Yup, that's my body. In a "Losers" tank.

This body has never let me down; it will try anything I ask it to, and succeed more often than I can believe. With this body, I can embrace people I love, smile when I’m happy, and dance out my glee.

My body has never let me down, but I have let my body down. I have let fear prevent it from running free. I’ve let anxiety cause permanent damage to my stomach. And I have let doubt keep me from loving it.

Part of my effort to shift from a negative to a positive outlook in my day-to-day has involved working out. My body seems to be loving this – from the balance and stretch of yoga to the endurance and strength of a cardio routine, my body has not only made it through, it’s improved. I am stronger, more flexible, and faster.

I am learning that if I listen to my body, if I let it lead the way, I will feel good. I’m done letting my body down; it’s the only one I have, and we’re in this together.

I spent a lot of the early part of the year mired in the negativity that I’ve always allowed to drag me down. I continued to see only the reasons why things couldn’t work, rather than getting excited by the possibility that something could work. It was an attitude that applied to everything in my life, including the way I perceived myself.

Early in the year, facing problems at work, I picked up a copy of Save the Assistants: A Guide to Surviving and Thriving in the Workplace. While I wasn’t an assistant, there was a lot of wisdom to be gained from the book. Including one of the first pieces of the puzzle to set me on the road to improvement: I started to wake up an hour earlier than I needed to, to ease into my day. This divided the day in thirds, rather than halves, with two of those thirds being personal time. This would set the stage for the realization that my personal being was in need of help, too. Or, more accurately, that in order to improve myself, I needed to start from the personal and work outwards.

At some point, I had a private meeting where my negative approach to work was pointed out, and we discussed how it effected my dealings with people in my job. My mother worked with me on one small adjustment: instead of starting with “that’s not possible,” she advised me to start with an acknowledgement that an idea was interesting, move into possible ways of making it a reality, and then address the barriers to its happening with a phrase like, “the difficulties I foresee are…”

For years, I’ve maintained a notion that once I achieved personal success (a good job, great health, the proper dress size, and an adequate wardrobe), my inner monologue would change from a nasty bitch to a supportive sweetheart. Changing my approach to work had an immediate and substantial impact on my performance and the reception of my replies. It slowly dawned on me that this might be applicable to my personal life, as well. Especially to the way I viewed and talked to myself.

It began, as with my work, with one small adjustment in my approach: instead of saying, “Well, that’s the best it’s going to get,” when I looked at myself in the mirror, I began to say, “Hi there, pretty girl.” It may seem silly, but it worked like gangbusters. That one modification began to make me remember that I was wholly worthwhile to myself. It gave me the power to reach out to work with a doctor to correct the stomach problems that had crippled me, socially. It gave me the will to begin swimming again, to remember how much I loved fashion and style. It gave me the power to be me.

I’m not there yet, wherever “there” is, but I am on my way. I suspect that I will be forever. I still have bad days, where I sleep all day or eat all the wrong things. But less and less am I taken over by a feeling of worthlessness.

Today, I am ringing in 2012 by working out, eating well, writing, and enjoying hockey and films. I have spoken to several people I care about, and wished them a happy new year. I am taking it slowly, and enjoying the day. I might go to bed before the ball drops, or I might not. But I am doing what I want to do, and enjoying spending time with myself on the doorstep of a new year.

I’m not perfect, but I am awesome; I have a great job, good health, and I’m happy with my body and mind – even with my wardrobe. I am starting 2012 as I mean to go on: calmly, peacefully, gracefully, positively, and intentionally.

1. elegance or beauty of form, manner, motion, or action.
2. a pleasing or attractive quality or endowment.
3. favor or good will.
4. a manifestation of favor, especially by a superior: It was only through the dean’s grace that I wasn’t expelled from school.
5. mercy; clemency; pardon: an act of grace

Recently, I’ve noticed that I am entirely without ability to extend any grace to myself. I first noticed it with the medically necessary changes in my diet; I’ve gone from being someone who can eat anywhere, to someone with a very challenging combination of restrictions (no dairy, no caffeine, and no spicy foods).

