My Sex & The City I

I have nothing to blog about. Seriously. So here’s the other confession of the SushiVogueGirl – I’m obsessed with The Sex and The City.

I don’t know where to start explaining my fascination; so I just write some random things that come into my mind considering the exquisite series.

The final season and especially the last two episodes of Sex and the City was a fashion spectacular! Partly because it was the final season and Pat Field obviously wanted to go out with a WOW. Partly because the last two episodes were shot in Haute Couture heaven – Paris. And partly to make it the most unforgettable ending to the most unforgettable show.

For today’s Daily Ruffle I am sharing my love of this TV show and I picked one of the most iconic dresses of the show – THE DRESS OF A THOUSAND LAYERS. Carrie wears this Versace masterpiece in the last episode of the show while she’s waiting for Petrovsky in her very expensive hotel suite in romantic Paris. Retailing at $79000 this exquisite ball gown made up of layers and layers of delicate tulle and ruffles in a dreamy sea-foam/soft grey/gentle teal (the colors are just too deep to only give one) made my heart skip a beat.

 

While I’m revisiting my Sex and the City mania … didn’t you just love this moment when Carrie told The Russian about slipping in Dior:

Carrie: I fell. I fell in Dior. So I decided that the more I purchased the less they’d think of me as the American who fell in Dior.

Aleksandr : They don’t think like that.

Carrie: Well, not anymore they don’t. This is the shopping equivalent of a lobotomy.

Oh I’ll watch it again…

Does Skinny Connote Having an ED?

Today I wore black. I love this color. Other than, black makes me look skinny. Today, once again I was asked about having an eating disorder: Anorexia! I said “No! I’m an ex-bulimic. I’m in recovery” The curious person “You can’t be. You are too skinny for bulimic”

REALLY?

Why do people make such strong assumptions about other people? This is particularly annoying when you do not know someone. Take for example, an individual who is naturally skinny. There are just those skinny people in society. People who eat shitloads and they have no muscle mass and they’re boney and skinny. Why people judge about eating disorders based on appearance. Nothing is further from reality here except maybe what your ED head may be telling you. There are fat anorexics and there are skinny bulimics. There are binge eaters who never become overweight. THEY ALL STILL SUFFER NONE THE LESS. Also it seems other people (with active eating disorders) will walk by a skinny girl and then starve for a day. I was doing it. I promise. Now I eat a lot, by it I mean way more than 2000 calories per day, some days even WAY WAY WAY more. I am gaining weight – mostly muscle, because I lift weight and I lift heavy. I’m no way anorexic. I’m just lean. So why do others care so much? Why behind every skinny girl there should be an eating disorder? Isn’t it selfish, or self-centered?

Come on, people, separate yourself from your disordered mind and get on with life.

Also, today I made the most delicious chicken. I know my vegan friends will not approve, but damn, I like the bird. So there is a picture of my creation: chicken, zucchini and paprika - scrumptious!

So, what do you think about skinny people? Do you suspect them to have an ED of any kind?

Today I Cried

Have you ever noticed how life oftentimes seems to turn out backwards and sideways, upside down and inside out? When you finally have time to see your friends you then realize that you actually are too tired to call anyone or drive anywhere and end up staying home alone. Then when you have money in your wallet and head to the store to buy something cute, nothing fits or is left in your size and you walk away with nothing. Then you feel depressed so call your friends to hopefully help you get out of your funk but then everyone already has plans. And on it goes…

Today I cried. I haven’t done it since my early recovery days, when I just wanted to binge. Yes. I CRIED. I wanted it so bad, but just couldn’t do it anymore. There was no way back. And it helped!

Today I cried too. Not because I wanted the food, I just felt lonely. And I felt so much better after it.

Do you know why you’ll feel better after you cry: Have you ever gotten a canker sore in your mouth and your mom has had you rinse with warm salt water? Do you know why it helps to put salt in the water? Because salt has a healing agent in it. Similarly, I think when we experience healing when we cry because very purposely we have salt in our tears for a reason…to heal! (At least that’s my theory, which is my fancy way of saying it’s my opinion!). And if we can cry with someone rather than alone it really does help us feel loved while we’re releasing the intensity inside, even if the person we’re venting to is on the other end of the phone and not actually sitting with us. So go ahead. Cry!

And then I celebrated the national pasta day (thank you, for reminding this, Nicole) with sushi

and wine!

So what do you do on those days where things seem to squish out in every direction but the direction you want?

Numbers

I went shopping yesterday.

Yay!

I found a wonderful pencil skirt, got my size and freaked out!!! It did not fit! I got bigger! I rushed out of the store, got my coffee and thought of what has just happened.

