An Unbiased (Not Really) Account of 'The Bachelor' Women

When I watch a reality TV show, especially one such as The Biggest Loser, I often try to analyze the contestants to figure out why they act the way they do and maybe unearth some underlying insecurities or issues. I know. I’m that good.

So, when I tried to do the same with the contestants on this season of The Bachelor, I was instead faced with the task of trying to console myself that I am not like these women. I am not. I promise.

As I watch the women shriek, scream, and giggle uncontrollably whenever Jake says “hi”, I can’t help but wonder why women act so stupid around good looking guys. Granted, I act like a numpty when I have to talk to a good looking guy as I can’t even put a sentence together, but that’s a topic for my therapist to work on (once I find one to talk to me – they never return my calls), and I don’t want to take any work away from him or her by self-analyzing.

I am actually embarrassed to be a woman when they start screaming and running everywhere, most recently toward a big bus. It is a BUS. Or towards the water. Or towards the bar (wait, no, I can understand that one). My point, however, is that there is no need to scream and run and jump with joy at every God damn thing that happens.

And playing hide and seek? I don’t even play that anymore, and I played kid games a lot longer than was considered normal for kids my age.

The only reason I could understand their actions is if these women are just perpetually drunk. I sure as hell would be. They seem to have access to unlimited alcohol, and I know for a fact that I would spend my time beside the pool with a huge bottle of wine and a smutty novella that details all the good stuff. Screw getting to know the other contestants. Who the hell cares about being best friends with the other women when you’re secretly hoping that the skinny bitch in the size two bikini puts on 50 pounds and develops incurable acne all in one night? I put a lot of energy into hating pretty, skinny girls, and I sure as hell wouldn’t throw that hard work away just to gush over a man with them on TV. No. I would spend my time making up stories about Candy’s liposuction and Britney’s Botox injections. Is that bitchy? Maybe. But that’s how I’d play the game when I wasn’t winning Jake over with my wit, intelligence, and Hollywood worthy good looks.

I can’t help but wonder if these women are as mortified about their actions as I am when they watch the show. But, since I’ve never been in this situation (and never will be, because you have to provide your weight to apply, and we all know that my self-proclaimed 120 lbs looks different in real life), I’ll give them the benefit of the doubt.

There must be something about the California sun, warm weather, and sexy smile of Jake’s that make these women’s brains turn to mush. So he rides a motorcycle, wears a really hot pilot uniform, and has a great body. Okay, and he has a sexy Southern accent. He’s not THAT great. Not that I wouldn’t try to seduce him with the promise of alcohol and sexual favours if I ever met him. But I’d rather use that magic (it would take all I have) on Gerard Butler.

Love,

Bella

Let's Reflect, Shall We?

So. New decade. Who's excited?

I used to be the resolution type, but then I used to be an extremely optimistic, cheerful person. Things change. Why make resolutions when, let's be honest, they're usually broken by the end of January? (To all of you who are thinking, "But I keep my resolutions all year!": goody for you. Go celebrate with a celery stick). I can think of better things to be doing at the start of a year than killing myself at the gym, starving myself of my favourite foods, or trying to be nice to every single person I meet. Please. I spent my New Year's Day sleeping off a hangover and eating copious amounts of chocolate. Suck it, resolutions.

With my strong dislike for my job and general discontent with where I am in my life, I've been spending the beginning of 2010 "reflecting". Not about one specific thing, and not even about just me, but about everything that affects me and the people around me.

I don't want to say that I've had an epiphany about life, because I don't believe in epiphanies. Those are what happen at the end of movies where the characters realize what their lives mean, and then they live happily ever after. I love those movies. But life isn't like that. Epiphanies in reality are simply moments of clarity that come when you think enough about your life to realize that some things need to change.

In my current situation, I've had a lot of time to think about happiness. Sure, there's "sunshine and rainbows" happy, but whoever is that happy is either on some strong drugs (and, if that's the case, I want some) or they're faking it. Either way, they're really bloody annoying. I think a lot of people get the impression that I'm a bitter and cynical person, but I'm not. Sure, I'm unhappy with some things in my life, but I know that I have it good and I'm grateful for that.

