In Your Face

Moving on from Anorexia 101, I've started teaching lessons for Anorexia 201.  This time around, I continue to deal with ignorance but as with any course, it becomes more challenging. It is very infrequent that I am at a loss for words but, this is one of those times.  My altar ego, Barbie, has been a part of my life for twenty years.  The greater part of that time I lived in hiding and kept Barbie to myself.  I denied the existence to everyone around me, including myself that I had an eating disorder.  And for the first time, at age 37, I am very open about it.

Although it may sound cliche, if I can help one girl, especially my daughter and prevent them from spiraling into the hell of an eating disorder, I want to speak openly and freely about Barbie.  Apparently, this is.... OFFENSIVE. Yes, you read correctly, OFFENSIVE.  It has been brought to my attention that I "throw the eating disorder in people's faces." Well-- essentially.  I'm paraphrasing of course, but the general idea is I'm "too much" with it.  It's bothersome to people how open I am.

(Insert sarcasm tone here) I can absolutely see why people feel this way.  Anorexia is by far, the glamorous life.  I mean who wouldn't want to have an eating disorder right?  This pretty much sums up how awesome Anorexia is:

I mean, come on?  Are you fucking kidding me?  So, Anorexia 201 focus on the following: if you're uptight and uncomfortable about it, I AM GOING TO BE UPTIGHT AND UNCOMFORTABLE. Yes, so if I talk about Barbie (which is a name I really only use when I'm alone or writing this blog), it's ok to laugh if I make a joke.  It's ok to ask a question.  It's ok to give me a sympathetic look.

It's not ok to:

1. ...feel badly for me
2. ...mistake my honesty for attention
3. ...assume I am NOT in recovery.  I will be in recovery for the rest of my life
4. ...think this isn't real-- it's very real.  I have a husband, therapist and friends who can attest to the pain they have endured
5. ...ignore it's existence
6. ...assume this is my identity
7. ....think this is a phase

So, I guess what I'm saying is this:

Alright, I suppose that's pretty much in your face but here's the thing, I don't fucking care.  If you don't like that I talk about Barbie, simple, don't talk to me.  I'm not going to pretend that Barbie is gone, because she'll never be gone.  She may be very quiet....  but she will always be there.  Mainly, I don't want to pretend.  Fuck close mindedness. Allowing myself to feel shame all these years contributed to low self esteem and a nearly crushing relapse.

Oh, and to those people who have taken a step back or have "disappeared" from my life since Barbie re-emerged, do me a favor and don't come back.  If you couldn't be there when I needed you, I sure as hell don't want you around me now so stay in your hole.  I only need those people who hugged me when I said I was ok but knew deep down I really wasn't. Do I have friends who DON'T read my blog?  Absolutely--- and that's fine.  Reading my blog isn't the only way to encourage my recovery..... Hugs work too.  And you know what else?  Noticing what I DID eat and not what I DID'T eat (Anorexia 101).  There are various ways to help me but to say I throw it in your face, well, that makes you weak, in my eyes. 

My favorite ignorant statement is, "She isn't that thin. She doesn't have an eating disorder.  It's all attention seeking behavior."  To that I say, simply, fuck you.  An eating disorder isn't measured by weight.  It's a mental illness.  If I could choose to think I wasn't fat and worthless, why wouldn't I? One of the most amazing quotes I've ever read is by Ralph Waldo Emerson and it can apply to anything: What You Do Speaks So Loud That I Cannot Hear What You Say.  Powerful words.

I am better today because I am open about my eating disorder.  I discuss it in normal everyday conversation because it is a part of my normal everyday life.  At 37 years old, most of the people around me are roughly the same age and when I get upset about how I've lost friends or why someone may be uptight, I hear the same reason, "They just don't know how to act."  Well, bull-fucking-shit.  You're an adult, figure it out.  If my friendship means anything to you, turn on the computer and Google EDNOS.  My philosophy is, if I'm open about it, then there is no reason for you to be uncomfortable.  I'm fighting EVERY DAY to be healthy and if you can't loosen up about it, or learn to talk to me about it, then please don't talk to me.

And remember:

 

Bucket List 2012

I haven't been writing much in the way of my blog but mostly because I've been focusing more on my novel.  In an effort to take a break from the hundreds emails that I'm wading through upon my return from vacation, I thought I'd post my current bucket list (yes, some I can check off):

1.  Write a Book
2.  Be in Disney World at Christmas time
3.  Master the Art of French cooking by Julia Child
4.  Speak French fluently
5.  Become a Probation Officer
6.  Dance under the Eiffel Tower while it twinkles

7.  Be a real Princess for a Day
8.  Sleep with Donnie Wahlberg

9.  Eat Pasta in Italy
10.  Stand Under the Hollywood sign
11.  Get my nose pierced
12.  Swim in an Infinity pool
13. Make a Wish at the Trevi Fountain
14.  Be inaccessible by computer, phone, etc for one day
15.  Visit CoCo Chanel's apartment
16.  Battle my Eating Disorder

17.  Get a wrist tattoo
18.  See Gay Marriage legalized in all 50 states
19.  Visit the Palace at Versailles
20.  Get breast implants
21.  Be a good parent

22.  Own a Birkin Bag
23. Pay off my mom's house
24. Move to a different country
25 Take a world cruise on the Queen Mary
26. Ice Skate in Central Park
27. Go to a Drive in Movie
28. See the Statue of Liberty
29. Go on a No Budget Shopping Spree on Fifth Avenue
30.  Take a Hot Air Balloon Ride
31.  Stay in the Suite at Cinderella's Castle
32.  Create a Popular Blog
33. Make the perfect Chocolate Souffle
34.  Go to NYC Fashion Week
35. Master photography as my hobby
36.  Finish a NYT crossword in pen from Wed- Sunday
37. Visit the Mall of America
38.  Shoot a Gun
39.  Learn to play Texas Hold Em
40.  Go on a road trip with my best friend
41. Spend a whole day in bed alone, reading
42. Go to a midnight premiere of a movie I have to see
43.  Stop caring what others think of me
44.  Pay off my law school loan debts
45. Get my Master's Degree in Criminal Justice
46.  Reach a Healthy Weight
47. Kiss a celebrity

48. Live in my dream home
49. Go to Bora Bora
50. To be able to say one day, "I made it."

Self Rescuing Princess

I've donated to others who have walked or run in the name of charity, but if you said to me that some day I would be doing the same, I'd say, "Get the fuck out of here!"  Who knew that I would ever be part of a class of citizens supported by a charitable organization?  The National Eating Disorders Association, or NEDA, helps women and men struggling/recovering from an eating disorder.  I am one of those people.  I have an eating disorder.  I am an anorexic. NEDA has taught me this addiction does not define me....  there is more to me and without the support of my family, friends, NEDA and a very, very, very patient therapist I would have never learned this about myself.

So, about six months ago, I started to fundraise for a cause which is keeping me, and many others alive.  I posted on Facebook, Twitter and even sent out emails to everyone I knew and as a result I raised $2,527.37 (and that doesn't even count the matching gifts from some of the donors!!!).  I've probably raised close to over $3000.  I was one of the top 10 (I was number 8) fundraisers.  Completely amazed and overwhelmed  by the generosity of the people in my life and clearly, being Italian, it will not be forgotten.  To give you a sense of the cost, the money I raised will help ONE person:

I drove to New York for the walk and early Sunday morning, under cloudy skies and a cool breeze, my husband and I joined the crowd.  Dressed in my sneakers (yes, I own a pair), I was ready to walk over the Brooklyn Bridge in the name of charity.  What I wasn't ready for was the overwhelming emotion I felt and the many tears I held back.  Although I should have been prepared for what I saw, I wasn't.  There were so many young girls there and while in my mind, I'm 24 my body is actually 37.  I definitely was older than the majority of the people there.  As my husband and I were walking around, checking out the booths, I stopped and spoke with one woman who said, "Are you here for your daughter?" ugh.......  Talk about a kick in the stomach.  I must have had a look of complete shock on my face because the look of sorrow in her eyes when I said, "No, I'm here for me." was enough to send chills up my spine.

Then there were the booths set up for recovery centers-- cue the knots in my stomach. Although I know I am doing better I know that I'm not doing my best.  I still fear that my husband wants me to go to treatment so I watched him closely as he looked at the different booths.  The thought of going inpatient still scares me but it doesn't scare me enough I guess because the few pounds I have gained wouldn't matter.  You know what did scare me though? This:

Powerful, right? (insert my tears here).  The opening ceremonies began and Emme, plus sized super model, Cancer survivor and all round amazing woman, kicked off the walk with a speech.  She asked us to take a moment, close our eyes and ask ourselves what brought us out here today?  In the rain.... In the cold....  Why were we here?  (insert more of my tears here).  I was here because I am a recovering anorexic.  Suddenly my eating disorder took on a reality for me.  It became something tangible.... My anorexia was no longer ED, she became Barbie (and no, it's not because of the childhood toy).  Barbie, the doll, represents childhood, happiness, and innocence and anorexia took all those things away from me so the name seemed only fitting. When I opened my eyes, I looked around at the women and noticed that even though I was older, I looked like them.  THIS is what an eating disorder truly looks like.  Anorexia isn't about weighing 70 pounds....  It's a mental disorder.