Every time I had weighted myself I saw the number going up the scale. I hated it, I cursed – but I knew that it’s the recovery – I suppose to gain some weight. On the contrary my clothes had always fit. ALWAYS. Even when I went up 10 pounds. Yesterday I had faced the new number of my size. Damn. Yet again it became all about the numbers which I had been trying to avoid in my healing. I had stopped counting calories. It’s only a week that I had ditched the scales, and today it was the size – and I despised it yet again. Numbers are an interesting thing in eating disorder land. Numbers end up taking on a life of their own here. Between numbers on the scale, numbers of calories, and numbers on jeans, it’s an insane kind of bondage to digits that fuel an eating disorder.

Haven’t we all been there in some way, shape, or form where the numbers drive our happiness, peace or sense of well-being?

I don’t want to get caught up in the numbers game but somehow once those numbers are in my head they just don’t leave. It’s such a double bind because on one hand the numbers help me feel in control; for example  knowing what the scale reads or exactly how many calories I’m putting in my mouth or what size jeans still fit, but in the end the numbers end up controlling me. It’s almost like the numbers come alive and have power over me and then I become enslaved to them.

How could I ever be free from numbers? Is it even possible? Are you free? Share, please.

And join me for some coffee.

Just random thoughts

I’m having some awfully busy weeks lately.

I have no time for anything. Yesterday I canceled my nail appointment!!! I have never done it even in my worst bulimia days. There: I have it – issues with the time management. Any suggestions on that?..

Besides; this whole week was about going or not going to Africa in a week… I had my arguments, but I couldn’t convince my BF to cancel the trip. Why? Remember my “Bikini Fear”

I think never feeling “pretty enough” is something I have struggled with my whole life. When my eating disorder became my escape, I started blaming my feelings of inadequacy on my imperfect body. Now I am really seeing how much not feeling good enough has impacted my life in all areas and it doesn’t have anything to do with my body, no matter how much (even to this day) I want to believe that it does.

It’s so senseless to allow my insecurities to take over right now.

I’m sooooo much better :)

However I’m going. We are going. Sandy beaches; the Red sea here I come

So despite my idiotic thoughts and the lack of time I’m preparing for my Sushi Vogue Night. This is ready

I just need to go grab The magazine J and I’m all set!

How do you operate your time?

Dreadful Monday

On Mondays I weigh myself.

I step on the scale see those numbers and I curse out loud. Fuckfuckfuckfuck. FUCK!

I get depressed and rethink my food choices promising myself to “do better” this week...

Why do I keep doing it to myself?!.

This morning I realise - those numbers mean NOTHING and it is time to remove them from my life forever!

Whether I see “good numbers” or “bad numbers” when I step onto that scale I experience a substantial increase in anxiety levels and urges to either binge or restrict; and restricting always leads to further bingeing in the end.

Today rethinking all that ugly Monday process I realized that in recovery I don’t need a scale to measure my progress.

I mean, my well-being, confidence and energy levels have exceedingly improved.  And they are the true indicators of the progress that I am making. All continually checking my weight keeps me trapped in those obsessive and compulsive thought patterns.

At the start of my recovery I decided to weigh myself once a week. Only once - on Mondays.

Today I’ve undestood that even though I was only checking my weight once a week I remain a slave to those numbers. I still use them for comfort and I know I would never really recover while I am so dependent on them.

 So today I took a bigger plunge.

I gave the batteries of my digital scale to my BF and told him to hide them. Forever. It was hard. Painful. Scary.
Thus I’m freeing myself from the scale today and celebrating it with this (the dinner) 

and this

Did or when you stopped weighting yourself?

Children...

Yesterday I and my boy had attended our friends’ baby christening. There were lots of food, fun, laughter and children. All of our friends have kids, hoards, and hoards of kids. Which is just awesome for them, and I am not envious one bit.

I must have been injected with a vaccine for baby-fever because kids aren’t in my cards. Yet.

I’ve never really wanted kids since I was little and everyone always said “You’ll change your mind one day.”
Well, I’m 34, my BF is 35 and he feels the same way. I have had people tell me I am selfish for not wanting a child.
Really?!
It pushes my buttons, this little old baby topic. I am not naive enough to say never, god knows what I’ll think tomorrow, let alone years from now. It drives me nuts that people my age assume all women want children.

Apparently not all of us do.

I hate the sad, pitying looks I get from people when I express this view, and the “Life is SO much better” line.

Plus there is that big looming question out there: “What will you do when your 50 and regret NOT having a kid?!”

Well, the fact of the matter is I don’t know what I’ll do as I can’t predict what my feelings will be in 12 years. Can you?

What’s your take on children? Please answer that.