Thing is, life is too damn short to be REALLY unhappy. I've been there, and it's like a personal hell. Waking up every day wondering what the point of living is isn't really an ideal mindset to be in. Now that I'm out of that, I want to live my life as full and as happy as I can. I could settle with what I have now and play it safe, but that's not something that I want to do. I want to travel, have amazing experiences, meet wonderful people, do something that I love and get paid for it, and have passionate relationships that maybe won't last forever but will leave me with fabulous memories for the rest of my life.

When I look to the future, I can't really see what it'll be like, because when I try to figure out who I am and what I'm meant to do, I don't honestly know who or what the answer is. And I think that's okay. I'm still young, and it's exciting to think that I have all these options (once I figure out what options I want to take).

So, ask yourself...are you happy? When you think about your life, who you spend it with, what you're doing, and who you surround yourself with, is it what you want? The people in your life make or break it, so I know that, in any relationship that I'm in, I want to love the person that I'm with so much that it hurts. Sure, there's a great chance of having my heart broken, but I've been so afraid of that in the past that I've never gone after the guy that I really want. I don't want to live my life with "what if's". That doesn't mean that I'm going to go after him right now, because I'm a major coward when it comes to that, but I am going to stop shutting myself off towards him and stop hoping to God that he doesn't realize my feelings for him. That's not going to get me anywhere with him or with anyone else in my life.

Tell people how you feel. Fall in love. Get hurt. It'll probably make you stronger and happier with yourself in the end. If you're not happy, do something about it. Don't live with stress and tension, because it affects your life and the lives of those around you. Work your stuff out with people that you have stuff to work out with. Do yourself a favour - create your own definition of happy and be the example of it. Go for what you want, in any capacity, and change what you're unhappy with. And don't be complacent. You are the only person in charge of your own happiness, so figure out what will make YOU happy and make that your focus. Your future self will thank you for it.

Love,

Bella

Hypocritical Slogans

We've all heard, in some form or another, the constant bashing of non-Canadian made products, especially in the latest manufacturing economical disaster in Ontario. The auto sector is arguably the largest part of this, with General Motors and Chrysler standing on an uneasy surface a few months back. This has brought about the abundant "Made in Canada Matters" slogan; which, in my opinion, it definitely does!
In Canada, we are blessed to have wages that are well above the world average, and we have human rights and labour laws, just to name a few.

Being part of the manufacturing sector for nearly five years now (2 in a "box factory" and just over 3 in "The Motors"), I think I have at least a tiny understanding on where things like this slogan stem from. The autoworkers get portrayed as the money-hungry jerks of the universe, but I dare anyone to spend even 4 hours in a factory, not even an automotive one, and tell me those guys don't deserve the money. There are tons of other jobs out there that get more money than autoworkers, do less, and get less flack.

Okay - now that I am pleasantly off topic, let's get back on track.
People have adopted this "Made in Canada Matters" campaign in full force (or so it seems). BUT - do they actually understand it? Some people do, others don't. I have found that some of the autoworkers do not even understand it. What am I getting at here? I get so frustrated when I see a "Made in Canada Matters" bumper magnet on, for example, a Chevrolet Cavalier.

There is a difference between a made in Canada, and made by a "Canadian"/North American company. The Chevy Cavalier was made in the US, but also in Mexico. They were never made in Canada. Another common one that makes me want to scream is the Chevy HHR (the PT Cruiser look-a-like). The HHR is also made in Mexico, but yet people seem to put "Made in Canada Matters" magnets on it. It doesn't make sense! Either people are just plain ignorant, or they think that they can be a hypocrite because noone else will know the difference. Maybe they won't, especially if they are not involved with the auto sector or know something about the origins of products. People just assume that because a company headquarters is stationed in a particular country that all of their products are made there. The Chevrolet Optra is actually made in Asia (YES! And it's still GM!). Some Optra drivers are also guilty of showing a proud "Made in Canada Matters" magnet. Get a grip.

Thank you to the many Chevy Impala, Ford Edge, Ford Flex, Dodge Caravan, and Pontiac Grand Prix (2004-2008) owners who actually use this slogan correctly!