Just when I thought I was the oldest person there, I noticed a man in front of me wearing a t-shirt with the picture of a woman and her date of birth and sadly her date of death.  She was 50 years old.  What the fuck? How did that happen?  50 years old??  (insert sobs here).  My first thought was her two daughters standing there and what they say when asked, "I'm so sorry, how did your mom pass?" and them responding, "From an eating disorder."  Speaking from experience, it's never easy to lose a parent but I can only imagine it's a thousand times worse to lose someone to an addiction.  My father died of Cancer-- it was out of our control.  Anorexia, while overbearing and hard to stand up to, can be fought.  I thought of my daughter.  Could this happen to me?  Could I die at 37? 40? 50? I'm not ready to die.  It was an aha moment for me. Fuck this shit.  Fuck Barbie.  I was ready to walk.

Off we went, and even though it's sort of a running "joke," I was worried I wasn't going to be able to do the full three miles over the Brooklyn Bridge.  Hand in hand with my husband, along with 800 other people, I started walking...  I walked for the people who have died.  I walked for the people, like me, who are struggling with recovery. I walked for my daughter so that someday, she won't ever have the self hate I had for myself. My husband and I walked in silence but I couldn't speak-- which is um, rare.  This was a time of reflection for me.  Where I was, how I got here and being ok with not knowing the path I was on.  Then I looked up and saw this beautiful sight:

I was doing it.  In the rain.  Did I walk the whole three miles? No.  Did the rain stop me?  Just a little but more than the rain, my body was going into shock.  I could hear my legs saying, "Um?  Hello?  You haven't exercised in nearly two years-- are you fucking kidding us right now?" So, with a heavy heart, I turned around but I made it more than half way across the bridge and walked for a good 45 minutes, at a very slow pace. I wanted to finish, I really did but it wasn't about finishing the walk and I realized that when I got there.  It was about helping others.  It was about helping myself.

My bucket list has one less item on it now.  This was a life changing event and I will forever be proud of all my accomplishments.  See you guys in Boston!

It's As If We Never Said Good-Bye

Once back in our room after GPS Love Fest, the feeling was somber.  The room was clean and for the first time in 4 days you could see the 4 inches of counter space we had.  For the last time, we all crawled into our tiny sleeping nooks and fell asleep to NKTV.  One of the perks of the cruise which is New Kids TV, 24/7.  I don't think we ever changed the channel.  We knew the order of the video clips and were able to recite them by now.  But as some asshole once said, all good things must come to an end.  On a side note, I wish I knew who that douche was because, wow, talk about a party pooper.  We slept, or napped for two hours, only to wake and be thrown back into our lives.

The cabin was silent due to either sadness or lack of sleep but no one was talking.  It was over.  The trip was over and the lingering effects go on for month.  As we were de-boarding the ship, we ran into the Jareds to thank them for all they did.  Putting this cruise together is no easy fete (in case I didn't mention it before, noses of a BH are strong and able to pick up any scent from miles away-- the FBI has nothing on us). So we sort of accidentally ended up in line for the elevator with the Jared's giving glowing reviews to the cruise and hoping, just hoping, word would travel back to Danny, Donnie, Jordan, Joe and Jon.

Once through security and customs, Sporty and I said our goodbyes to Baby.  We jumped in a shuttle van and headed to another airport.  The van was tight with other cruisers who bragged about their experiences....  fish tales I call them.  Trying to to make other jealous.  I popped in my ear buds, toned them out and listened to some old school hip hop while reminiscing about 90's night.

At the airport, we met DJ Cheapshot, who, by far is the sweetest man to walk to earth.  Doll.  Complete doll.  Sporty and I were sleep deprived and this is when we learned everything is funnier when you are bleary.... Case in point: Sporty and I were sitting at one of those charging stations at the airport.  The outlets were all filled.  By now, Sporty and I had sucked the battery dry on our phone ins the two hours that we had Internet access since we were off the boat.  We were charging iPods and IPhone with dozens of other people.  Sporty, who was yes, still suffering from sunstroke, had her head down over her folded arms.  I thought shew as asleep until some one's phone rang.....  It went something like this:

Dude on Phone: (in the loudest voice possible says) "This is Doug"
(and without skipping a beat) Sporty looks at me: "Is it black Doug?"

Was it funny? Probably not but to this day, it think it may be the best line ever since I described Donnie's scent as what I would imagine God would smell like.  After hours of sitting in the airport, it was finally time to board the plane which mean, simple, SLEEP.  Thank you Jesus (in my Melissa Gorga voice).  We found our seats, grabbed the nearest New Kid dad and prepared for our journey home.  although I was so tired I had tears streaming down my face, I still drugged up on my xanax and braced myself for the flight home.

I mentally clicked my heels together three times and the next thing I new, the plane had landed.  It was over.  My journey, my oaf, my solitude.....  was over.  Within moments of hitting the tarmac, I became a wife, a mother, a daughter and an employee all over again.  Sadness erupted from within until I realized one, truly important notion--- I get to do this shit all over again so....

DANNY, DONNIE, JORDAN, JOE AND JON---- ANNOUNCE THE FUCKING CRUISE ALREADY AND GET THIS PARTY STARTED!

Ever Been to the Equator? I Have

The next morning we woke up on the sun.  Not sure how we got there.  Others on the boat referred to it "Key West, Florida."  They were clearly mistaken, because there is no doubt, this was the sun.  Holy fucking Christ was it hot. This was to be the last stop on our cruise journey and there was a tinge of melancholy in the air for the three of us.  There were no shows for us to see that night....  The only thing I truly had to look forward to was Donnie's poker tournament and the New Kids Town Hall Meeting--- which I promise to get to soon.  Fair warning though- I'll gt on my soap box.

In keeping with my motto "And this is why you don't get off the boat," this is why you don't get off the boat.  Key West was.... aside from hot, TERRIBLE.  There was such a build up to the exciting Key West but I was really unimpressed.  Maybe if it wasn't 875 degrees, I would have enjoyed sitting out and having lunch and a cocktail but no.  Anytime you see an outside bar with "misters"on to keep people cool, you know to pass.  The evening's theme was GPS Love Fest which meant you had to dress up in a way that represented the country, state, culture, etc of where you were from.  Baby being a huge fan of the local football team, planned to deck out in her gear and Sporty was going to go all Italia. I brought a t-shirt to wear of the local basketball team but I wasn't too excited about my pick.  I was thinking showing some Italian pride was the way to go.

Key West is a typical tourist town with the streets aligned with bars, restaurants and tacky T-Shirt souvenir shops. Surely I could find a t-shirt saying Italian Princess, or something related.  We journeyed into tacky shop, after tacky shop and I wasn't seeing anything.  I did see many offensive Irish T-Shirts but surprisingly, nothing Italian.  In one of our last stops, I finally asked the savant working the floor if they had any t-shirts about being Italian or was it possible to have one made.  Her response, "Ooh Italian?  No, we don't have anything like that here.  But we do have Irish."  Ok, so the Keys hates the Italians.  Got it.  Moving on....  There was a t-shirt with a picture of a fat guy on it that said, "I beat Anorexia" but Baby and I were the only ones who saw the humor in it.  Besides, I clearly HAVE NOT beat it.  Nonetheless, I thought that shit was funny.

By now I was all done, which as we know is beyond all set.  We decided that it was time to get back on the boat and have a frozen cocktail to cool off.  Sporty, still suffering from heat stroke, took a nap but Baby and I didn't walk, but ran to the bar.  We sat there and jibber-jabbed until the Mack Daddy walked in and sat down.  Here is where the shit gets good.  Now, I'm not sure if these guys at the bar were New Kids security or extra security hired by the tour group, but small group of big, muscular, decent looking guys were at the bar clearly trying to nurse their hangovers by doing Jager shots.  They were pretty low key but then, this 110 pound, 6 foot tall, blonde Mack Daddy came and sat down at the bar.  He. Was. Awesome.  In the fist 5 minutes he must have said he personally knew Donnie Wahlberg at least 8 times.  This was clearly his maneuver to get the ladies.

I assume the scenario plays out something like this in his head (we will call him MD for short):
FC (female cruiser): So, are you a New Kids fan?  Is that why you are on the cruise?
MD: Well, yeah, sort of....  I'm a personal friend of Donnie Wahlberg's (um allegedly).
FC: OMG!  I just have to sleep with you.

If this exchange took place between myself or another spice girl.

Posh: So why are you on the cruise?  are you a fan?
MD: Well, yeah, sort of... I'm a personal friend of Donnie Wahlberg's (um, allegedly)
Posh: Oh, then please can I fuck you.  I'm sure having sex with you would totally get me closer to Donnie and I'm sure he would love your sloppy seconds, you douche.

He was a tool.  Eventually he figured out how to fit in the way hotter, way cooler guys and from a distance, Baby and I heard,"Tonight's the last night and I need to get it in." I paraphrase of course but you get the idea of what this douche was trying to do.  Baby and I rolled our eyes, paid the bill and went back to the room for my afternoon siesta.  Undoubtedly, the sun soaked up all energy so sporty and I slept for hours until the official New Kids on the Block Town Hall Meeting.  This is VERY important for BH's because it gives us a chance to ask those burning questions such as when is the next album, do you have a professional masseuse and would you mind sharing with us the secret locations where you like to spend your free time.

We moved slightly off the equator by now but I was still sweating like a whore in church.  Baby and I secured three spots in the shade with a slight view of the stage.  Meanwhile, I thought, these 5 assholes cannot possibly be sitting in this blazing hot sun...... but they came out, and they did.  As the meeting droned on, the three of us kept cool in the shade, near an a/c vent behind a bar.  The bar is a very common place to find us trying to scrounge up water so we won't die.  The questions posed to the guys were taken via twitter from the fans prior to the cruise.  In all of his sagaciousness, Donnie decided to field questions from the audience.  This. Was. Not. A. Good. Idea.

