The Daily Durvy

Recently I joined Group Therapy for women with eating disorders. “Group” is a little deceiving; really it’s 6 girls and 2 therapists sitting around on Friday mornings chatting about our horribly fucked up relationships with food. Why Friday mornings? Because therapy is supposed to be a little bit masochistic.

On first glance most people do not think I have an eating disorder. I come off as friendly, charming, a little batshit crazy, and well-rounded. While I am some of those things, I am also a binge eater and drinker. I sometimes starve myself for days and sometimes I go to the gym twice (or more) in one day. I have refused to leave the house because I thought I was too disgusting to be seen. I will lie about these behaviors, and sometimes not even Alex knows when or how I do some of these things.

I am telling you all of this, dear Internet, because I don’t think this is something I need to hide. I’m not shameful. As I tell my therapist, I have lots of guilt and very little shame.

My body issues stem from deep insecurities about, well, everything. I am hypercritical of myself, my abilities, and my self-worth. Alex is extremely supportive and tells me how crazy I am but all of insecurity still comes out as extreme body hate. Like BMX extreme. Like if there were Olympics of body hate I would totally have the gold medal.

Alex and I recent discovered the Something Store. Basically, you pay $10 and this company sends you something random. They don’t ask you if you are male or female, old or young, or if you are batshit crazy or sane. Because you obviously are batshit crazy if you’re willing to fork over $10 to get something shipped to you that you didn’t ask for.

Alex and I got a few things. Most of them were sunglasses, which is nice except for the fact that we can’t see without very heavy prescriptions in our sunglasses. But then we just got this glorious thing, a thing that you crack open and grow a plant it. Ours is mint. It is totally random and weird and it made me so happy that I didn’t think I was so batshit crazy for buying something from the Something Store.

So as a college student, I use the Internet a lot. I mean, there is so much information out there… so many papers to write, so much injustice to blog about and post on Facebook.

Today, I was at Alex’s apartment and his Internet exploded. Wouldn’t work. Couldn’t work. It was sad. And after about 2 hours of trying to restart the router, cursing at the modem, pleading with our computers, writing a death letter to Comcast, and trying to guess the passwords of his neighbor’s wireless networks, we gave up and went to Taco Bell. After Taco Bell I went home, sat on my couch and booted up my computer, and my Internet was working.

So I went on Yahoo Games and played my Sudoku and all was right with the world.

It is getting a little desparate in my apartment.

I have not gone grocery shopping for, oh, 5 weeks or so. It started before Spring Break, when I decided that going shopping would simply result in spoiled food because there is no way in hell I would eat all of my groceries in the 5 days before I go home to LA.

An innocent enough situation: I had plenty of food to get me though until I left Davis. Now, on my 3rd week back in Davis since Spring Break, I have yet to buy myself food.

I blame this on a two factors: my mother, and my ability to stomach very plain food for a very long time.

Growing up, my mother waited until the last possible minute to go grocery shopping. We had to have NOTHING in the fridge, pantry or freezer to convince my mother to go to the grocery store. I used to resent her for this, now I TOTALLY UNDERSTAND. I HATE the grocery store and everything it represents. Because what it represents is meal planning and cooking your own food and generally taking care of oneself. What do you mean cheeseburgers don’t come cooked, assembled, and ready to eat? I need a deep fryer to get those results? I have to cut what? Fuck that shit.

In addition to this refusal of responsibility, I also have no problem with eating plain pasta for breakfast, lunch, and even dinner sometimes IF IT MEANS I DON’T HAVE TO COOK. In fact, right now I am chowing down on cold plain pasta STRAIGHT FROM THE TUPPERWARE. Instant food = good food. I also have flexible standards when it comes to expiration dates. I view them as mere suggestions, not as hard and fast rules. Tofu 5 days past it’s prime? Not going to kill me. Orange juice that was supposed to be thrown away a month ago? Tastes fine, and what doesn’t kill me makes me stronger.

(My sister does not subscribe to this line of thinking. She will not drink, eat or smell anything if the expiration date is 3 days away.)

And I still listen to The Backstreet Boys. Surprised? You shouldn’t be.

Vice President Biden and former Bush political sherpa Karl Rove are at it again, engaging in a new round of name-calling appropriate for a school yard near you…

Last September, Rove told Maine’s delegation to the Republican national convention that Biden was a “big, blowhard doofus.”

Quoted from the Washington Post

Wow. Does this mean I can call my Republican sorority sister (Hi, Sam!) a big, poopie, neener-head?

Good. Glad that was cleared up.