All because of that beard, huh, ledlightsandpancakes?

Oh you KNOW it. I hear beards are on their way out…good. I’m sick of hipster dudes with no beardly-man qualities growing a beard for fashion, the very antithesis of what I enjoy about men with beards. I like a guy who grows a beard because his facial hair grows insanely fast and he can’t be bothered to stand in front of the mirror shaving every six hours because he has mutha-fuckin beer to brew and mirror-staring doesn’t help accomplish that goal.

…I’m truly a child of the midwest.

A very nice weekend indeed. Found a killer new brunch place to take my mom next weekend which had, wait for it, NO LINE on Easter fucking Sunday. And they take reservations like kind human beings.

I love that my mom is as serious about brunch as I am and begins discussing when and where we will be brunching weeks ahead of her visits. This will be the third time she’s been here since I moved less than a year ago and I find that incredible. I want so badly to convince her to get a place in wine country/the coast so we can have fabulous brunches together and laugh more often.

I was not great at eating a low calorie, healthy Easter brunch. Pancakes and half a bacon cheeseburger are indeed not shining beacons of good human fuel. But I have taken a couple good walks and I feel good. Still well within the right calorie intake zone as long as I eat like a bunny and make an awesome salad tonight.

I feel better eating like this. Hydrated, more awake. The only downside is it seems to be making my dreams CRAZY vivid. I had a few beers last night and thought that would annihilate any dreams, but I guess they were pretty light and I was drinking a lot of water bc I still dreamed like I was hooked up to a god damn inception machine.

I guess another downside is/was being relatively snappy for the first chunk. Scientists studying will power have concluded you only have a certain amount. Burning through it all to calmly but firmly remind yourself all day that you in no way need a chicken sandwich from BK means by nightfall you lose your shit when your fiancé slightly tickles you. And then you sit there dumbfounded at such a reaction and wonder where it came from.

The problem is not that I’m eating healthy, of course. The problem is all of these god awful tendencies I have in the first place. Plus, I’m less patient with myself than with anyone on earth, so I’m super frustrated that I can’t instantly switch into the mindset of one of those people whose parents had bothered to talk to them about this stuff, model good eating habits, prepare food at home on a regular basis, or to bar ridiculously terrible foods from the house.

It’s not my mom’s fault, obviously. She was out working herself ragged to provide for us, and she always cooked holiday meals and stuff. But when she worked 60+ hour weeks and traveled constantly, that left my dad to tell me pizza, mcdonalds, or whatever sad little dinner a six year old can make for herself are perfectly acceptable meals all the time.

Shit, this is very first world problem sounding. My parents had food in our kitchen and I grew to six god damn feet tall thanks to milk being the most filling drink in the world and always on hand thanks to it being my Dad’s favorite thing. I didn’t starve for god’s sake. Still I’m like “boohoo they didn’t also take responsibility for my future eating habits.”

Ugh. Sorry for sucking. This exploration of how I view food has been eye-opening is all, and I’m trying to understand how I got here. It’s also helpful for the future, when the little Lauren and Joey’s are running around and for when the already-been-born Loïe is able to perceive what I eat. America has a serious problem with food. And I don’t think those dumb assemblies in school with cheesy music and scripted messages about broccoli being cool help anyone, and I’m not Michelle Obama so I’m not going to use my magic arms to influence policy changes. I can, however, help kids in my life to not end up having an outburst in front their fiancé because the Internet went down right in the middle of Community and it means society is basically over, all bc they wasted all of their will power not eating greasy sludge all day.

Tl;dr: mom is coming and we will brunch heroically; reframing my food mindset is tricky business.


Do not teach your daughters to be ‘pretty.’

Do not entomb her in a pretty pink tower
and insist that only the degree of her physical appeal
may set her free.
Teach her to fight her way out,
to consume books and spit knowledge
to lesser boys who insist she is just beautiful
and nothing more.

Teach her to love her body
not to manipulate and put a price tag on herself
as a defined worth
she shall be immeasurable
she shall be more than this.

Do not let her break herself down
when the boy in kindergarden hits her
because he likes her.
What are you really teaching her?
Pain and love are not synonymous
neither are pretty and perfection.

Teach her to be kind
to be harsh
to be demure
to be wild
to be sensitive
to be thick-skinned

But good god,

Do not teach your daughters to be ‘pretty.’

Michelle K., Do Not Teach Your Daughters to Be ‘Pretty’ (via creatingaquietmind)