I never saw her, but I did hear her voice bellow throughout the PA system with the question...  *ahem* "Why is it all the t-shirts in the gift shop are made only to fit the skinny bitches?"

.....I'll let that marinate for a moment but please keep in mind, the shirts went up to 3XL.

(insert jeopardy theme song here)

Ok, ready?  Here is comes.  WHAT THE FLYING FUCK? Now, as one of these skinny bitches (and by skinny bitch she clearly means anyone who does NOT fit in a 3XL) I take exception to this statement. I am a small....  actually an extra small....  so clearly she must hope that I die. But my point is this: if I said fat bitch to ANY OF THE HUNDREDS of women on the boat, I would have been knocked the fuck out.  So, here's the lay of the land: skinny bitch is just as derogatory and insulting as fat bitch.  My advice: Don't go to the buffet that 15th time and maybe you too can fit in the 3XL.

Sadly, the night only got worse from there.  Although I was able to attend the poker tournament and watch Donnie, there was less excitement since World of Useless was... um, emceeing? At least I think that's what he was doing.  It didn't last long and seeing as how this was the last night on the ship, we ran to the lido deck, foam fingers in hand.  Sporty and I were determined, even after my near death experience to try and have these fingers signed again.  As usual, Donnie was the first to move through the crowd and I ran as fast as my Nikes let me to get near him but, I as the scrappy running back, I fervently try to avoid being tackled by 800 linebackers, aka, Donnie Wahlberg fans.  Just like in slo-mo instant replay, I saw the potential for danger and out loud, in typical only child fashion, said "Fuck this muthafucking shit." ....and went back to dancing.

Sporty, who is much scrappier than I, made an attempt to have her foam finger signed by Joey.  On the inside, I chuckled to myself, "Ha,ha, ha.  Ok....  Poor Sporty.... She just doesn't get it."  I kept turning behind me to watch her attempt to reach the platform stage where he was standing in a Celtics jersey and kilt when all of a sudden....  something wonderful happened.  Angels appeared and there was bright lights with music......  and just like that Joe fans, were---- HELPING other Joe fans. They passed pictures and room keys and shirts and hats and yes, even that foam finger.  There was no pushing.  There was no shoving. Sporty emerged unscathed.  I was, well, I was in awe. And at the same time happy for my friend.  Then something went terribly, terribly wrong. 

DRUNK GIRLS EMERGED

First, Baby, the sweetest of the group was approached by the drunk southern belles and was asked to borrow her foam finger for their picture.  Being normal and sweet, she agreed.  When I tapped her on the shoulder, I said, "what was that all about?" and after she explained what just happened I looked at her, puzzled and said, "What the fuck did you do that for? Tell her to get her own fucking finger." She laughed.  I laughed.  And again we went back to dancing but the sharks were still swimming in the water as baby was tapped on the shoulder yet again. I'm funking up my groove and gettin' down until I notice Sporty being called over.  This was it.  The moment Baby and I waited for since the last cruise.  We were about to have our asses airlifted off the boat before it docked because Sporty reached down some one's throat and ripped out their lung (on a side note, although I have never seen her do it, I can vouch for the fact that she is COMPLETELY capable of such violence).

I tip toe over to the circle and I hear this brave stupid belle ask Sporty, "Can I take a picture with your foam finger?" Oh dear mother of God, please tell me she didn't just ask that........  By now, Baby and I are not breathing for fear of what was about to transpire.  Sporty, politely, at first said, "No, I'm sorry.  This is signed." Now, girls steal one an other's signed shit all the time so I didn't blame her.  I didn't even want Baby sharing hers and it was unsigned.  The brainless belle couldn't, just couldn't let it lay.... As she was walking back to her friends, mumbling, all I heard was Sporty yell, "Excuse me, is there a problem?"  I plead the Fifth on what transpired.

There is no better way to end this blog entry than with a discussion of the Wahlberg flu.  Hands down, this may be my most favorite and most jealous moment of the cruise.  As I've previously mentioned, contrary to last cruise, Donnie's lips touched all 2700 women on the boat this year.  As he walked by me in the crowd, he (sadly) recognized my face and gave me a big smooch.  Then he kissed Sporty and Baby yelled in a ooh-how-cute! tone, "You got a kiss too."  As my Donnie leaned in, to make Baby's life worth living, she stuck out her cheek and later said, "I didn't want those lips anywhere near me....." and at that, pizza slices in hand, we called it a night.

Deep Throat

I remember the night clearly. Baby had come by to do our ritual pre-cruise planning (ideas for door decorating, them night outfits, etc). This year the boys switched it up and added 90's night. What was the first thing she and I thought of? Flannel shirts and Doc Martens. Um.... No. Not ever happening again. Did I own both? Sure. Have they been burned? Hell yeah. Then Baby looked at me and said, "Spice Girls." I was intrigued and scared all at the same time. Could we pull it off? Well, in the words of a dear friend when I asked if this was a good idea, he said, "All day AND tomorrow." Well, I guess that's that and suddenly, we emerged as Baby, Sporty and.... Posh.

Fast forward to 90's night on the boat. This was a HUGE night for me. In mere hours, I was about to be part of D-Dub's backrub. A show which was a first come, first serve event had now become part of the guys repertoire of evening entertainment. I was guaranteed a FRONT ROW seat. No anxiety for the first time in 3 years of cruising because I was in. Nothing could stop me. Prior to the show, I knew I had to make my costume work. Baby looked awesome in her pink baby doll dress, pigtails complete with hot pink boa feathers as bows and a squeaky, phallic, pacifier around her neck. Sporty worked it in her wrist bands and head band. And me, well I literally pulled a dress and platforms out of the closet that I currently own. Decked out in a slinky off the shoulder mini-mini-mini dress and gold platform Giuseppe Zanotti's, the final piece de resistance was my oversized black Dior sunglasses. It may have taken hours to straighten my rapunzel length hair but I worked it. I was Posh and I was ready to go.

As usual, no evening would be complete without these Italian bitches causing a ruckus. On the bitch scale, it goes Sporty, Me and Baby. Baby is just sweet natured in general and her smile warms the ice off our hearts but cross her and you're fucked. Don't let her exterior fool you. Sporty and I on the other hand? We don't hide it as well. As a matter of fact, Sporty brings out my Italian pride even more (here's a little secret, I know I can't fight so I only mouth off around her because due to her true Italian loyalty, she will fuck a bitch up for any of her friends). So, as we were standing in line for the back rub, we attempted to take a picture but, the line began to move. At that point, all hell broke loose. We were trying to take this picture, the lines starts to move and some fan begins to stroke out because we aren’t moving with the line. “UM, THE LINE IS MOVING.” The three of us turn to look at her with our bitch face as she cut us in line…. The line we were waiting in for the show where we have assigned seating. Yup. ….and that’s all I have to say about that.

Once inside, I see Timmy and cringe. Oh no—this guy is not going to fuck up this groove. I was able to snag the same seat that I had the previous nights (apparently this girl claimed to be a big Donnie fan but missed the back rub—I don’t get it). I ordered a cocktail…. A Miami Vice (tradition) in preparation of what was about to happen. The stage was set with white leather furniture and red lighting… yes, D-Dub’s own Red Room of Pain. I hungered with anticipation.

The lights dimmed…. Women started screaming….. Freak Me by Silk was playing….. Then, like a vision, Donnie appeared in the same purple satin smoking jacket from the other night. World of Useless, his sidekick, was throwing down rose petals at his feet as he walked toward the stage. I stopped breathing. Now, Sporty hates this shit and thought it was ridiculous. Baby gets it—she gets me. I was on the edge of my seat, as usual, while I listened to him whisper in these women’s ears, watched him feed them strawberries and lick, yes, LICK, champagne off of them. *SWOON* The next thing I know, his robe is off, his shirt is off, his pants are falling off his hips and all I can say (to myself, and now you), “Oh My God. I don’t think he’s wearing underwear.” That pretty much sealed it for me. Everything else is a blur.

We have called it Cinemax after Dark and showed up with our Shamwow! panties but this year, well, he took it to a whole new level (thank you Christian Grey). I don’t remember much because I am almost positive that I passed out from not being able to breathe, but I do recall him handcuffing some lucky woman on stage. Hmmm… Donnie… handcuffs…. Do I need to say anymore? This Spice girl was 50 shades of red hot after this back rub. I sat there numb. Unable to describe what I had seen and heard exactly. This was mind porn and Donnie was Deep Throat. Not sure what happened next…. I think Jordan performed or something.

Once I was able to walk and unglue myself from my seat, the other Spices and I went to freshen up for the deck party for 90’s night. We were about to enter hip hop heaven, or Calcutta in August (it was by far the HOTTEST night on the boat). The night was filled with songs from our high school years and college years. DJ Cheapshot kicked it off and we were all dancing away. Then, as Donnie said, it was time to Face the Music. Yes, they came out in their full on we-are-no-longer-New-Kids-on-the-Block-so-call-us-NKOTB-because-we-are-hardcore-now gear. In other words, they sang Dirty Dawg. Something I’d only seen them do once in a very very small club without Jon Knight. They busted out their old school gear and Donnie wore a “Hardware” hat bringing me right back to an age when I remember starting to love the bad boys. Next they sang, You Got the Flava. Another oldie that I’ve only seen live once. They were fierce: Joe was able to say fuck a lot and Donnie rapped. I was now, literally, in utopia. But the fun was only beginning….. Soon, Naughty By Nature took the stage and the music was truly hip hop history.

