Sara Bareilles, Katy Perry, and Selling Out.

Today, I want to eat everything in the world, but only if it is a carb.  I think I could eat a whole basket of bagels without feeling a morsel of regret.  Maybe a twinge of it, but only because I would realize the whole basket was gone, and I wanted more.

Normally, I’m not much of a bread person, but today I want to find a giant bread mountain and just start gnawing my way through it. 

What else is new?

My boy turns 8 this weekend.  I have no idea where the time has gone.  I have no idea where the summer has gone.  He starts school again in two weeks, and all those good intentions I had of doing flashcards and times tables?  Listen, my road to hell is extremely well paved.  It is the yellow brick road of roads to hell.

Katy Perry may have ripped off two different artists in writing and creating a video for her new song Roar.  First of all, I cannot get the song out of my head, and I don’t really mind.  I kind of like it.  I caught myself humming it earlier.  I listened to the Sara Bareilles “version” last night and it is stunningly similar.  Stunningly to the point of Perry’s really being a cover version with new lyrics.  And that’s the difference mass market appeal makes.

You sing your song, and no1curr.  Elvis Presley sings your song, and it’s an overnight sensation.  Bareilles is too serious a musician to ever dress like a smurf and date Russell Brand.  This is why Katy Perry will always have better market appeal.  That and the fact that Bareilles is indistinguishable from Anne Ramsay, whereas Perry is indistinguishable from Zoe Deschanel.  You are now asking yourself, “Who is Anne Ramsay?”  Exactly*.

If you’re an artist like Bareilles, you have a choice to make:  Always be a solid, reputable, decent selling indie artist, or just write songs for Katy Perry and become a multi-millionaire without ever having to tour the country on a stale smelling coach again.  I am lazy, so I would just write songs for Perry and feel moderately annoyed that I wasn’t getting the fame/recognition for them.  Then, I would go dive into my swimming pool filled with hundred dollar bills, and do the backstroke until I felt better.  That should take about as long as it would for me to remember I had a swimming pool filled with hundred dollar bills.

I have no concerns about being a sell out.  I would love to be a sell out.  Corporate America, call me!  I will totally sell you that little song I made up for Thor.  He won’t mind.  Or, he might mind for about as long as it takes for him to remember that he has a swimming pool filled with legos.

*Anne Ramsay played Helen Hunt’s older sister on Mad About You.





Sleep, Struggling, and Shame

Remember when you could sleep like this?


My childhood came before seatbelts were mandatory in cars, much less carseats for children.  I spent my toddlerhood standing on the bench seat of our car, beside my mother, tucked behind her shoulder, or sitting in her lap, or, when I was just too wiggly, in the backseat tumbling like a tumbleweed.  I’m glad for carseats now.  Especially since cars are so much dinkier than they used to be.

I love that picture.  Kiddos run and run, like puppies, until they just stop, flop over, and fall into the exhausted innocence of their sleep.

I should be asleep right now, but I am going to see the dentist tomorrow, and you all know about my dental anxiety.  Can’t sleep.  Crowns will eat me.  That’s my motto for the night.

What else?  I watched the Katy Perry movie and wanted to put her in my pocket.  Even though I realize I am being manipulated by a media machine, it is a happy manipulation.  I found myself truly smiling in several places, and dang if I didn’t shed a tear for the girl when her marriage ended.

I was a fan of Russell Brand’s until I read his second book, and then I thought, “This is a person who wants someone else to fix him, but does not want to do any of the work to fix himself, and does not want to take responsibility for keeping it fixed.  This is a person who wants a minder, or a nanny, or a valet.”  And I felt sorry for Katy Perry because it was clear that as soon as he realized she hadn’t fixed him, he was going to be moving on.

Fixing is funny.

I wrote a long, long post earlier about how embarrassed and ashamed I used to be of the fact I had hoarded so much clothing (even saving things from junior high long after I was past college, while still buying compulsively), and how that hoarding had led to me being nearly buried in my own wardrobe.  I wrote about how my friend Stephanie came over to help me declutter and organize, how she came over to fix me.  But what Stephanie fixed was the symptom of my problem, not my problem, so within weeks of her decluttering my space, I had destroyed it once again.  (I will always be thankful for what Stephanie tried to do to help me.)