Since the Canadian and American economies are so tightly bound (as is, really, the rest of the world) maybe the slogan should be something like "Made in North America Matters". It would make more sense; when sales in the U.S. dropped drastically, we here at the Oshawa plant were laid off. When the U.S. started up a Cash for Clunkers campaign, we had Saturdays of overtime booked to keep up with demand.
Personally, if a product is made in the U.S. it is still far better than something that has had to come thousands of miles across the sea from workers who make an absurb amount of money to support their families, and who have to endure impossible working conditions.

I am by no means trying to say that everything I have said here is right, but it is something that I feel is escalating and deserved some attention.

For a listing of products (clothing, restaurants, cars, etc.) that are "Made in Canada," the link is here.

Oh...also, MERRY CHRISTMAS!

- Heidi

Saying Goodbye

I never thought that saying goodbye to a family pet could be so heart breaking. My wonderful little dog, Broedie, passed away last night at 15 years old. He was one of the best dogs in the world - the best, if I have anything to say about it - and I consider myself and my family so lucky to have had the privilege of being Broedie's family for the past 15 years.

When we went to pick out a dog at the breeder's, our aim was to find a female dog and name her Hannah. We had one picked out, but it was Broedie who decided that no, we would not be taking Hannah. We wanted him and he was determined to make that known. He took hold of the towel we brought for Hannah with all of our scents on it and attached himself to us. That was it; he was ours.

He was so easy to train, was never yappy, and was always there to make me smile and laugh. When he was a baby, he was so small that going down the stairs was a daunting task for him, so he stood at the top of them and barked until we rescued him from the top. As he got older and going down stairs proved to be too difficult on his little body, he would start with a sneeze that would again escalate into a bark if we weren't moving fast enough to come and assist him.

I loved that little guy more than I thought it was possible to love a dog. I took every opportunity I had to kiss his head and cuddle him up, so much so that he probably got tired of it after a while. Grandma and Grandpa Bella had custody of Broedie during the week, while we got him on the weekends, so that he was never left alone for long periods of time. He was the most loved dog ever. He ruled the roost, so to speak, and we all catered to his needs. He was such a good boy that it just seemed natural. Even my seven year old self's relentless cuddles and fussing didn't deter him. His love was unconditional, as was mine for him.

He had his blanket - his girlfriend, as we dubbed it - that he loved to play with, and he and I spent countless hours playing tug of war and just "fighting" in general with it. Whenever he came home from my grandparents', he was in a fighting mood. I would come up the stairs and his little body would start to shake and his tail would wag as he crouched down in attacking position. I loved to cover him with his blanket and watch him try to get out, lifting up his blanket just a little so that his tiny, sniffling nose would peak out. My favourite thing to do was go up to him really slowly and act like I was going to grab him so that he would bark and jump around like crazy.

If Broedie happened to get really excited and try to take a bite, any connection he made was followed by his immediately slacked jaw and lick to the hand. I loved it. I always made sure to give his back a good scratch whenever I saw him because, aside from his belly, that was his favourite place to be scratched, and he rewarded me with a kiss every time (and then I had to reward him - for what, I don't know - with a treat).

Treats - or t-r-e-a-t's - were his favourite thing. We had to spell it out while he could still hear, because saying it meant that he HAD to get one. He wouldn't leave us alone until he did. Actually, all he had to do was look at me with those big brown eyes and he would get whatever he wanted.

Whenever I felt down or sad, he could always lift my spirits. His contentment - shown through little sighs or tiny licks of his lips - made me content. Even as his health got worse over time, he was always there to make me laugh or smile. He was a trooper right until the very end, still trying to play and act like himself. Not only was he the cutest little puppy in the world, he was also the best. We really lucked out that Broedie wanted us to be his family.

Losing him has been one of the hardest things that I've had to experience, though his passing was very peaceful and he just went to sleep. Grandpa and Momma Bella and I were there with him as the vet administered the drug, and I know that he knew he was really loved. He will live in our hearts forever and I will never forget him or what a fantastic, loveable, wonderful little "brother" he was.