Vin Rok and Trigger Treach took over the boat and the DJ booth that night. I danced to Salt ‘n Pepa, Heavy D, C+C Music Factory, TLC, Snoop Dogg… the list just goes on. I was having the time of my life, even though my little dress was soaked from the sweat. I became brave suddenly and declared (again to myself), “I AM GOING INTO THE TRENCHES AND I WILL HAVE DONNIE SIGN MY FOAM FINGER.” Donnie was atop the back stage signing pictures, room keys, etc for a bunch of fans so in my platform stilettos, I decided I was going to go in…. Now, I’m a pretty small person. Without the heels, I’m fun-sized at 5’1” and a HALF. I could squeeze through no problem. Here’s where the plan goes REALLY BAD.

I’m able to get into the crowd but, once I’m in, I can’t move. It’s like a death grip. There was a mountain of women around me trying to get their shit signed and I couldn’t get my foam finger to him. No one would let me near Donnie. I was pushed, elbowed, hit- everything. Finally, I was all done (all done come way after all set). I couldn’t take it anymore but I faced a HUGE obstacle: the crowd. Getting out was nearly impossible. I used the only weapon I had available at the time… me. So I did what every other Donnie girl does, I threw my body into people to try and get out. Sadly, this plan failed as well. I was no Mighty Mouse. There was only one thing left to do and so, with as much class as I could, I dropped to the ground amid the sweat, spilled drinks and cigarette butts and attempted to crawl out. Some angel of mercy saw me and pulled me up out of the crowd. This girl obviously wasn’t a Donnie fan--- she was too nice. As I was being pulled to safety, some asshole tried to trip me down the stairs. Nice.

We called it a night at 5 am.

Trojan Men

I know I'll take shit for this but I have to share the story of where the one liners began.  I promise to be gentle.  As we waited in yet another super long NKOTB line (all I ever do is fucking wait for these guys), Sporty moaned in agony and fought to stay awake.  We found some comfy couches and decided that there was no need to stand because there is assigned seating.  Clearly we were the only ones in on THAT secret since the line wrapped for miles.  Sporty decided to curl up in the fetal position behind a cheesy photo op backdrop with only her head peaking out.  Baby and I just chatted and took in the sights. WOW.  WOW.  WOW.  Ok, it is no secret that I have weight issues and I would never call anyone the "f" word IN MY LIFE but the thing is, some of these women are overweight to the point that it is EXTREMELY unhealthy.  That being said, ladies know your fucking limits.  If you are plus size fabulous, do not try and shop at Forever 21.  Please.  I admire and envy your self esteem but please, wear clothes that fit you.  Hypocritical coming from me? Yes.  I will wear a size 12 even though I'm a size 2 but I'm fucked up. What's your excuse? Anyway, I digress.....

Out of the corner of Sporty's eye, she notices a girl standing in line wearing one of the god awful free NKOTB Cruise 2012 backpacks that look good on, um, NO ONE and says, very matter of factly, "on anyone else that backpack would look like a suitcase." Baby and I lost all control.  Laughter erupted, tears were shed, urine leaked...  It wasn't even what she said but how she said it that made us fall over. From that moment on, Sporty became constant comic relief for the remainder of the cruise. Some of the more famous one liners:

Sporty: Shut up, I have heat stroke (this was how mostly every sentence ended)
Sporty: Fuck off _____
Sporty: I'm going to knock a bitch out.
Sporty: I can't fucking take these God Damn people. Jesus Christ
Sporty (to random people): Is there a problem? Do you have a problem?

Me: I am only allowed 20 minutes of exercise a day.
Sporty: ____, if I hear you say that one more time, I'll strangle you.

Obviously these are all inside jokes and only Baby and Sporty are laughing but I had to share.  I'm sure there are more but these were heard just about every hour or so.  Sporty's fabulous rating is a 10 which is why she is allowed to bunk with us but on top of that, she's our Earl, World of Useless and Jared all rolled into one. 

Finally the line begins to move and we entered into Danny's one man show followed by Joe's one man show.  Danny is amazing--- he's made for a genre that isn't pop.  His voice is incredible and when he sings acoustically, he sounds amazing.  He's sweet, funny and nice. A real person.  Side story to attest to Danny's incredibleness: Sporty and I stood in line for hours for a CD signing in Boston for The Block.  It would be her first time ever meeting them and my first encounter with them since I was 18.  When I saw Donnie and all his glory, all I could say was, "Donnie, I'm 14 weeks pregnant and got up at 4 am to get here to see you.  I love you so much." Yup.  I'm an idiot.  Danny, who was sitting right next to Donnie, looked at me and said, "Oh wow.  How is your pregnancy going?  Are you feeling ok?  Thank you so much for coming out." Really?  How gentlemanly!!!!!  Considering I had just hugged Donnie it's a miracle that I remembered. 

Joe came out next and well....  I hope he's taking his Prozac too.  Fuck, that boy has some issues.  We would get along as buddies swimmingly.  I had no idea what kind of fucked up he was but holy shit, wow.  He's literally as crazy as I am but arguably in a better place.  No thanks to the other 4 guys that emotionally abused him as a teenager.  Damn New Kids.  But Joe did what he does best--- sing and say fuck.  The show was raw and intense and impossible to forget.  He opened up to the audience and was so comfortable with all of us.  There were tears and jokes and most of all Broadway songs.  He will do a one man show on Broadway one day.  He's an amazing storyteller and I feel lucky to have seen it live.  Not to mention his voice.  That voice!  I adore him and now that I know he's an emotional wreck, I love him that much more.  We were all lucky that night---- it was raining pretty hard so he stayed on stage MUCH longer than we anticipated.  This was one of those moments that reminds me why I do this cruise every year.

The real show was about to go down on the lido deck.  Oh yeah.  We did it last year and by popular demand, we did it again.  The foam finger was back in action bitches.  Yup.  Three morons with foam fingers.  If you watch any videos or see any pictures, you'll see three hands swaying in perfect sync. Laugh all you will but that finger got me on a couch with Donnie.  Most importantly, this year we were recognized because of the finger.  Sure, you can walk around with your "insert Wood here" panties or "I wanna fuck Donnie" t-shirt, but to really gain attention, you carry around a foam finger and make a complete fool of yourself. 

Since we were all in our jammies, we waited with baited breath to see what the guys would be wearing.  They showed up in satin Hugh Hefner like pj's with matching robes. *sigh* I don't know....  I got lost somewhere around Donnie being on a platform with the wind blowing his flowing purple satin pajama bottoms making the sight oh so perfect. For the record, he doesn't wear underwear....  except under a toga.  I think there was music.  I know there was a crowd. Maybe even the other 4 guys.  Who knows? Who the fuck cares? Donnie's pajama pants were blowing in the wind.  I watched nothing else for 2 hours. And then suddenly, after a break.....  The horns sounded.

Two of the Greek Trojan Gods who lead this Nation, this Block Nation, emerged from the back of the boat.  They returned in their togas, fully protected (fuckers) and began to announce their members: Condomus, Anus, Taintus, Orgasmus and Climaximus.  I really can't do it justice.  Just watch this:

Yet, another memory that reminds me why I go on this cruise every year.  These guys are fucking hilarious.  Not long after, these three pretty ladies decided to call it a night because tomorrow was a BIG day.  Not only was it Meet and Greet Photo Op Day but hell, tomorrow night was the muthafucking back rub.  A girl needs to prepare for that!!!!!  We ended the night after some fancy late dining pizza around 4 am.

We awoke the next morning with butterflies in our stomachs.  This was it!!!  I was getting my one on one time with Donnie.  The girls and I made ourselves pretty and ran down to the lounge.  I think I've seen happier faces at a funeral.  Wow, it was bad.  Not one girl came out of the M&G looking happy at all.  This wasn't going to be good.  Some douchebag in a yellow rose tours T-Shirt was screaming rules: WALK IN! STAND NEXT TO ANY GUY! SMILE ON THE COUNT OF 1-2-3! LEAVE! DO NOT WORRY ABOUT STANDING NEXT TO YOUR FAVORITE NEW KID! JUST GET IN AND GET OUT! But was this guy alright? Um, do you know these girls will kill you?  A: don't talk to human beings like that (even if some of these girls deserve it) and B: don't think you're cool because you know the guys. GET OVER YOURSELF, DUDE.  I understand that they wanted the process to move quickly and efficiently.  I get it. The line may have been long but we moved fast.  Luckily, our group of 10 was one of the last of Group A to get in to see the guys.  By this time, everyone had calmed the fuck down. 

I will admit, my moment was fast but I beelined it to Donnie and got my little arms around him.  By cruise three we have perfected our group of 10 with awesome girls.  It's very well balanced that each New Kid had 2 fans.  My Donnie counterpart was very sweet and which made it easy for the two of us to each get a hug/kiss.  I was more nervous than usual because I had something I needed to say to Donnie.  It was more intimidating than usual because he wasn't hiding behind sunglasses (no doubt after numerous survey complaints) so when I talked to him, he was looking me in the eye.  Phew!  that was a moment.  I made my counterpart cry and I welled up too.  It was my moment.  No, I don't have any pictures this year and I don't have any autographs but I had that moment. That 60 second moment which ended in a huge hug and kiss.  Yup.  I was good. Being called "baby" by the ever so suave Joey Mac doesn't hurt either.....