Me, sitting in a mountain of clothing. Stephanie had come to help me. I was pretending I thought it was funny. Otherwise it was just too mortifying.

I had to learn to let go of things.  I had to learn to part with and separate myself from the physical wall I was using to protect myself from things both in and outside of me.  I had to find the root of my problem (which was fear), and I had to work it out.

I still struggle with compulsive shopping.  Even if it is just picking up $1 bin items.  It is very difficult for me to go into a store and buy just exactly what I went in to get.  I am much, much healthier about it than I once was, though.  Now, I might compulsively buy myself a coffee.  I haven’t been on a mad spree in over a decade.

I’ve been hunting for that picture for a while, wanting to post it.  I used to be incredibly ashamed of it.  I’m not proud of it now, but I can look at it and see a girl who was struggling, and a girl who needed help–not a nasty, lazy girl.  No one lives like that because they like living that way.  They live like that because something is wrong.  Happily, I am a woman who sought help, and am a hundred times healthier.

Now, if I could just convince myself to go to sleep…



You Look Fat in That Body

I’ve written many, many posts about size and weight. I’ve written many, many posts about diets and fitness.  I’ve gone up and down between 3 sizes for the past four years, seemingly unable to break through the barrier to get down to the Lane Ideal.  Pfft.  Who am I kidding.  I lose interest in it and quit eating according to The Plan(s) and Fitnessing (when they say it is a lifestyle change, they mean it.)  If I stuck to it, I could do it.  I just don’t have the desire.  I know Kate Moss thinks nothing tastes as good as skinny feels, but she’s probably never had a Reuben from Schlotzky’s, Paneer Tikka Masala from Hot Breads, or Tacos al Carbon from Rosa’s either.  Those, my friends, those all taste better than a size 2 could ever make me feel.

Last night, I was at an event, standing with a group of people, wearing my new JLo dress with a smart shrug and fantastic jewelry, feeling pretty good if you discount the beads of sweat rolling down my spine in the Texas heat.  My hair was working.  My makeup was working.  I was feeling 100% pulled together.  As I was talking with several of my colleagues, a newcomer sharing in the conversation suddenly halted.  He put his hand on his chest and said, “From the first time I saw you [a month ago at another event], I thought you looked like that singer, Adele.”

I happen to think Adele is really beautiful, so I was opening my mouth to thank him so much, when he put both hands up, kind of moved them up and down indicating my torso and said, “But not because you’re… Uh… I mean to say… I hope that doesn’t offend you!  I don’t want to offend you!”

And then I was confused for a split second until I realized he meant he didn’t want to offend me by saying I reminded him of Adele because we are both blonde, blue-eyed and fat.

Adele at the Grammy’s in 2012. If you put me in those dresses, I would probably fill them out almost exactly as she does.

Of course I wasn’t offended at being compared to Adele, but the looks on the faces around me, and his hand flapping was a little embarrassing.  Was I supposed to have been offended?  Were my hips the elephant in the room?  I know what size I wear (my dress was a 14/16, by the way) and I know what my measurements are.  It isn’t surprising to me that no one confuses me for Katy Perry, who has the hottest body in music right now.

Katy Perry, who, when she is blonde, could be Adele’s conventionally hot sister. She has an amazing figure!

I am not ashamed of how I look.  I also don’t expect anyone to pretend I look like something I’m not.  The other day, I was asked whether I would attend a pool party if invited.  Well, sure!  I love pool parties.  But, the next question came, would you be willing to get into the pool?  Because some girls won’t wear swimsuits in public, you know.

That set me off laughing.  You can look at me in my day clothes and know I’m not going to peel off a fat suit down into a string bikini.  All I’m going to do is put on my old faithful Esther Williams suit and look like a slice of luscious cherry cheesecake, with some dimpled thighs for good measure.

Old faithful. My Esther Williams swimsuit. Photo taken a few years back–same size as I am today, though.

We put way too much weight on size.  Be who you are.  Be proud of who you are.  Don’t wait until you look a certain way to love how you look–or you never will.  Don’t wait until you look a certain way to be proud of yourself–or you never will be.

I’m pretty chuffed to be compared to Adele.  Now, if someone would just tell me my voice was as brilliant!