even though there are only two reported dead, that's still two fewer people in the world from a stupid and unnecessary crime. Over 40 people's lives have now been changed from injury, and many more from emotional injury. I read that at least 10 people are now amputees because of their extensive injuries, and the rest have injuries that may or may not affect the rest of their life.

You can find the developing story here.

Stay safe, stay sane, and stay positive, my friends.

E

Ladybugs and Chai Tea Lattes

I stopped editing to write this post because it's just something I have to put out there before life snaps me back to reality.

After a rough morning with my car and waking up sicker than yesterday, and after taking my mom back to work so I could have her car - mine decided to be stupid and go to the car hospital - I stopped by a small coffee shop to grab a cuppa. I planned to sit outside on this gorgeous day to get some fresh pollen-filled air and edit a batch of super late pictures with my old geezer puppy. (shown below)

I sit down, ready to tackle the pictures at hand, and I just can't get motivated to do them. I'm thinking about an extra credit paper I wasn't able to do, how I'm going to pay for this car repair when I have two plane tickets I need to buy soon, how I'm going to tell my new job that I have to take off a month for my other job, when I'll be able to work out again, etc. Pretty much just thinking about life and how to live it.

After untangling my dog for the 538th time from his own leash, I sat back down to continue attempting to edit, and a ladybug landed on my leg. I have always thought that when a ladybug lands on someone, it means good luck is coming your way. With me being an animal and critter lover (except for the roach the size of my left foot that was in my sock drawer last night... he can go DIAF. Except he can't. Because he's a roach.) I coaxed the little lady onto my hand and let it crawl around for a little while.

While looking at this beautiful little beetle, I realized that this was my sign from the universe to just stop. Stop worrying about stuff I can't control, about the inevitable and the unknown. It's not worth it.

Typically, a ladybug landing on someone isn't that special because the minute you realize what on you is in fact not a flying spider (because we all think that's what landed on us when we feel a bug on our arm. Admit it.), it flies away. It is something special or at least noteworthy when it won't leave. I write this sentence at 1:59pm, and it landed on me around 12:30pm. It's crawled all over my computer, on my cup, on my hand, on my phone, and now it sits... chillin' like a villain. And every time I think it finally flew away, it reappears.


It's the little things, people. Sometimes all it takes to snap you out of your stupor is something that is smaller than your pinky nail.


Meanwhile, my deaf and toothless dog can't figure out how to eat a complementary milk bone...

EXTRA! EXTRA! Don't read all about it.

Something I don't understand, and will never understand, is how people can be so small-minded. It baffles me that they can get through life efficiently and semi-successfully.

I heard a saying a little while ago, and when I say "heard", I'm pretty sure I mean repinned on Pinterest. It said "Don't pass judgement someone who has it harder than you. You don't know what storm God asked her to walk through."

Well, just 30 minutes ago, I went outside looking for our cat. I noticed a magazine stuffed in our white picket fence gate. It was an OK magazine and said in big bright yellow letters on the front cover "diets that work!" Oh, did I mention these words were framed by two voluptuous bikini-clad celebs?

This is not news to many of my friends, but my mom is overweight. She has been her whole life, and will always struggle with it. She has accepted it, she has addressed it, and she does work on it. Medically speaking, she is actually in great health. She has low cholesterol levels, her heart is fine, her blood pressure is fine, and she is not close to being diabetic. She's healthy. But people see her exterior, and think she is just lazy and needs to lay off the sodas (of which I have seen her drink 0 in my entire life. Zero.)

I'm deeply saddened and hurt for her because this was one of our dear neighbors whom we all adore. We don't know who left if because they ripped off the address label on the magazine.

When I saw it, I was immediately angered. How dare someone pass this kind of judgement on MY mother! How dare someone think that Kim Kardashian's diet will work on my mom... a middle-class, single, working mother. (No offense to KK. Their show is one of my guilty pleasures! Shh!) But honestly ... according to this neighbor, they think they have the answer for my mom in the latest tabloid to her weight loss.

I took offense to this and have lost respect for whoever left it in our gate. They couldn't even say "Oh, hey! I saw this great new diet in this magazine, and I think I'll try it. Want to try it with me?" It's less offensive than just cowardly leaving it in our gate for us to find. Man up and tell us she's fat. It's not like she doesn't know.

So while I'm fuming about this for my mom, because I know how much of a struggle it is for her, she starts laughing the minute I show her.

I'm speechless, and she's saying "I wish I knew who this was so I could tell them 'THANK YOU! I didn't know I was fat!'" with a grin on her face the entire time she's saying this.... completely un-sarcastically.

I sat down and started writing this blog post, and I hear her over on her computer burst out laughing. I asked what was so funny and she said "I just can't imagine... why does someone think Kim Kardashian's diet will work on me?! They're just so close-minded! Those poor people."

I wish we could all just laugh things off like my mom does. It's wonderful. She's like a duck. She lets shit roll off her back because it won't do anything but weigh her down in life. Like laughing at someone when they say she's fat.

So, the moral of this post is please think twice before you judge someone based on what you see or hear. Because we're all handling a different battle, and we're all handling our battles differently.

...and my mom is awesome.

A Trip Downtown

Things I want...

