Despite my good intentions, I may have to change the look around here sooner than expected. I am, without a doubt, the world’s worst dieter. Reasons for this are twofold:

Reason #1:
Though I may profess otherwise, my actions tend to speak of a mentality along the lines of “If you screw up, go all the way.” It’s a good thing I lost my virginity to my husband or you might find me on a street corner somewhere today. Case in point: Today I fudged (how’s that for a bad diet pun) and ate TWO MEALS instead of my allowed “1 sensible meal (400-600 calories) per day” ration. Because frankly, I am SO TIRED of chocolate “shakes” and think they have no business being called “meal replacements.” And my second meal was PIZZA.

So, naturally, in my state of guilt afterward, I sent my husband to CVS for Peanut Butter M&M’s. See? I’m surprised I didn’t make a DQ Blizzard run as well. I can totally feel my lovehandles coming back though.

Reason #2:
I have an unfounded phobia of hunger. I don’t know where it came from, it’s not as though I’ve ever been deprived of food. And yet, at the end of my “1 sensible meal (400-600 calories) per day” I have this mini-panic attack where I start thinking That was it. That was all the food I get for the next TWENTY FOUR HOURS!

Cue Feeding Frenzy Freak-Out, where I think I have to eat all the food within a 5 mile radius because it will be TWENTY FOUR HOURS UNTIL MY NEXT DECENT MEAL, despite the fact that:

1. This is not a starvation diet…I get “shakes” and meal replacements and (albeit not-so-appetizing) nutrients galore
2. 24 hours doesn’t exactly count as a life-threatening fast

I don’t know where my hunger phobia came from, but I know I’ve always had it. I think it was the sole reason I avoided anorexia in high school. I was discussing it with J the other day and he couldn’t figure it out. See, he actually had times growing up where there was literally NO FOOD, where they would eat things like “ketchup soup” for dinner because there were no other options. And he doesn’t have this problem.

I, on the other hand, who have never been deprived of food, vividly recall ordering 12″ Subway sandwiches through middle and part of high school - not because I actually wanted to eat that much but out of fear that if I only ordered a 6″ I would reach the end of the meal and still be hungry. And then it would be too late.

Now I never think about ordering more than 6″ but I had to do a lot of mental training to get to that point.

“That’s why we get along so well,” says J. “You’d be satisfied with 6″ but when it’s a few inches bigger you’re really happy.”

or “Why I’m the Biggest Dork Alive Vol. #17″

I was my own Southwest Airlines commercial tonight.

I was invited to a “Spa Party,” which I was looking forward to as it fits nicely with my self-indulgence motif. The host’s house is approximately 45 minutes away, so I made sure to leave in plenty of time to get there by 7pm, allowing for “lost time,” and made it almost exactly on time. I was, however, a little curious as to why there were no cars parked outside and the porch light wasn’t on.

The host’s husband answered the door and it took him a few seconds to recognize who this woman was, standing in his doorway looking so expectantly. He gives me a polite, but confused “hi” and then she comes to the door.

When she sees the slightly bewildered look on my face, she makes a pretty good guess at why I’m here.

“It’s tomorrow night.”

“It’s…what??? Tomorrow night?”

“Yeah.” She’s giving me that look that says Stupid people are so cute.

“Are you sure???” I ask. Apparently there is some small part of my delusional mind that actually believes I know more about her party than she does. Like I’m expecting her to say Oh, actually come to think of it, you’re right - it was tonight and EVERYBODY BUT YOU GOT IT WRONG.

“Yeah. …Do you… want to come in?”

“Tomorrow night? What is today?”

“Tuesday.”

“And it’s tomorrow night?”

“Tomorrow night.”

“Tomorrow night?”

Um…We’re just about to sit down to dinner - are you hungry? You could stay and have dinner with us.”

I look past her to see that they are apparently having company. My face turns about 3 shades of red.

“Um…no, thanks. I’ll… be going…now…So it’s tomorrow night?”

“Yeah, are you free tomorrow?”

“I don’t know…I hadn’t even thought about tomorrow night until…now.”

Suddenly, I realize what happened. Another friend of mine was having a party on Tuesday night. I mumble some explanation about Other Party…Tuesday…Jewelry…I’ll be going now…

“You’re welcome to stay for dinner - or are you going to see if you can make it to the other party?”

Actually, the other party was last Tuesday, and I wasn’t able to go. For some reason, the day “Tuesday” stuck with me and I guess I had transferred it over to this party. But in addition to seeming like overkill, that much explanation would probably make her think I had just gotten off the crazy bus. Instead, I just muttered something along the lines of “yes.” And then I left, pausing briefly to scrape my sense of pride off the doormat.

I’ve been on a roll recently with humiliating myself at other people’s houses. Maybe I should just stay home tomorrow night.

It appears that Little Button has unfortunately inherited my facial recognition skills…or lack thereof. I can watch the same actor in 3 different movies and as long as his hair is different, I have no idea it’s the same person.

I have people come up to me frequently in group situations and call me by name. Knowing my inability to remember faces, I pretend to know them as well. Then after the conversation is over, I ask J who the heck that was. The response is usually something like “You just talked to them for an hour last week in church.”