I'll love you forever, Bubby. Sleep tight, sweetheart.

Snow: A Blessing or a Tragedy?

Do you remember that glorious, white, undeniably beautiful, white stuff we call snow? Well, it’s back for another Canadian winter, though a little bit later than I would have liked. Who doesn’t like snow? Well, sure, I know some people who despise it for various reasons (i.e. driving, the frigid cold, having to dress warmly)... but I always brushed it off saying it was a lame reason to dislike the amazing form of precipitation. If you haven’t noticed, for me, snow is the gift from the Gods.

I have now experienced first-hand one group of individuals that DESERVE to dislike the snow: teachers. Personally, I believe that it takes a special type of person to be a teacher (i.e. one who can put up with 20 kids running around, tattling on their “best friend”, and later hiding under desks...but let’s not get into that bit of the profession). The kids themselves take on an entire dynamic that makes the career a neverending maze with new turns. Snow, however, is possibly the teacher’s worst nightmare.

We had our first bit of snow yesterday (Monday, December 7) while the students were learning about subtraction in math. Now, let’s do some critical thinking here: do you think the students actually learned about subtraction? Or did they possibly add up the amount of snowflakes coming down in the student-claimed ‘blizzard’ that was occurring outside? If you guessed the latter, you are correct, minus the adding up of snowflakes. It was more like, “Miss Harrison! Miss Harrison! Did you know that it is snowing? Did you know that there is a BLIZZARD going on outside? At recess I’m going to make a snowman!”

If I could have turned myself into a snowman, maybe, just MAYBE those students would have heard one single word that I said instead of staring out the window. I am going out on a pretty sturdy limb here, and am going to say that snow is the direct cause for students turning into complete unfocused, wall-climbing...students. It is like sugar that kids just have to see in order to feel the immediate effect.

This morning I was informed 15 minutes before the morning bell rang that my teacher was sick and was not coming in. Instead, a supply teacher would be in, but since I have been here for 2 weeks I was asked if I could teach the entire day. I had to teach the entire class today for the wholeeee day; not just the math and media lesson I had to have planned for the afternoon.

Snow covered the ground this morning. The kids were bonkers – you would have thought that Santa himself made himself visible on the school roof that very morning for all to see.

We’re supposed to get a huge snow storm tonight. There is rumour that my teacher will be away tomorrow, too. I may call in dead. FML

A very stressed Heidi

‘Tis the CHRISTMAS Season

Given that my place of work is getting into the Christmas spirit with decorating and carol singing, I wanted to look into the issue that people of different faiths have with Christmas being the prominent holiday among all of the others around this time of year.

One of my colleagues is in the work choir and, despite being able to sing Christmas carols, they have to leave out the line “war is over” in John Lennon’s popular Christmas tune “Happy Xmas (War is Over)”. Really? I am well aware that there are still wars being fought around the world and in no way do I think that we should be oblivious to that fact, but this song was written many years ago to protest the Vietnam War. It’s a Christmas song, people, and it’s from a different time. Be happy that that particular war IS over.

I definitely think that everyone should be proud of who they are and where they come from. I certainly am. I’m very proud that Canada is seen as a safe haven, and I am happy that we give those who are running from volatile lives some freedom.

The problem, though, is that so many immigrants expect to live the same way in Canada as they did in their home country, and Canada bends over backwards trying to let them. This isn’t India, Pakistan, China, or Afghanistan, to name a few. We celebrate different things here and we have a different language and different laws. If they want to come here, then accept Canadian culture (or what is left of it) and adapt. In a predominantly Muslim country, for example, I would conform to the custom of covering my head and face in public (I wouldn’t even have to wear makeup!) and I certainly wouldn’t object to not having Christmas celebrated because I know that Christmas isn’t their major holiday.

Canada is a primarily Christian country – a majority of people claim to be Christians and, therefore, celebrate CHRISTmas. Others are free to believe in and celebrate whatever they want – that’s what makes living in Canada so wonderful. But it’s a different story when people make a huge fuss about Christmas being publicized and act they’ve been insulted to the nth degree. I would like to tell those people to go back home where their religion is the major faith if they want to celebrate their holiday.