I want a new car.
I want a new phone.
I want to move out.
I want to lose weight.
I want a new computer.
I want new boots.

I want to stop wanting.


I cleaned out my closet/room months ago and had two big boxes of crap that I don't use or don't need in the back of my car. One of my friends took a lot of the clothes that she could use, which is awesome, but there was still a full box just riding along in the backseat. (I can't even remember what the hell was in that box now.) I kept meaning to take it to St. Francis and donate the rest but because it's on the other side of town, I just never got around to driving the extra 2.3 miles.

I was finally on that side of town this morning, or at least close enough with fluff time to jet over there and drop it off (which took a whopping 4 extra minutes of drive time that I just couldn't make previously...)

I have been to St. Francis many times before, so I knew pretty much what to expect ... homeless people walking around, biking around, or sitting on the sidewalk with their dog that has a dirty camouflage bandana around it's neck. It's dirty, it's quiet, and yet it's busy and bustling with people trying to cross the street, businessmen and women catching lunch at a hole-in-the-wall but delicious deli, the volunteer fire fighters washing the truck, and the inevitable man with dreadlocks down to his butt with 6 layers of dirty and ripped clothing on.
None of this was a surprise to me. I've worked downtown near (and in) the homeless shelters and I've seen some things I would rather un-see. I'm not saying I know EXACTLY what to expect, as I'm more often than not taken back at some of the scenes, but most of it isn't surprising considering the area.

Anyways, with that picture in your mind, I pulled into the drive for donations, rang the little doorbell with a sign that said "Please ring for general donations" right next to the sign that said "Food donations ONLY" on the slightly propped open blue-gray metal doors. I grabbed the "box of the forgotten and unknown" and opened the door because no one had answered my doorbell. I handed the box off to a man who seemed to be the um... main head guy (?) of donations, got back in my car, and started pulling away.

As I was pulling out of the drive, I looked to my left in a gated area that looked much like a dog kennel (a patch of grass, a slab of concrete, and a picnic table or two). But this dog park was a little different, because it had about 4 or 5 people walking around in it. The one person that caught my eye was a woman who looked to be in her late 40's, early 50's digging fervently in a thick and deep plastic blue bin on wheels. She had a drink (coffee?) in a small styrofoam cup in her left hand while she dug her way through items she deemed useless for her to the very bottom of the bin. Now, this image wouldn't normally spark anything in me... it's a woman looking for things she can use or wear ... not too out of the ordinary, right?

I kept pulling out of the drive and started turning onto the one-way road that lead to the main street and right in front of me on the opposite sidewalk was a man who was struggling to put on a sweatshirt. We locked eyes for a nanosecond, and I smiled politely and waved to him. He didn't acknowledge me at all, and went back to trying to put on (maybe take off??) his dusty green sweatshirt. He had a longer shirt on underneath this sweatshirt, and it had a massive hole on one side of it and I can guarantee that if you had put any of this clothes in a bin of water, the water would have turned a gross murky brown color, similar to iced tea.

Again, this is all normal to see downtown, and especially around a homeless shelter. What finally got to me and made me tear up slightly as I pulled away was how embarrassed I was of myself. But how embarrassed was the guy standing in front of me? His dreads were matted and not really dreads anymore, but rather matted kinky hair with years of filth knotted in, he was putting on a dirty sweater over an even dirtier shirt. The woman digging in the bin was literally caged in, and digging through stuff that people got rid of because it's unworthy of their ownership anymore but apparently good enough for the lower class ... her. How humiliating it must be to look through their eyes, watch a young woman in a clean Nike hat, nice sneakers, and a warm clean sweater drive way in her clean car with a full tank of gas? I would feel less than human.

I looked in my rear view mirror at the digging lady, back to the man, back to the woman, to the man, and then I look at myself. I am driving away in a fairly good car that has served me well for over two years, I have a wonderful home, and all the "realization of goods" stuff. Fill in the blank and use your imagination.

I felt guilty for having as much as I do and not appreciating it as often and as greatly as I should. The fact that I have multiple schools to choose from is more than most of these people will ever be able to say. The fact that I have a college degree is more than these people could probably ever say.

I like to think I really appreciate all the fresh, healthy food I have, the fact that I have money for gas, I am usually able to take the trips I want to, and I know for a fact that if I was ever in need that badly, I have so many family member who would be willing to take me in at the drop of a hat.

I know you're probably thinking this is a typical "appreciate what you have" blog post, and if it is to you, then fantastic. Take away from it what you will, I'm not lecturing anyone on how to be thankful for what you have. I do that plenty already. But that's not what it means to me. What I want to say ultimately is ...

Stop wanting.

Stop wanting phones. Stop wanting new clothes. Stop "needing" coffee. Stop "needing" alcohol. Stop wanting new shit that you will use for a little while and then upgrade, give or throw away. Stop teaching our kids to want new electronics. Stop teaching our youth to "need" crap that, in all honestly, they REALLY do not need.

You probably have everything you need. You probably don't NEED anything you WANT. I think your "crappy and slow" iPhone 4s with a $50 case that won't upload the picture of your new nails will call 911 when you need it to.

Stop it.

I hereby swear that I will make a conscious effort to stop wanting stuff and be more grateful for what I have, use what I have, and be happy with the plain fact that I HAVE IT.