For years, I’ve had friends with allergies that created menu challenges, and have never been upset about it. Changing our destination or menu to allow for someone else to join me and enjoy themselves has never been a problem. In fact, I’ve been to known to chide people for apologizing or offering to eat around the worrisome items – there’s no reason why their enjoyment of a good meal should hampered.

With myself, however, I go beyond apology. In order to avoid making the host feel guilty for unintentionally excluding me, I will go hungry. Any attempt to modify the menu or provide me with an alternative is met with superfluous apology, embarrassment and, frankly, shame. I would rather listen to my stomach rumble than cause what I perceive to be upset.

Basically, I’m giving myself the fuzzy end of the hypocrisy lollipop.

And it doesn’t just happen with food. I apply it to my body type (other women with my shape are hot, I’m a mess), looks (everyone else is beautiful in some way, I’m not), skills (you’re all so talented, I’m a hack) and so on.

I realized a few weeks ago that the way I talk to myself about myself is repulsive. I call myself ‘bitch’, ‘asshole’, ‘lazy’, ‘idiot’, and worse. And I am fiercely judgmental about failures – anything from not getting to bed on time to forgetting to complete a project. I’ve even developed a complex series of excuses for myself, that generate a cycle ending with my actually being sick.

I need to relearn how I talk to myself. I used to believe that if I became the person I wanted to be, I would change how I thought about me. But I’m beginning to understand that it’s the other way ‘round: by not allowing room for failure, I’m not allowing room for growth. I have to change the way I talk to myself before I can expect to change how I see myself, and through that, how I am.

I need a little bit of grace. What about you?

Because of this perspective, I had a tough time reconciling my decision to join a gym and Weight Watchers. And then I realized something: I was doing the same thing in reverse that the body police do. The whole point of fat positivity is that it’s about being happy with yourself. And I wasn’t.

Not only had I gained a lot of weight, but my blood pressure was up and I was having trouble with things as simple as climbing stairs (which are a huge part of New York City life). I know what I look like and feel like when I’m healthy, and this was not it. Making the change is important.

The first thing that I needed to remind myself is that a healthy Kate is not a thin Kate. Anyone I know can tell you that. When I am eating right, exercising regularly, and feeling good, I am usually about a size 14. But secondly, this is not about my size. This is about reducing my blood pressure and increasing my mobility. I want to chase my nieces, I want to climb stairs with ease, I want to be able to go bike riding with friends, if that’s on the table.

The third thing is that I need to be more intentional. About what I eat, where I go, how I behave, and how I treat myself. Food is a good first step: prepping fruit to take after a workout, looking up easy recipes and following them through, eating more balanced meals. These are all good, adult decisions. And, to be really honest, very little is as wonderful as capping off a great swim with cantaloupe. Because do you know what tastes awesome — cantaloupe!

But that intentionality needs carry through my whole life. Setting my alarm for an early enough time to get myself out the door, not hitting snooze fourteen times, leaving my work at work, and using part of my evening at home to prepare for the next day. These are all choices that can lead towards making better choices about who to spend time with, how I’d like to spend my time, and ultimately, working out what my priorities are.

My real goal is intangible: I want to be the woman I know that I can be. But for the first time in nearly a decade, I have a picture of who she is. Guys, I’m already awesome. As this all falls together, I’m going to be really fucking scary.

Oh, and ps: it’s been a month, and my blood-pressure is back to normal, I’ve only had one attack, I haven’t had to use my asthma inhaler in a month, and I’m happier than I’ve been in years.

There might be something to this.

It might be an extreme example...

Last night, I got all girled up to go watch the Playoffs with friends. I wore blue tights, a miniskirt, my Rangers jersey and I matched my makeup and nails to the whole ensemble. A friend, via text from far, far away, commented that if I had any trouble getting some action, he would doubt the Rangers fan base (I’m paraphrasing). And I replied that while sweet, that would just never ever happen to me.

This isn’t a self-pity thing (even though I’ve been there). It’s not even a self-loathing thing (although I’ve been there, too). It’s a totally bizarre self-perception thing that I’ve never really thought much about.