It’s ridiculous how Canadians are so accommodating to the minority when they complain that Christmas celebrations are discriminatory or whatever their problem is. This is CANADA. We celebrate Christmas – we have for years and we will continue to do so for many years to come.

Listen. People don’t have to agree with our customs, our beliefs, and our celebrations. All I ask is that they are respected, and that people respect that things are different here. Well, and I also ask that please, for all that is Holy in this world, learn our bloody language.

Love,

Bella

Organ Donation Should Be Assumed Unless Otherwise Stated

I’ve been reading a couple of blogs lately that detail the struggles and triumphs of those affected with Cystic Fibrosis (CF).

A few weeks ago, I came across an article in the Toronto Star that detailed a blog written by CF fighter Natalia Ritchie (pictured with her daughter, Scarlett). She not only writes about her disease and its effects on a personal level, but also about her new baby (born with a surrogate), so that her daughter would be able read about her mom if Natalia didn’t receive her new lungs, by way of a double lung transplant, in time. (During my reading, I’ve decided that, at some point in my life, I want to be a surrogate. I also wanted to give Natalia my lungs, but I didn’t really think that through…)

After reading only a couple of her posts, I was hooked on Natalia’s story of her trials and tribulations, her zest for life, and her unconditional love for her family. She has become a true inspiration to me because she lives her life so fully and is determined to fight this disease to the very end. It would be so easy for her to become depressed and give in to the pain, but she stays strong for her family, her daughter, and her husband.

Recently, Natalia had taken a turn for the worse and was admitted to ICU at Toronto General Hospital and, through her blog, her family and friends were updating Natalia’s “web supporters” about the different options that were available to keep Natalia alive.

Of course, the best possible option would be a double lung transplant. (One of the most inspiring things about Natalia is that, while she prayed that she would get healthy, she never once prayed for lungs, knowing full well that someone’s life would have to end in order for hers to continue. That is amazing – I would think that it’d be so easy to purely focus on the chance of new lungs and detach from the idea that a donor would have to die in order for her to receive those lungs).

On Saturday, I logged onto her blog (then being written by a family friend) to see that she had received the call that lungs were available. I didn’t think I could be so relieved for someone that I had never met. Since then, I’ve been logging on her site as much as possible for updates, and so far she is doing well. To think that she will actually get to be a mother to her daughter and have many more years with her husband as a result of organ donation is truly incredible.

I’ve always opted for organ donation, as have most members of my immediate family. The thing is, organ donation has never been front and centre with me because it has never affected me personally. This is not to say that Natalia’s story is in any way personal to me as I have never met her, but I’ve become invested in her journey and her health – her character and her journey has touched me so much that I now am determined to spread the word about organ donation.

I focus here on CF because of Natalia and Ronnie Sharpe - whose story and blog are truly inspiring for those with CF, and also for those without - but there are so many other diseases that people must endure and that can be cured or, if not, then lessened, by organ donation.

Both Natalia and Ronnie feel blessed by their disease because it has given them the opportunity to love life and change the lives of others through their optimism. I want to join in that attempt to change the lives of others by advocating organ donation. Let me ask you this: what are you going to do with your perfectly good organs if, God forbid, you die? You can’t use them anymore, so why not donate them to someone who can? Saving one life through the death of another is one of the most powerful gifts that can be given by a human being, and modern day science can make it happen if people take the time to sign their donor cards and/or express their wishes to loved ones.

While organ donation is a personal choice right now – it is not considered an option if people do not sign their donor cards or tell their families of their wishes to donate – it should be the assumed choice unless a person states otherwise. If a person is strongly opposed to organ donation, you can bet that they will make that known. Otherwise, with one person’s death, eight lives could be saved – this is reason enough for organ donation to be much more common than it is. I encourage everyone to visit these blogs and really get a sense of what organ donation can do for those with incurable diseases, to get to “know” Natalia and Ronnie, and to appreciate their journeys as they fight for their lives.

Love,

Bella

If you wish to be an organ donator, please visit this site to make it official.