Ok, so now what?  Eat, bingo, nap.  That summed up the day. We needed to recover from yesterday's sun-tragedy before gearing up for 90's Night. Much needed to be done in a short time to transform ourselves into: THE SPICE GIRLS

                     TO BE CONTINUED

Heat Stroke

Being early cruisers did have one minor setback - our room wouldn't be ready for HOURS.  Yes, that's right, HOURS.  So, what's a girl to do? ....eat?  Hmmm.  Ok.  This is dicey.  Two important factors come into play: eating is not what I do and I wasn't ready to face the rest of the cruisers.  I was just enjoying alone time with Sporty and Baby.  But, given that we were living on the sun, the only way I could keep cool was to be in the buffet so off we went.  After 20 minutes on the main buffet floor, I had already had my fill of screaming crazy girls with offensive costumes/t-shirts/hats which were designed especially for this occasion.  I shouted out my ONLY good idea over the 5 days and said, "Um, let's go upstairs." Sporty, who also is not a fan of people, was quick to second.  We booked it upstairs and began to lounge and revel in the semi-quiet area.  I guess some other girls soon followed but given that I don't remember them, they must have been quiet and acted normal, which is a good thing.

Baby and I ate lunch while Sporty took in as much time on her iPhone as she could before Internet service was lost.  As usual, this princess wasn't happy. Oh no, not me.  No, I had to be an asshole.  I had to complain about how cold I was.  Yup.  Couldn't just sit comfortably at the table and be happy I was on the boat. Instead, I had to pitch a fit about the A/C vent I was sitting under.  In order to shut my yappy mouth, we all moved to another table.  You may ask, why is she going on about this?  Well, here's why no sooner do we move but an entourage of big big big men and Earl, a wall in and of himself, make their way upstairs while hiding three important men: Danny, Jordan and Donnie. And where do they sit? Right next to the table we were fucking sit at until I opened my big, fat, mouth.  To add insult to injury, my back was turned to them so I had to live most of the moments through commentary from Baby.

When I saw Donnie, I tried to be stealth and whipped out my iPhone ready for a photo op, but given the "OH MY GOD" I screamed was actually out loud and NOT just in my head, Earl gave me the "girl, you need to put that phone shit away NOW" look. Damn. In my defense, I didn't realize Donnie was about to sit and eat.  I thought he was just passing through..... I would never bother him when he's eating. Especially now that I've seen them eat.  If I did bother them, I may have been eaten alive. Damn, these guys can eat.  Fortunately, in addition to my NKOTB important people radar skill, I can also listen in on people's private conversations and pick up on them very well.  I wish I could say that I'm a better person and I didn't listen, but I did.  I heard their conversations. I couldn't tell you now what they were talking about specifically but weirdly enough, this felt normal.  Normal that my pretend boyfriend was sitting only inches from me.  After a few minutes, the excitement butterflies died down a little and I just enjoyed being in the same air with them.  There is very little doubt that the guys didn't recognize our faces.  It was a "shared moment" and the details remain fresh in my memory. Soon, the remaining New Kids followed.  The girls and I refer to this time as "New Kid Jail." Once you were there, it was pretty much understood that you couldn't leave for fear the word might spread on their current location. No Facebook. No Twitter.  Nothing.

After what seemed like a very long meal, the guys left.  No doubt to nap because, shit, that's what I would do after a meal like that. Once released, we checked out our room only to find that most of the bags arrived (earlier than expected) and our room was ready.  At this point, the only thing left to do was decorate our door.  This year's creative theme: Fifty Shades of NKOTB. We liked it.  Our door was posted with witty cartoons ("I still fantasize about marrying Donnie Wahlberg") and pictures of us and various New Kids. Sadly, we didn't win the contest but that wasn't the only trick up our sleeves... oh no.  There's more.

Ok- so I know that the drill for drowning is mandatory but Sporty and I disagree.  She and I saw Titanic-- the goal is to get on the life boat.  Got it.  We all hid on our extended balcony and missed the drill.  We "couldn't hear it" so we couldn't go.  As sad as that may seem, it all worked out in the end because since we missed the drill, we got prime standing for the sail away party.  Phew! All of the anticipation from August truly builds up to this moment-- the first time we see the guys.  Sure, we all had lunch but there is a difference.  Seeing them in the hot sun shining glory and DJ Cheapshot at Ye Olde DJ Booth, is a whole different experience.  After some partying and rum cocktails ("Officially the Best Day Ever"), they emerged and although the official cruise song is "Live It Up!" for the rest of the Spice Girls and myself, it's the Party Rock Anthem.  It was magical-- we laughed and danced and screamed (ok, that was just me because dammit I can't help myself--- especially when the shirt comes off).  This momentous occasion was topped off by Baby getting a picture with her favorite New Kid, Jon.  For fuck's sake-- thank God.  This has not just been three years in the making but DECADES.  I may have nudged ....or shoved her, but she got it.   Not only did she get the picture but on her first try-- it came out awesome.  Clearly, I think it should be made into a poster or mounted on canvas, but she's more low key about it than I am.

First night's theme was Red Carpet Affair where we were dressed in our finest cruise red carpet attire complete with sparkly foam crowns.  We take this shit seriously. Off we were to NKOTB Hollywood Squares.  Out seats were Row A and although there were three rows before us, we still count it as the first row because A is the first letter in OUR alphabet....  Just not NKOTB's. We were excited. ...that is until Timmy.  Yes, Timmy.  Timmy showed up to our row double fisted and DRUNK.  Not fun, playful drunk but obnoxious--woohoo--squealing drunk.  This made me very UNHAPPY.  As luck would have it, the girl who was seated next to Sporty, didn't show up for any of the shows so I happily stole her seat. So here is my shout out and thank you to the missing New Kid fan for giving her seat to me.

My favorite part of the cruise is always these game shows.  It allows the guys to show their personality (or lackthereof). The game show was hosted by a shirtless Donnie Wahlberg. Hmmm.... I think that sums it up.  Yeah.  Oh, and drunk Jon made his appearance (along with Drunk Donnie-- who made more appearances than usual). The second show is always filled with swearing (does Joe know another word besides fuck?) and dirty-ness.  I love it.  We made it to the lido deck but made only a brief appearance.  The day's festivities wore out these spices and as much as I love watching drunk Jon and shirtless Donnie, we called it an early night somewhere around 2:30 am. We were back in our cabin to watch NKTV on a continuous loop for the next 4.5 days.

We woke up only to find we were anchored away in the Bahamas and ready to be sent to the island of Half Moon Cay to get "Shipfaced."  Yes, friends-- it was concert time! ...maybe.  So, I have never been a fan of getting off the boat-- for any reason, and this year I realized that even a half naked Donnie isn't even worth getting off a boat.  My first cruise, I didn't get off the boat and never regretted it.  Since then, well, I've gone astray from that philosophy and it NEVER TURNS OUT GOOD.  So we may have been able to get on the island earlier than in the past but what this actually meant was we could sit in the ocean EVEN LONGER to wait for our boys arrival. Now, because we were apparently on the equator somewhere, the heat was oppressive.  Sure, floating around in the crystal clear ocean may sound awesome on any given day, through in 150 degrees of heat and it sucks. Really sucks.  Baby had applied SPF 100 and Sporty, well, she went through a whole pre-tan ritual complete with the essential oil of the platypus, to get her brown sugar tan.  Me- I just applied what ever shit I could every 15 seconds because I didn't want to burn. I did though. And so did Baby, as usual.  But then the impossible happened.  Sporty burned.  Yes, it's true-- she burned.  I know what you guys are saying, "that's completely impossible!!!!" but no, it happened.  Shocking.  In the eons I've known her, she has NEVER burned.  I actually thought it was physically impossible but hey, if Snooki is able to procreate then Sporty is able to burn.  What a world!

How was the concert you asked?  I couldn't tell you. Listen, I love watching the guys sing--- it's my happy place but after twenty minutes, I could hear Donnie changing the lyrics to Tonight by singing "la la la la la la heat stroke. la la la la la la sun burn" and the concert was over.  Guys, seriously, ENOUGH WITH THE ISLAND CONCERT. It sucks for them.  Sucks for us.  Girls pass out and die (sort of).  STOP THE INSANITY. We abandoned the hot molten lava for a cooler, happier place--- also known as the mid ship bar--- for pina coladas.  We ran into a friend of ours who left the island early and cooled off with these fun fruit smoothies. I'm sure we (Sporty and I)  napped afterwards because the sun sucked the life out of us.  Thank God that night was Up Close and Cuddly and we could party in our pajamas-- that is if we could lift our arms and change.   I think this was the night Sporty went delirious..... One liners were born because we learned EVERYTHING is funnier in the heat.
                          TO BE CONTINUED

Sailing... Takes Me Away....

Another blogger has inspired me to do what I swore I wouldn't do....  Write about NKOTB Cruise 2012.  If the title looked intriguing enough for you to get this far, great but before you go on, let this serve as a fair warning that what you are about to read is completely about the ongoing relationship on I have with Donnie (and if you have to ask Donnie who, please stop right now) and 4 other guys.

They said it couldn't be done.  They said it would never last.  They said I'd get bored.  Well they were wrong.  It all started on a hot August day back in 2011.  I formed NKOTB Cruise HQ at my house and with several computers, an iPad, a blackberry and an iPhone my fellow cruiser, Baby Spice (...I'll get into that later), and I began our journey. Getting on this boat is no joke.  NO FUCKING JOKE. Being a Block Nation member (like I said, no joke), I was able to get on to buy a space for Baby Spice, Sporty Spice and myself, a whole hour earlier than the world.  It was intense.  I can't speak to the details because I am still putting the broken pieces of that experience together but it ended in a champagne toast.  It all worked out in the end but keep in mind there was a cruiser wait list that was longer than one of my Santa Christmas lists.

