Indiscriminate Rambling, YouTube

Maybe I Should Just Try Cocaine

Losing weight is hard. Losing weight is not fun. But the results are worth it. I think?

A month ago I began my 3rd attempt at Weight Watchers. My first was in 2011, which was very successful – I lost about 40 pounds on WW alone. I subsequently kicked my shit into high gear after a devastating breakup in early 2012 in which I was told that my weight was a determining factor. But like, I weigh less now than when we started dating???? Dudes are the undisputed fucking worst. I eventually lost a total of 90 pounds from WW, working out and general calorie counting.

Life happened (a happy relationship happened to be more exact) and I gained some of that weight back. But I told myself that no matter what, I would NEVER go back to my highest weight.

My second attempt was in 2016, this time with my partner Zach and we both lost about 20 pounds in 3 months of doing the online-only version of Weight Watchers. Then thanksgiving rolled around and then Christmas and then… You know how this goes.

2017 was a tough year for me. Lots of changes and a major loss led to me dealing with depression for the first time in my life. I’m talking about barely getting out of bed, wearing pajamas for days on end, going to McDonald’s multiple times in a day depression. Shit was rough. I hated how I looked and how I ate but felt unable to do anything about it. I finally got my shit together and started therapy, and as the smoke of my depression started to clear, I found my self weighing 25 pounds more than my previous highest weight. The weight I said I’d never, ever surpass again. Welp.

So on February 28th of this year, I jumped back on the Weight Watcher wagon. Sure, I could just calorie count and spend 0.00 dollars, but I need external motivation. I have negative will power right now. I need the motivation to leave my house and get weighed in front of another person that isn’t me or my partner who doesn’t really care what I weigh (bless him). And you know, whatever works, right? I do think that at some point CICO will be just fine, but I need a jumpstart.

Another way I am keeping myself accountable is documenting the progress on my YouTube channel. I’ve made a playlist and everything. Check it out:

Indiscriminate Rambling, Travel, YouTube

California Dreaming

I was in LA a few weekends ago for a wedding. I had both a great and an awful time. It was unlike anything I’d experienced while traveling.

I didn’t fully immerse myself in my trip, because I was in a constant battle with two forces: Zachary’s depression and an onslaught of multiple profuse nosebleeds. Weird, huh?

I was looking forward to this trip to be the calm before the shitstorm that comes along with moving (more on that later). I sprung for a first class upgrade while the airport because why not, and it was amazing and how does anyone fly any other way? Off to a great start in LA. Besides a minor annoyance that there was a line like 30 people deep outside the Roscoe’s Chicken and Waffles off Sunset, the first day in LA was amazing. I bought some records, got to see my old buds – the first friends I made in DC – and spent time in the sunshine with Zach.

That night, however, I left the pre-wedding party early because Zach was in a mood. After arriving home I had my first (of 4)  nosebleed.

The next morning we hit up a different Roscoes as soon at they opened (8am). It was even better than I expected. LA is a great place to have nothing to do and access to a car. We drove around for hours – up through Topanga Canyon; down the PCH, stopping along the side of road to chill next to the beach for a bit. LA is nothing but postcard views. The wedding was adorable and chill (very Cali) and I left for the night thinking that yes, this trip was mostly perfect with a few minor blips. My face exploded again that night.

Nosebleeds are very rarely serious but they are distressing nonetheless. Having them away from home exacerbates this. Add that to the fact that while I’m being exsanguinated through my face, I’m also frantically trying to make sure I’m not getting my blood all over an apartment that’s not mine AND yelling at Zach who is being dour and less than helpful. I’m pinching my nose shut with one hand and cleaning with the other while giant blood clots are choking me. This was not the trip I’d pictured.

The next day I’d planned to spend the day laughing and relaxing with friends but instead I felt dazed and fragile, worried that the slightest puff of air through my nostrils would provoke another nosebleed. We go to get tacos because that’s what you do in California and I wanted to end the trip on a high note. Instead I have another nose bleed while sitting outside the taco place. Add another while sitting around the AirBNB before heading out for our flight and I’m not exactly having the time of my life on this trip. I just want to be home.

On the drive to the airport my anxiety ramps up full throttle as I begin to imagine my nose starting to bleed and gush on the plane, and being trapped in my window seat, slowly bleeding to death as I disgust the passengers around me. I just want to home.

The minute our plane touched down, though, my perspective shifted a bit. I was home now, but I was 3,000 miles away from Roscoe’s Chicken and Waffles. I was 3,000 miles away from ~*~chill vibes~*~ and blue skys and perpetual denim jacket weather. Why did I want to go home so badly, again?