Momma and Daddy Bella

Too much of what I write about is about me. Sure, I write about my life, so these posts are bound to be about me to an extent, but all this Bella talk gets annoying, am I right? I don’t use nearly enough of this space to write about the important people in my life and the influence they’ve had on me. As such, I want to give a “shout out” to two of the best parents to thank them for being there for me during everything I’ve gone through, constantly supportive and always loving.

As is usually the case with my writing, I started off talking about my latest weight loss adventure and ended up delving into my emotional issues that I not so fondly experienced for almost my entire University career (and maybe a bit before). I don’t know why my posts always turn so self-evaluating – really, I want to be funny, but I guess that’s the writer side of me coming out. It’s therapeutic and cathartic. I have an essay on the therapeutic tendencies of writing if anyone would like to read it! (No?...)

The purpose of this post is to express my gratefulness towards my parents, but also to reach out to anyone who may have gone through what I did. In no way is this intended to be a pity party – yeah, it was hard, but I got through it, and I’m a lot stronger now than I was then. Don't get me wrong - I had and DO have a great life. My experiences in life didn't have anything to do with my depression and, despite the general consensus that it’s easy to “snap out of” or that people just say they’re depressed for attention, believe me, if I really wanted attention, I would get it another way. Depression is nothing to be ashamed of and not something that is in anyone’s control. For the most part, it's a result of a chemical imbalance in your body that can be stabilized with medication (and I LOVE my drugs). I want this post to not only be about my parents, but to also reach out to anyone who’s experienced the really low points that come with depression and to let them know that when all else fails, go to anyone who you know will listen and will try to understand as best they can, whoever that may be.

My parents were front and centre for my few years of debilitating depression. Now, I don’t mean that I was physically unable to get on with my life, and I won’t get into details about how exactly it’s debilitating (trust me, you guys do not want to become that familiar with my mind), but suffice it to say that I feel like I lost a few years of my life to that God forsaken “chemical imbalance”.

Just a wee bit of a digression (it does have a link to my topic in general, I promise): I’ve finally come to terms with why I’m fat. Ready for it? It’s going to be a shocker … I eat too much. Wow, right?! Did not see that coming. Who would have thought that eating too much contributes to weight gain! What a novel idea. Something tells me that second and third helpings are what are preventing me from prancing around in a bikini every day of my life. Yeah, I’d do it.

Anyway, as a result of this revelation and my incessant need to become hot at some point in my life – preferably, like, tomorrow – I’ve recently started doing Herbal Magic, and so far so good. What really motivates me is how on board my parents were when I told them what I was doing. They think it’s great. My mom makes me special fruit salads for lunch so that I am getting the proper amount of fruit servings that I’m supposed to, and my dad sets aside extras of dinner for me to prepare the way I want it to be so that I’m following my meal plan correctly. They’ve been amazingly supportive and helpful, and I firmly believe that their support and encouragement will not only get me to goal, but will also play a huge part in my maintenance success.

I don’t think we give our parents enough credit for what they do and the love that they provide when their kids (ok, me) are hellions to live with. My parents always let me know that they would do whatever they could to help me get better. My mom, especially, was always there to talk and cry to and boy, did I ever do that. I can’t imagine how difficult it was to live with me when I was so irritable, cranky, cried all the time, and wouldn’t leave my room. I mean, hell, I didn’t even want to be around me, so I can’t imagine that anyone else would have wanted to be. I would snap at both of them for no reason, yet they were always there with open arms to give me a hug when I hit those points of indescribable melancholy (thank you for that word, Thesaurus). It was the thought of them that kept me going when I didn’t want to exist anymore, because I knew that, no matter what, they loved me for me, issues and all.

My parents have been constants in my life, always delivering unconditional love and support and forever reassuring me that I can do whatever I put my mind to. They’ve always tried to boost my confidence and tackle the negative self image that I continually project in my every day life (which isn’t easy, because I am very pessimistic – although incredibly hilarious, if I do say so myself). I will be forever grateful to them for everything they’ve done and continue to do for me. I don’t want to say that my parents are better than all the other parents out there but, well, they are. I guess they’re just really good at it.