Days, weeks, months passed by.....  until finally June hit.  Sporty and I hopped on a jet plane and set off for Miami to what has become a pre-cruise ritual.  We spent an amazing day lounging by the pool in a private cabana (for free) thanks to some maneuvering by Sporty and I.  How does one describe Miami heat?  Well, I think Dorothy Zbornak said it best, "the heat in Miami is like August in Calcutta." Holy fuck.  It was hot.  I'm not going to lie-- I enjoyed swimming in the heated pool but mostly because I needed to sit on an ice cube to keep cool when I wasn't in water.  Note to NKOTB: DON'T EVER CRUISE IN JUNE AGAIN. After a great evening of drinks and appetizers with local friends, I had my first New Kid sighting at the hotel.  As I walked through the bar and restaurant of our hot spot, I saw Jordan. Right there. Boom! But, I kept my calm and after our earlier attempts to send one of the Jareds a drink by the pool, I was rather an annoyed BH. I moved on to our next spot... STK.  Couldn't tell you much since I have no recollection of that dinner but Baby and Sporty assure me it was yummy.  Yeah, well so were the hot pink Barbie cocktails we had.... or I had... or we all had... not sure. I do not recall the exact conversation we had with the cab driver on our way back to the hotel, but I do recall a great deal of laughter. Someday, I hope to piece that night together.

Once snuggled in the bed with Sporty, my teeny little head was filled with visions of New Kids dancing in togas in my head and I was preparing for the next day's adventure.

I won't bore you with the morning details but as we walked out through the hotel lobby, we saw lots of important people.  Well, important people in my eyes. You could say I've honed this skill over the years but never doubt the finely tuned radar of a BH.  We know a roadie, girlfriend, nanny, manager, etc when we see one.  Or dog.  Yeah, I swear I saw Donnie's dog in the hotel lobby. Why is this important?  Because it means Donnie and I slept together--- if he and I were both sleeping in the same hotel, that's a true statement. Try to disprove that theory.

Last year I tried to jump in a van with these people but Baby and Sporty stopped me.  I tried again this year too but neither girl thought it was a good idea.  Or they weren't paying attention to me...  I know after about 10 minutes of my nonsensical jbber-jabber, Sporty Spice tunes me out.  After years of friendship, it's definitely an automatic reflex for her sanity. Excitement was building while we sat in a puddle of our sweat in the back of the cab on our way to the Port of Miami.  We were ready to board the Carnival Destiny for Round 3 (...2 for Sporty).  The difference this year? Well, two things.  First, Sporty had an "in" and second, I had a video camera.  That's right bitches, this shit was documented....  As I type, Baby Spice is fervently editing our expedition on the high seas.

We arrived on scene only to find thousands of... um.... fans.  The percentage of crazy was higher this year and I attribute that to first time cruisers who lacked cruise etiquette but wow, if half of what I SAW was real, then I realistically shouldn't set foot on a boat with this guys again but I keep telling myself I was hallucinating from the heat. Thankfully, Sporty's contact got us on the boat FAST.  I don't think it took 20 minutes from stepping out of the cab to stepping on the boat.  It was amazing.  Literally, Sporty was the FIRST cruiser on the boat.  It's on video so it's true. We even missed the "I'm getting on the boat so let me take a picture with my friends in front of this cheesy backdrop" because it wasn't set up yet.

As the door opens..... the magic begins.  There is only one way to describe the feeling, at least for me.  When I walk on and see the signs and cardboard cut outs of the guys or hear the music playing, all I can think is, this is exactly how Charlie must have felt when Willie Wonka opened the little tiny door to enter his chocolate factory.  My face had WOW all over it.  And suddenly, I was 14 all over again.  Just like that.

                  TO BE CONTINUED.........

100 Days

Happy Birthday to me….


I’ve been MIA for a reason--- a good reason. Although it’s been 112 days since my last blog (yes, people have been counting), it’s been 100 days since O.A.R. (Operation Anorexia Recovery). What does this mean exactly? Well, I had an AHA! moment about 100 days ago as I was about to enter an 8 week residential treatment facility for my eating disorder. It went something like this: If I eat, I won’t have to go--- AHA! Sure, I’m over simplifying it at this point but the main objective is covered. I wasn’t going--- insurance coverage issues aside--- the thought of leaving my child for 8 weeks and then explaining to my job, yet AGAIN, why I was going on leave was too much to bear and I couldn’t. I knew I had to take back my life. And I’m proud to say that for 100 days, I have…. And I’m not stopping.

O.A.R isn’t about eating six meals or three meals a day (although to get me on my feet that’s how it started). I’m now at a point where I eat. I realized I wasn’t a calorie counter or obsessed with exercise. My goal was to see how long I could go without eating. I challenged myself on a daily basis. If I could go 24 hours, could I do 36? Could I do 48? I lived on turbo Dunkin Donuts coffee and sparkling water with about 100 calories of food thrown in sporadically. I had spiraled out of control. Every day I wake up, my goal is to NOT intentionally skip a meal. That may sound easy to some people but to me, it’s not. It’s still a challenge. Clearly there have been hiccups. In the last 100 days my life has not been drama free. As a matter of fact, it hit some pretty hard fucking lows. My record of eating isn’t perfect but I still give myself an A + for trying. Sometimes ED creeps up on you without even realizing it….. and takes control like any other addiction but instead of beating myself up for the meal I missed, I give myself credit for all the meals I didn’t miss. You can’t mark yourself as a failure or you’ll never succeed.

This wasn’t a one woman show by any means. I have support. My biggest cheerleader is my husband. He knows it hasn’t been a perfect 100 days but he knows I’ve tried my hardest to get here which was all he wanted. Seeing me try and struggle to push through the hard times has given him more satisfaction than seeing me eat. In addition to him, my friends have really supported me. There are very few and I’ve lost many, but as with any life changing event, you learn who your true friends are… It’s sad that people have distanced themselves or disappeared completely. I wish I could believe the bullshit excuse of “not everyone knows what to say/how to act/etc” but I don’t. Not at this point in our lives…. We’re not 15.

As I said, this wasn’t easy and my friends were on my ass…. How do you make sure someone eats? Easy. With the power of the iPhone, you take pictures of your meal before and after and text it to the world to prove you’ve eaten. Embarrassing? Yes. But I can’t blame anyone but myself. I acted like a 5 year old and clearly I needed to be treated like a 5 year old. I was watched like a hawk. Food was ordered for me….. Placed in front of me… I was under 24 hour watch by multiple people. And to those who did that, I love you. You know who you are. Keeping with the anonymity of this blog—I won’t share names but as you read this, you know who you are. I couldn’t have done it without you. Today I celebrate you all as well. You guys were my treatment providers.

Of course there have also been inspirational words from a certain boy band-er via Twitter that kept me motivated (no, I’m not delusional. I don’t think they were solely meant for me). It amazes me that through the power of technology you can reach hundreds of thousands of people who you don’t even know and can affect their life.

How do I feel? Physically I am at a 6 but mentally I’m at a 3. I’m working really hard at it though. My clothes are tighter and it’s difficult to process but one step at a time. I’m not going to be able to go from being a double 00 to a 2 and not have issues with it. Sounds ridiculous to some but it’s very real to me. It’s no party and I know others are envious of my size but the grass is always greener on the other side. It’s not easy to process—and I don’t expect anyone to understand, but gaining weight will forever be a cross to bear and I am going to have my ups and downs. I look better but the physical toll of the eating disorder has done damage and I’m still trying to gain energy back. I know that with any recovery, it’s going to take time.

So, here I am, 100 days into O.A.R. I’ve become active in the NEDA (National Eating Disorders Association) and I plan to walk for the charity in New York City in October. I’ve raised some money and hope to raise more as I get closer to the walk date (….being Italian, if certain people in my life don’t come through, I will forgive but never forget. I’m just saying… I’m charitable and understanding to a point). Most asked question: Are you happy? Honestly, no. No one is happy giving up an addiction and trying to live their life in a new way. As part of my recovery, I hope to become happy and I know I will but right now, I miss it. Yes, 100 days is a long time but to someone living it, it’s not. I’m working towards a goal of being healthy because yes, I have an eating disorder and no, I can’t just get over it (great quote).

Why am I doing this if I’m not 100% happy, healthy and excited? Well, that answer is easy…. In the words of a wise man: BECAUSE I DESERVE IT.

Size Matters

I woke up this morning in a shitty mood.  Not sure why...  But I do have a lot weighing on my mind in general. Even though my meds have been lowered, I do feel better anxiety wise and I'm not depressed.  Overall, I feel pretty good but I haven't felt good since Friday.  It could be that rough therapy session I had or it could be the entire bottle of wine I drank when I got home, but my mood has been off.  I wish I could blame it on something else-- like being off birth control or just the normal job stress but it's not.  It's totally Eating Disorder related.  I was able to push past it for most of the weekend and enjoyed every second of my daughter's birthday.  It was probably the one day I felt happy.

Sunday turned into a day of anxiety having to deal with family members that make me uncomfortable but I survived.  Then it started yesterday....  I really began to feel irritable.  Again, I thought perhaps it was PMS but I'm still a week away and honestly, if I get my period now that I'm off the Pill, I'll be shocked. 

So, today, I got up.  Dealt with a moody toddler, realized dry cleaning lost EVEN MORE of my clothes and then tragedy struck.  As I was getting ready for work, I couldn't button my pants.  My size 2 pants.  It put me over the edge.  I haven't been able to concentrate on much more than that.  I shouldn't say they didn't fit, because they did but not the same way as they have always fit.  It was nearly heart stopping for me.  I was now in a REALLY bad mood.  Anyway who was about to come into contact with me was fucked.  I was beyond irritated. To be honest, I was sad.  I was angry.  I was disappointed.  What happened?  How much did I eat this weekend?  Is this what recovery is like because I'm all fucking set.