When I look in the mirror, I usually see a pretty girl – because I am one. I have great hair (no really, I’m completely vain about my hair), pretty eyes, good lips and a great rack. I don’t even dislike the gap in my teeth. When I get dressed in the morning, I usually feel awesome. I like my wardrobe choices, and I think I look well put-together and cute. But something happens when I walk out of my bedroom and come into contact with people.

Suddenly, from feeling cute and pretty, I feel massively flawed. As soon as people can see me, the confidence sloughs off. I become completely disconnected from myself or any beauty I may have. All I connect with are my flaws, to the point of distraction.

For instance, a few months ago I went to a fancy event with my family. I wore a black dress with great décolletage, great shoes, and I did a nice job on my hair and makeup. At the party, my sister and I went up to the bar to get a drink and a well-dressed man a few years older than me started chatting with me. After a couple of minutes he got called away by a friend, and I turned back to the bar to collect my cocktail.

“That was random,” I said to my sister.

“No, he was hitting on you,” she threw back.

“What? Why? That makes no sense.”

“Um, because you look beautiful tonight, Kate. Jeez.”

And then she punched me (without spilling her drink, because she’s a badass that way).

That story is not anomalous in my life, and I have never ever figured out a way to change it. The rude or crude comments I get from strangers reinforce it, and the positive reinforcement from family and friends (even from my ex-girlfriend) feels easy to discard, because they’re biased.

I’m not writing this for your pity, or to fish for compliments. I don’t really know why I’m writing it. Maybe it’s because I’m willing to bet that I’m far from the only person who feels this way, and I just want them to know that it’s not just them. Or maybe I just needed to have a little self-indulgent emo wank on the internet.

But just to make sure this isn’t totally useless, here’s a word of advice to parents: tell your children they’re beautiful. Don’t qualify it, and don’t worry that it’ll give them a big head. Just tell them. Because I’m pretty sure it starts at home. Or I could just be super-duper broken. Anything is possible.

Instead of writing about Really Important Things, I’m going to tell a cautionary tale. This one is about how collegiate drinking can make you sad for the rest of your life. Not because drinking leads to crass remarks, poor life decisions, and sex (I actually support all of these eventualities). Rather, because someday you’ll be 30-years old and sitting in a really nice bar with a table full of very interesting people, all of whom are drinking delightful single-malt whiskys, and you won’t be able to join them.

It will be the saddest thing ever; trust me, I know.

Fridays, when I was a fresh-faced student at SUNY Albany, were all about Happy Hour at our favorite skanky-ass dived bar, Smitty’s (this is not a hipper-than-thou cred thing, this was a crappy bar in a weird location that usually had an inch of beer on the floor by closing and whose bathrooms got so fucked up that the adjacent alley became a back-up toilet). It went from 3:00 in the afternoon until 9:00 at night, and the $5 cover got you unlimited pitchers of beer (Red Dog, sadly) until the bell rang. And they had a very liberal carding policy.

At some point, my townie buddy, Lee*, decided he wanted to come out drinking with me. More to the point, he wanted us to get tanked together. So, he and his friend picked me up at 8:00 on the dot, and we drove to downtown Albany to get silly.

Because I worked the evening shift** that Friday, I’d missed happy hour. But my roommate hadn’t. When we walked in the door, she was in a bad way*** and demanded that I get her out of there. We compromised on half an hour, and I stalked up to the bar. Reasoning that the shortest distance between two points was whiskey, I did what any broke-ass idiot college student would do: I ordered a shot of Jack Daniels and a Rolling Rock (please mock me, I deserve it) chaser. And I kept that system up for the next half an hour. Plus an hour.

Oops?

By the time my buddies hauled my ass out of the bar, I was so drunk that I’d dropped an entire fresh beer on the bar floor – into the swamp – and attempted to rescue it. What little I remember of the walk to the car, and the ride home, involved Lee’s friend reminding me again and again that I was not to puke in his vehicle. When we got to the dorms, I had to be carried inside.

“No, no, no,” I slurred. “Not on the bed, you have to leave me on the bathroom floor.”