Love,

Bella

Overcoming Obstacles

This blog, which I thought was going to be a place to detail my weight loss triumphs and failures with great wit and astoundingly intellectual insights, has become more of a place for me to write through the emotions that bounce around in my head as I sit at work and come up with new ways to get a boyfriend.

(Maybe I should rename my part of this blog "The Emotional Vomit of a Fat (Albeit Gorgeous) Girl"...)

It's no secret that I want to lose weight, with my ultimate goal to look like Megan Fox or Marisa Miller from Victoria's Secret, but there are many other factors that surround weight loss rather than just the physical. What many people don't seem to understand is that there are a lot of emotional factors that hinder one's ability to finally drop the weight and be the best person that they can be. Sure, the main part of weight loss is consuming less than you burn, but food takes on an entirely different meaning to those people who are unaware of how to work through their emotions, and instead they turn to food and eat their feelings.

My weight has been on my conscience since I was 14 and a freshman in high school. I remember lying about weighing 125 lbs, instead claiming to weigh a mere 115 lbs. Oh, to be there now! But I've been struggling with my appearance ever since. I'm a self confessed emotional eater, and I know exactly when it started. I was 15, and I was working in a grocery store with people that I didn't like, doing a job that I didn't want to do. Every night after work, I would come home and eat probably 500 calories worth of junk. It was my comfort during a time when I didn't know how else to deal. And it never stopped.

Now, at 22, binge eating has become so much a part of my life that I immediately turn to food when I feel the need for comfort. The high fat, high sugar snacks feel like a big hug (pathetic, eh?). When I'm eating alone, I don't have to delve deep into my subconscious to determine why I feel the way I do, because the act of eating distracts me. It's hard to admit the addiction that I have to food and the way it makes me feel, but I think that a lot of other people deal with the same issues and, speaking from experience, it helps to know that others understand.

Usually, understanding the cause of weight gain - binge eating - is the first step to overcoming it, much like an addiction. I've done enough research to know that binge eating is as much an eating disorder as anorexia and bulimia, but much less known. Perhaps this is because over eating and obesity is a source of shame and embarassment for many people, myself included. General consensus is that binge eating can be stopped, whereas anorexia or bulimia are diseases. Binge eating is just a result of someone who cannot practice self-control - or so people may think.

When one becomes so used to dealing with their emotions in a certain way - or not dealing, as is the case in my own circumstance - it is difficult to change one's thinking and habits. I know what my problem is, but after having gone through 2 months of therapy, I also know that people can push themselves down so low that they develop a sort of "persecutor" who continually "tells" them that they aren't good enough. When one hears that in one's own mind, no one else can tell that person otherwise. It's difficult to fight a battle that is against yourself. (I know a lot of people probably think that this way of thinking is a load of shit, and that's fine - I'm merely presenting my own thoughts on the issue).

The thing is, when you're told you're not good enough either by your persecutor or by someone in your life (such as bullies - thanks for that), that belief is internalized so completely that it's incredibly difficult to change one's frame of mind. This is where the problem lies with people that claim to have emotional barriers that prevent them from losing weight. I can't speak for everyone, obviously, so I can only detail my own experience with these emotional barriers. For one, I've been binge eating for the better part of my teen years and early 20s. It's part of my lifestyle and, as much as I hate it, it's comforting. Changing that habit and pushing myself outside of my comfort zone is terrifying, because I know that I will eventually have to face whatever it is that I am trying to stop myself from facing (and I honestly don't know what that is).

I'm comfortable where I am and, despite my strong desire to be thin and garner attention from the opposite sex, it's also terrifying. Right now, with a few extra pounds, I'm safe from ogling men that see women as their ticket to sex. Right now, when a guy doesn't like me, I have a reason, as opposed to him just not liking who I am. Right now, I'm safe and hidden and have an excuse as to why I'm not taking risks - "I'll do it when I'm thin".

That's why it's hard to lose weight for emotional reasons, because extra pounds are usually a result of some underlying insecurity or sadness that food fuels and covers. It takes a lot more than willpower and physical determination to lose weight. It takes soul searching, confidence building, and bravery to look deep within yourself and not only find out who you are, but learn to love that person.