Button is convinced that everybody with a beard is J. She’ll point to any picture of any man with a beard and proclaim “Daddo!” Oh, and she’s also decided that the bust of Beethoven on my parents’ piano is “Daddo!” too.

She also thinks that pretty much anybody with long hair is “Mama!” She recently spent half a day pointing out Mama! on the back of the Triscuits box (Rachel Ray). Mama! has also been known to grace the Pampers diaper box… despite the fact that I have not, at any point in her lifetime, been a blonde.

So, I’m wondering… what happens when I cut my hair? I’m really not a long-hair person. The only reason I have it is because I’m too friggin’ lazy to get my hair cut more than once a year. So when I finally get it whacked…will my daughter cease to recognize me? Will she go running from me, into the arms of Rachel Ray or the nearest neighbor with long tresses (which in this neighborhood is likely to be a guy)?

I guess we’ll find out eventually.

I have ISD. I’ve had it since approximately 6 months before J and I got married.

I’ll do the math for you: for past 6 years, I’ve felt defective and he’s been in a constant state of sexual frustration.

We have a great relationship. We get along fabulously and couldn’t be better matched for each other in terms of personality, sense of humor, ideals, etc.

But my ISD has always kind of been the elephant in the room. He tries to be understanding, but he’s the one that’s “normal.” I try to be accommodating, but I can’t fake something I don’t feel.

I used to misdiagnose it as different things - paranoia about privacy, physical oversensitivity, stress. I remember the days when my drive was normal …now I would give my left arm for a day of feeling “hot and bothered.”

I don’t think it’s a coincidence that my problem started when I started birth control. I’ve tried several different brands of BC in the hopes of finding different hormone levels that wouldn’t affect my sex drive… to no avail.  I even tried getting off the pill for a several-month stretch, but it didn’t really seem to help. And then I got pregnant. Which also didn’t help.

And now I think it’s getting worse. I used to be able to enjoy a good love scene in a movie. Now I find myself fighting the desire to roll my eyes. And I hate myself for it.

I read today that anemia can be a cause of reduced desire. I’d never heard that before. I’m anemic. Perhaps I should start taking those iron pills more diligently.

We’re being somewhat non-traditional this year and I’m not sure how I feel about it. On some scales, tradition is very important to me. It’s a way to connect to years past and people I may not have ever met. A little bit of history, lived out in the present. It’s something to look forward to every year, and reminisce about years before.

On the other hand, there are times when I tire of formality and doing things just because they have always been done that way. For instance, one year J and I and his immediate family decided to scratch the gift-giving thing (for the most part) and run off to Canada to stay at the Four Seasons hotel for Christmas - then we enjoyed Boxing Day afterward. That was a fun way to escape the monotony of Christmas Day, and the crowds of pre-Christmas shopping.

Although I will say that the pre-Christmas crowds have got nothing on the Boxing Day crowds. The stores quickly exceed their fire code limit on the number of people permitted inside, so you have to take a number and wait in line just to get IN. And for all the hype, the “great deals” on Boxing Day aren’t really that great.  I think my grand total of loot for the day was a sweater.

This year we aren’t forgoing the traditions lived out each year, generation after generation. We’re mostly forgoing the traditions we set ourselves.

We’re not sending out Christmas Cards/Newsletters. That has been something I have been religious about most years. This year I find that I just don’t want to spend the money and energy writing, printing pictures, putting them all together, addressing, etc.

We have no lights outside. I’m sure the neighbors are beginning to think that we don’t ever celebrate a holiday. Christmas is the only holiday we have ever taken the trouble to decorate for, and we’re not even doing that.

We don’t have any decorations on the inside either. Last year was our first Christmas in this house, and I probably single-handedly supported the commercial holiday industry by bringing home 500 tons of Christmas decorations over the course of the season. This year they are all in boxes in a closet.

We’re not having a Christmas Party. This was a tradition we started last year because we finally had a house worth inviting people over to and really enjoy hosting parties. We had a great turnout last year and loved seeing all our friends and family and with the exception of a flying pot of cyder and some mysterious sticky stuff that ended up on the carpet, it went smoothly and was nothing but fun. Unfortunately, this year we just couldn’t afford it and presents. So we opted for presents.

We’re not getting a tree. Mostly because we have a 1-year-old that likes to remove objects from their place and distribute them around the floor, and a dog that likes to confiscate anything he finds on the floor and chew it into itty bitty pieces. I have no interest in walking in to find that all the glass ornaments hanging at the bottom 3 feet of the tree have been stripped off, and distributed in tiny shards around the house.

There will be no array of presents spread about the base of the tree, because a) no tree, and b) our 1-year-old also likes to dismantle wrapped gifts. All presents will be securely stowed out of reach and probably transferred to my parents’ house for safekeeping.

For the time being, none of these changes really bother me. I just hope that when we’re sitting around on Christmas Eve, I don’t start to wish I was curled up on the couch with my hot chocolate, staring at the twinkle of a tree, and basking in the glow of 10,000 little lights strung up around the house (inside and out); stockings hanging over the fireplace and a warm and peaceful aura all around. That’s one of my favorite parts of Christmas and this year it won’t be happening.

So, I’m curious - is anybody else out there a traditionist at heart?  Do you have any annual traditions that will be going by the wayside this year?