Yup, I was so fucked up that I made my friend leave me on the bathroom floor, about a foot from the toilet. And the last thing I remember thinking was, “Whoever invented tile was awesome.”

And that’s why I can’t drink whisky – not single-malts, not ryes, not blends – because Jack Daniels scarred my stomach and liver so badly, they’ll never let me forget it.

But what you should really ask me about is that time I drank 10 Cosmos and opened the taxi door on the FDR Drive…

*RIP, Lee – you were one of a kind, and I miss you.
**Holy crap, I miss Learningsmith – it was a great toy store, and a rad place to work.
***I’ll leave it at that in black and white, but the in-person story gets all the goreys.

The title is from “It’s Time To Switch To Whiskey” by Corb Lund.

It's a lot. I know.

Hi, my name is Kate and I love comic books. This wouldn’t be a problem, except that I live in a NYC apartment. And I watch Hoarders. So, I’m trying to purge the bulk of my collection. Listed below are comics that I have read and loved but am now ready to pass on to other people for their enjoyment.

This list is sorted first by publishing house, then by Title. In most cases, I tried to group hero families together, so you’ll find Catwoman with Batman, and all the X-books together. There’s a Batman/Danger Girl crossover listed in the DG section. Ideally, I’d like a little scratch for ‘em, but I’m happy to play let’s make a deal on it. The main thing is finding them homes.  If you’re interested in grabbing some of them, or want more information on what they’re about, drop me a comment.

And now, the list:

DARK HORSE COMICS

• B.P.R.D. #1
• Buffy the Vampire Slayer Annual 1999
• Buffy the Vampire Slayer #1-8, 10-22, 28, 42-45 (Original Run)
• Buffy the Vampire Slayer: Jonathan One-Shot
• Buffy the Vampire Slayer: Reunion One-Shot
• Buffy the Vampire Slayer Season 8: No Future For You #1-3 & Variants for #1-2
• Buffy the Vampire Slayer Season 8: The Long Way Home #1-4 & Variant #4
• Karas #1
• Serenity #2-3 (Movie Tie-In, 3-Issue Series)

APPARAT

• Quit City #1 By Warren Ellis & Laurenn McCubbin

DC COMICS

• Batgirl #13-15
• Batwoman Detective Comics #855
• Catwoman #41-42, 44-45, 47, 53-56
• Birds of Prey #80-84, 86, 93-109, 112
• Black Canary #1-2
• JLA: Classified #2
• Seven Soldiers of Victory #0 & Variant Cover
• Klarion (Seven Soldiers) #1-3 (4-issue Series)
• All-New Wonder Woman #602, 605
• Amazons Attack #1,4
• Wonder Woman #2-3, 7-14, 31-34
• Wonder Woman: Blackest Night #13-15
• Brightest Day #2
• Countdown to Infinite Crisis
• Secret Six #1-3, 10-12

DYNAMITE

• Red Sonja #1-2

ECHO

• Bloodrayne #1

ICON

• Kabuki: The Alchemy #2
• IDW
• 30 Days of Night: Bloodsucker Tales #1, 3-4

IMAGE

• Creed: Utopiate #3
• Danger Girl #1-3, 5-7
• Danger Girl Special (One Shot)
• Danger Girl: Back in Black #2, 4
• Viva Las Danger Danger Girl (One Shot)
• Batman and Danger Girl (Crossover from Wildstorm & DC)
• Hellhounds #1-3

MARVEL COMICS

• Civil War #1-4, 6
• Civil War Frontline Civil War #3-4
• Civil War X-Men #1, 3-4
• Punisher: War Journal #1-5
• Elektra: The Hand #2, 4-5
• Ultimate Elektra #2-5
• Astonishing X-Men #1, 7-8, 10-12, 14-17, 19-22, 31-35 & Variant #12 (1-22 written by Joss Whedon, 31-35 by Warren Ellis)
• Kitty Pryde: Shadows & Flame #1-5 (Complete 5-Issue Series)
• New X-Men: Hellions #1
• Uncanny X-Men #459-450
• X-23: Target X #4
• X-Men #168-171, 174
• X-Men Yearbook 1999
• House of M #1-7 and Sketchbook (8-Issue Series)
• 1602 #4-5 (8-Issue Series by Neil Gaiman)
• Anita Blake Vampire Hunter #1-2
• Blade #8
• Deadpool: Wade Wilson’s War #1-2, 4
• Eternals #1-2, 5-7 (7-issue Series by Neil Gaiman)
• Runaways #21-22, 25-26, 28 (Includes issues written by Joss Whedon)
• Stephen King’s ‘The Dark Tower’ #2-4, 7