To make matters worse, I was walking into work when I fell.  My bags got caught up in the door and I wiped out on both knees.  Now, for most people, that wouldn't be a big deal but for someone in my condition, it is.  I'm very fortunate that I didn't break anything considering that my bones are probably in distress.  My knees are swollen and I am in a lot of pain.  Fortunately I have bosses who convinced me to go home, but not until I heard the whispers and the shit being said behind my back.  Because let's face it, that's what happens.

On my way into work, I told a friend that I feel like the guy in Saw.  The one who is trapped in a room and needs to saw his own leg off to get out.  That's my job in a nutshell.  Regardless....  the falling is happening alot.  The forgetfulness. The confusion.  It's not getting any better and even though my pants may say differently, I think it's attributed to not eating enough.  I'm back to square one. 

I can't work.  I'm struggling everyday to get the minimum done.  Its all smoke and mirrors because my bosses are very pleased with  my work-- right now.  But I'm barely keeping my head above water.  There are two reasons for that: 1) ED and 2) I'm too worried about what's being done, said, etc behind my back at work. Neither of which is out of control.

Sitting at home right now, I could go to sleep and not wake up for weeks.  I am so fucking tired.  It's partly ED and partly because I am a full time working mom.  I want so badly to have energy to do more....  but if it means I can't fit in my pants, I don't know if I am ready for that.  Clearly something has to be done-- but I know I sound like a broken fucking record.  I see I need help, I admit it but do jack shit about it. 

...just wondering when I'm going to hit that bottom. 

Rachel Zoe: Fashion Icon or Controversial Role Model

Being a self proclaimed fashion whore (which is totally different from a label whore contrary to what most people believe), I have been obsessed with Rachel for as long as she has been styling LiLo and Nicole Richie.  Before she had her show, her Piperlime picks, and even her own clothing line.  I loved her even when Perez Hilton referred to her as Raisin Face.  In my best Rachel impression, I was "Ub-sessed."  Her celebrities were always styled in a way that was classy and innovative.  She had my dream job.  She was living my life-- to an extent.  I can't help but be jealous of anyone who has had a private tour of CoCo Chanel's apartment above the flagship store in Paris.  The assholes around me who think it's about the name and status, can't see beyond their own jealously.  It's the style.  Chanel says it all.  Not because of anything but it stands for timelessness and Karl Lagerfeld does what he can to continue that dream...  but enough of CoCo and Karl.  This blog isn't about them.

Styling celebrities is a dream I've always had.  I have longed to be in the fashion industry in one way or another-- but definitely in a hands on way.  As Rachel became more famous, I became more intrigued.  I began to emulate some of her style and then when her OWN fashion line came out, and was affordable, I wet myself.  Seeing as though I'm "petite" her clothes fit me rather perfectly.  Even length wise.  Over time, she's become more than a fashion icon to me but a role model, and not in the "successful built my business from the ground up" sort of way but the, I want to look like that way.

Have you seen Rachel?  She's not what someone may consider to be healthy.  I watch her reality show and I NEVER see her eat and the only thing I ever see her with is the largest Starbucks possible in her hand (sound familiar).  Recently she was pregnant and the cameras were following her.  She ate on camera and had a healthy pregnancy, even at 38 years old, so the question of having an eating disorder is still on the fence. That being said, I had a very good pregnancy and ate anything and everything I could get my hands on.

But now, I look in the mirror and aside from the hair color, I could be her.  Speaking from the perception of others and not myself, I'm little.  Beyond little. I recently had the stomach flu which is pretty much the last thing I needed in addition to my eating disorder.  I restrict food to begin with -- but to an extent.  I never go hours and hours without eating.  In this case, I had no choice as I couldn't even keep water down.  But, I digress..... I like the way that I look sometimes.  I'm enjoying my thighs not touching, if I can be honest.  Bad, I know.  Very bad.

I look at Rachel and over the years there has been constant speculation that she's anorexic and I'm 90% sure she is.  Even before I was so far deep into my addiction I thought so. People talk shit about her weight all the time and she either blows it off or she doesn't.  Based on what I see/read, it sort of depends on what's said and who says it.  Today, I walked into work in my 00-7 jeans and got looks to kill.  I'm not sure if it was the jeans or extraneous nonsense that has been going on in this office for months but I have a feeling the jeans caused the looks of contempt, anger and ignorant judgment.  It was my Rachel Zoe moment.

clearly I look in the mirror before I leave the house everyday but looking in a mirror does nothing for me.  My mirror is truly the reflection of myself in other people's eyes.  Rachel seems OK. So, maybe I'm OK?  It's clearly no coincidence that I've had a cold, bronchitis and the stomach flu all within 6 weeks.  My immune system has weakened.  I'm going to work on that though and take a vitamin. That should do something.  Maybe a bottle of Ensure once in a while?  I don't know. 

I adore Rachel.  I really do but I'm starting to think she's a trigger.  I've transformed myself into her.  I wonder in the back of my mind how big she really is.  Personally, I think if we were standing side by side, she'd be smaller than me but given that my waist is 24 inches, I don't know.  I certainly don't have an honest perspective of myself.  My question is, will I ever?

Monday

As my husband loves to say, I have a lot of noise in my head.  I don't think there is a better way to describe someone who has anxiety issues because it's true, my mind is racing at all times.  It just more or less depends on how fast its racing.  What I do know is this: when I need to write, I need to write.  No matter what I am doing needs to stop and I have to sit down and type.  This can be challenging when you're a working full time mom but I try to grab on to it when I can.

Every day, a close friend and I say to one another "Today is going to be a good day."  She and I both have had somewhat challenging times in the last couple of years and we decided that we need to be more positive.  Believe it or not, it does work. The whole giving off positive energy can really bring positive energy back to you. The repetition of this mantra works but.... not everything works all the time.

Today is not a good day for me-- mentally.  I'm feeling uneasy, tired, weak, anxious, sad and lonely.  I know this all stems from shopping for jeans the other day.  I addition to the fact that too much time alone with myself is always a bad thing.  I think way too much and look for distraction.  I was able to do that today, not with work but in other ways.  My husband has been away on business for a few days and is pretty much on his way home from the airport as I type.  I truly can't wait to see him....  I need to see him--- I missed him so much and he was gone for such a short time.  Yet, at the same time, I'm excited he's home because all I can think about it going to bed and forgetting the day. When he gets home, I just want to get in bed and be left alone-- which is a contradiction, I know.

I'm either on the verge of a nervous breakdown, again or just hitting a bump in the road.  I won't know until I'm sorted out.  Since he was away, I didn't take all of my medication because it interferes with me being 100% and I needed to be 100% for my daughter.  I can't drive on most of my medication and refuse to take the chance of being on it and an emergency happens.  I never take my medication without telling my husband I've taken it, what I've taken and know that he is going to be there.  As a mother, I can't be alone with her on my meds.  That's the decision I have made as a parent-- good or bad.

So this need....  this desire....  this feeling of jumping out of my skin could be from a combination of all of this.  But right now, what I want more than anything is to go to bed.  Get under the covers and not wake up until tomorrow in the hopes that it's a better day. There are days I can't deal --- with anything and today is one of them.  Right now I am totally stream of consciousness writing and may not be making any sense but I wonder if there is a way to make sense of this. 

This emotional roller coaster I'm on reminds me of those times I would get the urge to just sit in the closet floor.  Not my walk in closet, but an actual closet. It never made sense to me why I needed to do it but for some reason, I felt safe and happy sitting on a closet floor in a small space. Even that sounds better to me right now than being awake and dealing with my thoughts.  Clearly the eating disorder is out of control.  It's not like I'm blowing the lid off an exclusive story.  I'm anorexic.  It's really bad.  I can't stop. Pretty much that's it in a nutshell.  I'm not blind to it--- I see it.  I don't need to be constantly reminded of it.

Again, today I've had nothing but coffee which is know is fucking stupid. Everyone says, "You can eat, you just choose not to."  That's starting to really grate on my nerves but that's not the case at all.  I know my husband is going to be pissed and I know that the friends I have who read this are going to be pissed and I know my therapist is going to tell me I need to go away to get help.  I'll eat dinner-- I always do.  It's just the other 23 hours of the day that I don't eat. A huge problem I'm having is its becoming physically difficult to work.  Some days I'm on fire and get shit done and shine like a star but other days, like today, I get stuck. It's interfering with my ability told hold down a job but based on my reviews, I'm fooling everyone.

Wait-- the best way to describe how I feel right now is this: (some of you may or may not get this reference but here goes...).  One of the best movies Tom Hanks has ever made is The Money Pit. The movie is about a couple renovating a home and essentially keep throwing good money away to turn this disaster into their dream house.  My all time favorite scene is when Tom Hanks is walking through the house, in the dark looking for his girlfriend, and sinks into a huge hole in the floor covered by a Persian rug.  He sinks so far down that all you can see is his head and his hands.  He can't move at all and is stuck there until his girlfriend finally comes home and pull him out.  Obviously, what makes this funny is mostly the one liners Tom throws out since the actual scene I just described doesn't sound nearly as funny as it is.  My long winded point is--- I feel like I'm stuck in a hole waiting for someone to pull me out.

I'm tired.  I can't fight this anymore.  I don't have the strength or the will in me to try.  Telling me I'm going to die should be enough.  Telling me to do it for my daughter should be enough. Again, I'm having a really rough day and there could be a million reasons why today is how it is because in all honesty, it's not like this every day. 

One of the reasons I love this blog is it allows me to unload without burdening anyone else with my problems. I know they are tired of hearing about it-- even though they say they aren't.  And really, they have their own lives to life and problems to deal with that the anorexic friend becomes more of an annoyance than anything else. My intentions have been to limit my discussions of the eating disorder in order not to place stress on anyone, but I may be way off.  I could be talking about it to the point that they want me to stop and I can't see it.  Even though, I still want to go upstairs and sleep, I at least know I didn't bore anyone with my venting of frustration. By the time one of my friends has the time to sit and read this, I'll be out of the funk I'm in....  I won't be better but I'll be having a better day and will get through the day by myself.

People are Assholes.... and Let Me Tell You Why

Speechless.  Not a word that's used to describe me- ever.  I not only have an answer for everything but I also have to get the last word in all the time. Some may say it's a spoiled brat thing, I say it's an only child thing. Although I may not actually be speechless, I am completely numb from the ignorance and outright cruelty of those around me. Let me first say, there are some AMAZING people in my life who I know would move the sun and the moon to help me get better right now. Even though I've probably bored them to tears with listening to me over and over and over again, they still remain a constant.  Probably unknowingly to them, I've actually pulled back and talked about my anorexia less because I feel as though I'm burdening them with my problems.  It's funny because, in my mind I've pulled back whereas they may be thinking, "Is this bitch ever going to shut the fuck up and get help?  I can't listen to this nonsense anymore." Well, it's funny to me, porbably not so much to them.

The truth is, I'm struggling with an eating disorder for the SECOND time in my life. There is no doubt that the second time around is much more intense.....  scarier.... and lonelier.  I've overheard conversations that my anorexia is "attention seeking behavior:.  Me just being a diva looking to be in the spot light.  Writing those words make me feel like bursting into tears.  NO ONE and I mean NO ONE understands this is an addiction unless they have gone through it themselves. Bottom line?  I'm sick.  I know I am and I don't know how to get better.  The ignorance around me is by far, mind blowing.  There is gossip, whispers and speculation which drives me insane.  Am I ashamed?  Of course I am.  Does talking about me behind my back make it worse? 1000%.  Should I give a shit? No.  But I do.  Since my stint in "rehab" life has become difficult to say the least.  I have, without a doubt, learned who my real friends are, but not only that, I've learned that when you least expect it, someone in your life surprises you....

In the beginning, this blog started out as a cathartic way to express my feelings about my mom being sick and along the way, it's clearly taken a different turn.  When it was more about my mom's illness, the blog was much more sacred and private and few knew of it.  Now that I'm writing more about my anorexia, I'm sharing it--- not by posting it on social networks but by writing down the web address with good old fashioned paper and pen for someone.  I've given this site out to many people and I really only know of a handful that read this religiously.  To the point where they ask me when the next blog is coming :). 

People I thought cared about me and had my best interest at heart, don't.  Instead, they gossip, whisper and speculate.  At a time when I crave support the most, I have been let down.  But, then there are the good surprises too.  People I may not talk to everyday or haven't seen in years or live hundreds, even thousands of miles away will make a gesture that chips the ice off my heart just a little more.  They don't realize it, but sometimes getting that look or an email or even a simple silent "I got your back" restores your faith in the human race.  There are days when I don't think I can feel much lower then I do and one of these little surprises pops up and it saves me from myself.

As cynical as I am, I'm happy to see a kindness come from those who may not get it, but instead they get you.  And like the others in your life who truly love you, they genuinely want to see you get better.  For a person struggling with an eating disorder, that may be all you need.  It goes without saying that I have certain people in my life who worry about me every single day.  What I eat and when I eat matters to them but given the nature of our relationship, I expect it (and yes, I know I shouldn't expect anything from anyone).

Being let down by people you thought gave a shit hurts. It makes you want to shut yourself off from the world.  Like the 00 jeans--- after that I wanted nothing more to go to bed and sleep for a 100 years. Knowing people are gossiping about you.... knowing people have a misconceived perception of you....  knowing all this hurts.  My husband tells me some of it is my own fault.  I make jokes and say things that people take seriously, even though it's my dark twisted humor.  I'm not a functioning alcoholic and I'm not addicted to prescriton drugs but I seem to be the butt of those jokes in some circles.  Sometimes it bothers me but other times I could give a fuck.  I strongly believe that you can say .anything to anyone but it's the WAY you say it that makes it hurt.

It makes my husband shudder when I say most of what I say, but I guess my line of thinking is if I reallty were a drug addict or an alcoholic I wouldn't say the things I saw.  A great example is, I never joke about my anorexia--- and if I do, it's around my husband or a close friend. A person I know is loyal to me and to this friendship.

I've been writing this blog for nearly a year and a half and some of the most important people to me don't read it. Then there are those who do read this blog and use it as fodder for their gossip.  I could mention names, even though I never do, because the people I'm talking about in this blog entry are either a) not reading it or b) know exactly who they are.  And to those people I say: I see you, I hear you and what you say really does matter.

An Eating Disorder is an addiction and it's powerful.  Just as powerful as drugs and alcohol. If I was addicted to heroin, you wouldn't gossip about it.  If you were born with a heart and I mattered, you would come and try to talk to me. You would try to help me.  I am not angel when it comes to words-- believe me.  I know I have said shit about people that is pure evil--- and what I can say to that is, well, karma is a bitch.  Yet, at the same time, the Italian in me immediately is charged up with respect loyalty.  I respect my friends and my family. I'm loyal -- to a fault.  It's wrong but I hold everyone up to those standards, only to be consistently let down.

People are assholes. Plain and simple.

00 Minus the 7

You know those bumper stickers that say, "I'd rather be golfing" or "I'd rather be fishing"? Mine would definitely say "I'd rather be shopping."  Anyone who know me, even just as an acquaintance knows how much I love to shop.  Well, today shopping officially turned into a nightmare for me.  A complete nightmare.

I haven't bought jeans in quite some time-- no, I'm serious.  I decided when I lost weight just to buy a few pairs of every day type jeans.  Prior to the anorexia, I had at least 20 pairs of jeans-- boot cut, wide leg, dark wash, regular wash, etc.  A few days ago, I was getting dressed to take my daughter to a birthday party and was planning on wearing jeans.  A couple of my newer pairs of jeans were either dirty or didn't "have the look" I was going for that day.  I wanted to wear a pair of boot cut, dark blue jeans and I didn't have a pair.  This is when the madness began to set in.... Given that I have all these jeans I thought at least one of the pairs I have that fit this description would fit. ...wrong.  Nearly 11 pairs later, I realized none of my jeans fit me.  OK, well, time to go shopping then.

Online shopping is actually my favorite.  The excitement of coming home from work and seeing a box on the front steps is like Christmas morning to me.  Certain stores I can buy without trying on because I've been shopping there so long.  During a lull at work this week, I perused the Banana Republic website and found the exact pair of jeans I was looking for.  Fantastic.  Now, the last couple of pairs I bought were not huge on me but they could have fit better so I decided to go down at least a size.  I checked out the handy dandy size chart and saw waist sizes and their numbered size counterpart.  The last pair of jeans I bought were a 25 inch waist and thought, I could use the 24.  And there it was 24 inches = 00.  No fucking way.  There is no fucking way I fit in a double zero.  I was in shock and started to get anxious so I stopped the shopping immediately.  This had to be wrong and I clearly was going to need to try on the jeans.

Like I said, I don't really know what I way (...sort of) but decided I had to check out this 00 bullshit out for myself.  I went shopping.  In the car ride over, I thought about all the things I ate today.  That took about .0006 seconds.  I hadn't eaten anything.  Per usual, I had my coffee with an extra shot of espresso (or as I call it, breakfast and lunch) in my hand and walked my way into The Gap. I perused the merchandise, found exactly what I was looking for and pulled the size 2 off the shelf.  A kind sales person let me into the changing room where I tried I jeans that were too big. Um, OK so I guess I try the zero.  Moments later, she knocked on the door to ask how I was doing and I asked her for the 0.  I asked in the lowest voice above a whisper--- as though I was asking for a size 26.

She returned with the 0.  I sat on the bench, put one leg in each side and began to get knots in my stomach.  I couldn't bear the thought of standing up and buttoning them. Fuck me. These were too big.  This wasn't happening to me.  I literally started to feel like Lily Tomlin in The Incredible Shrinking woman.  After some time, the same patient sales person returned and asked how I was making out.  I told her,"Oh not so great. These didn't fit either."  I was waiting for her to suggest I go next door to Gap Kids but instead she said, "Well, they come in a 00." Of course they fucking do.

While I waited for the 00's to arrive, I sat there thinking I bet it's the cut of the jeans that runs big or maybe they were jeggings but finally came to terms with the concept that it doesn't matter if the 00 jeans are a 10 in another store or 6 in that store, they were 00. Period.  When she handed me the jeans, I tried them on quickly.  They fit perfect.  I looked at myself in the mirror and thought "wow, I have really big hips."  Then I noticed my thighs weren't touching. MY FUCKING THIGHS DON'T TOUCH. Most women's dream was my nightmare. I began to cry. This wasn't right.  In fact, it's really bad.

I got dressed, bought the jeans and ran out of the store.  I got in my car as fast as I could.  Sat down and threw up by the side of the car in the parking lot. It was my anxiety.  Fortunately, I got sick instead of having a panic attack (yes, believe me this is so much better).  Even though there was a possibility I was a 00, I never knew for sure 100% until now.  I used to see the size in the store and think, "who the fuck fits into those pants?"  Now I know the answer to that question....  and it's scary.  What's even scarier?  I still thought I looked fat in the jeans.