ONI PRESS

• Queen & Country #28
• Too Much Hopeless Savages #1 (4-issue Series)

ROCKET/DARK HORSE

• Crush #1

SILENT DEVIL

• Death Comes to Dillinger #1

SLAVE LABOR GRAPHICS

• Johnny the Homicidal Maniac #4
• Little Gloomy #1
• Serenity Rose #1, 3

TOKYOPOP

• Priest: Purgatory #1(Movie Prequel)

VERTIGO

• Loveless #1,4, 6-18
• Mnemovore #1-6
• Neverwhere #1-5 (Comic adaptati of Neil Gaiman’s novel)
• The Witching #4, 10

WILDSTORM

• Supernatural Origins #1-2
• Texas Chainsaw Massacre #1-2, 5-6

At some point, I was linked to shoedazzle.com, and because I have a very real shoe & bag problem, I signed up. (My best friend is probably gearing up to kick whoever put me on to this site.) I had a credit for the sign up, so for $19.98 I bought a bag that meets all the needs I’ve been looking for!

The only problem I have is that it’s an automatic $39.95 per month on your credit card, unless you manually opt-out. However, in this day and age, how hard is it to set an alert on your phone or calendar to log in and opt-out or order? (I’ll let you know – I am notoriously stupid about that stuff.)

“So how did your order go?” I hear you totally not asking. It went great! (What’s sad is that this is a lot like all the other conversations I have with myself in my head.)

The order was processed, shipped, and delivered on the timeline that I was told to expect. And the packaging was super cute:

The purse even came in a handy pink tote!

It’s totally possible that I clasped my hands to my mouth and giggled. Because that’s how I roll. And the bag is – oh my god – as advertised. It was the size, shape, color and quality described on the website.

Stars in my eyes, y'all.

Wine-colored leather (the photo, sadly, doesn’t quite show the color)! Studs! Zipper closure! It has plenty of room to hold all of my stuff AND it’s a shoulder bag. Is it possible to fall in love with an accessory? Because I think I did.

So we’ll see; I’m super-duper dubious about that whole “opt out or get charged” shenaniganry, but I do love a good deal and this purse was a Good Deal.

Large groups of animals randomly dropping dead for no apparent reason, flooding happening in a variety of countries and Baby Doc Duvalier returning to Haiti… is it the Apocalypse? Scary shit, man.

I’m finding that while folks know about the situation in Queensland (you knew about that, right – that thousands of people are displaced from a massive state in Australia), a lot of folks don’t know about Brazil, the Philippines, Sri Lanka, and South Africa. Or that a flood warning has been issued for both Zimbabwe and Mozambique. It’s a lot.

So while this is ostensibly a link/info dump, it’s also a call for help: if you know of any legitimate relief efforts (one day I’ll talk about how much I loathe scammers that pull shit during disasters – oh wait, I just did) that I haven’t linked to, please drop me a comment with a link.

Australia:

• Christian Science Monitor: “Australia’s flood aftermath on a par with New Orleans”
• BBC: “Australia floods: Victoria town residents told to flee”
• Daily Mail: “Hop on! Snake gives frog a piggy-back to beat Australian floods”
• Donate to the Queensland Government Flood Relief Fund
• Donate to the Queensland RSCPA Flood Relief Fund

The Philippines:

• Google: “Philippines faces more rain as flood deaths mount”
• TIME: “Philippines flood claims 57 lives”

Brazil:

• Bloomberg: “Brazil Cities Hit by Landslides, Floods Will Need $1.2 Billion to Recover”
• Christian Science Monitor: “As Brazil flood death toll rises, so does tide of local volunteers”
• Christian Science Monitor: “Blame game begins in wake of deadly Brazil floods”
• Yahoo! News: “More than 500 dead in Brazil’s worst flood disaster”

Sri Lanka:

• Christian Science Monitor: “Sri Lanka floods provide change for government, Tamil reconciliation”
• Wall Street Journal: “Death toll climbs to 27 in Sri Lanka Floods”
• Donate to UMCOR’s Sri Lanka Relief Fund

South Africa:

• Business Week: “Floods in South Africa Damage Corn, Grape Crops”
• CNN: “Officials say 40 killed in South African floods; more rain predicted”

Zimbabwe:

• Bloomberg: “Zimbabwe Issues Flood Warning as Rains Sweep Southern African Nations”

Mozambique:

• Bloomberg: “Mozambique on Alert for Possible Flooding Along Limpopo River”

While few seem to be doing targeted relief efforts, here are some that do good work throughout the world who are likely to be contributing to the relief effort:

• UMCOR (United Methodist Committee on Relief)
• Oxfam International
• Doctors Without Borders

And just in case there weren’t enough depressing news articles linked above, this blog article by Amber Jamieson, which is very informative, has a bunch more.  This is all just so unbelievably crazy, sad and troubling.

Were those vests ever cool? Luckily, the music is excellent.

I’m not a racist, but I have said racist things.

A decade ago (crap, I’m old), I threw a party at my house. A few hours in, drunk off my ass, I asked two of my black friends if they wanted to listen to some African music. (Yes, really.) My reasons were pure: I really wanted to listen to the Johnny Clegg & Savuka album I had just rediscovered, and they were the two friends sitting closest to me. But the racist implications sat there like a fat dude wearing overalls with a rebel flag patch: I’d asked the only black dudes at the party if they wanted to listen to African tunes. So, despite my intention and because I loved them, I apologized.

I am still being mocked – quite rightly – for this incident. And I still apologize pretty much every time it comes up (and, I admit, I often add an FU to the person who mentions it).

Today, I wound up in a disagreement with a blogger who chose to use the term “the Dark Continent” to describe the African diaspora in a piece about the multicuralism of her neighborhood. When it was pointed out to her that this wording was at best troublesome, and at worst racist, she became immediately defensive and ultimately pulled the “I’m really hurt by the implications and I don’t want to talk about it anymore” routine.

I’m not going to link to the post, because I’m not trying to start a dogpile. But the whole thing got me thinking about racism versus racist statements and about privilege.

I recognize my privilege, and have done so for a long time (big ups – yes, ups – to Lem for teaching me right) – not because I’m better than anyone, but because I listened. I am a middle-class white person. Sure, I’m also a queer woman, which puts me into a couple of minority statuses, but that doesn’t negate the privilege I carry. In college, the only club I came close to joining (though I was never an official member) was ASUBA – the Albany State University Black Association (I know, it’s hilarious – I’m almost the whitest person I know, and yet).

Despite my privilege, there are things I know. I know that my friends get followed around in stores, that white women on the street pull on their purses when they see them, that people still hurl some of the most vile words at them for no reason other than skin pigmentation. But that doesn’t mean I know what it feels like. It doesn’t mean that I will ever understand what my friends of color have gone through and will continue to deal with.

Which means that I don’t get to tell anyone else what they find offensive. And neither do you.

Ultimately, all of that is beside the point; as human beings, we should care about the feelings of other human beings. When our words or deeds hurt other people, we should take responsibility for them. Sometimes it can be hard to muster an apology and to admit that you were wrong.  But at the end of the day, a lot of conflict can be solved by saying, “I’m sorry. My intent was never to harm, and I regret that I did.”

Making a racist comment doesn’t have to mean that you’re a racist. Refusing to reconsider the remark and apologize does. An apology isn’t a sign of weakness, it’s a demonstration of strength.

Bernard and Slim, I’m still sorry. I didn’t mean to cause offense, and I’m sorry that I did.

I went, now you try it. And check out some African music in the meantime.