This post turned out to be deeper and more revealing about myself than I initially intended, but that's the point to writing a blog. It's therapeutic and, hopefully, it'll reach people who deal with the same things. Maybe, just maybe, it will encourage them to delve deeper in their emotional state of mind to finally see the wonderful people that they are.

Love,

Bella

In Shameless Promotion of A Writer Almost Up to Par With Me...

As a result of my life taking on a certain quietness at the present time, I've had a difficult time creating topics that are interesting enough that I won't fall asleep while typing about them, and you won't fall asleep while reading about them.

Unlike my "gifted" (a term I use loosely) older brother, who has been blessed with the ability of writing semi-interesting posts filled with mediocre humour and polluted with uncomfortable sexual nuances and references, I am not as intuitive to take something out of nothing in order to entertain the masses (of our hometown). Thus, I've taken this opportunity to promote Brother Bella's (whom I will reference as Tewks from here on out) new blog. I have to give him credit where it's due - his posts that aren't about sports (I tend to bypass those ones as I couldn't care less what A-Rod and whoever else is of any importance in the sporting world is doing) are entertaining, enlightening, and surprisingly deprecating for someone who thinks so highly of himself. I especially enjoyed his post where he answered questions asked of him by readers of the blog, mostly because my two questions were the most entertaining of the bunch.

Tewks has branched off from his weekly blog posts with his buddy Gretzpo, leaving me to wonder if they've had some sort of lovers' spat and are no longer interested in sharing blog space to detail their failed attempts at having any sort of meaningful (or otherwise) relationship with women. A new blog site has been born from Tewks' misconstrued notion that his legions of followers contain those outside of our immediate family, which you can find at Talkin' with Tewks.

I know what you might be thinking: "Bella, aren't you jealous of your brother and his attention grabbing ways that cause people to tell you how amazing he is?" Tired, maybe, but never jealous. On the contrary, I'm extremely proud of my brother's successes and I hope that he makes it in the entertainment business so that he can live out his dream of being a famous actor (or at least his dream of appearing on the cover of "Star" magazine as the latest womanizer on "The Hills"). Maybe I'm feeling particularly loving towards my big brother, but I prefer to think that I am choosing to dedicate my blog post to his endeavours because, as a writer, I am able to recognize talent when I see it (even if it isn't comparable to mine).

So, there you have it. I encourage you all to read his new blog and be entertained by his warped sense of humour that I, myself, am still shocked by to this day.

To Tewks, I have one thing to say: "Oh, I remember her. Was she a great big fat person?"

Love,

Bella

Some people, including myself, never learn...

Leafs fans. We're pretty awesome, right? Well, we can also be just plain stupid, or stupidly loyal. I'm going to say it's a little bit of both, depending on the game.
I actually have a bone to pick with this team (Thanksgiving, turkey - get it? ha...ha...ha...GONG!) How can one team, who looked SO incredibly promising in the preseason (winning 6 of 9 games), be going into the start of the ACTUAL season which actually COUNTS with a record of 0-4. Some of the games haven't even been close - the game against Washingston was 6-4, and Pittsburgh was 5-2. Dammit Leafs...just dammit!!

This year we have some body on our team. Just look at Colton Orr! The guy is amazing! He wears my idol, Tie Domi's, former number 28. He makes me pretty proud, and I'm sure Domi is loving it, too. It's the first time since Domi retired from the Leafs and NHL in 2006 that the Leafs have had a real enforcer. Only two minutes into the game against Pittsburgh Orr took on Eric Gondard. Not even five minutes after, he's thrown in the box again for roughing. That was only in Saturday night's game. That record has been continuous all season so far. Love it! At least there is some excitement to watching the game that doesn't involve either a) balling my eyes out, or b) dying a little bit inside with every passing second.

It's probably a good thing that my body has had since April 11, 2009 to rebuild my blue blood count. It looks like it's going to be drained realllllllllll early this year. I feel like deleting my previous post about how awesome this season is going to be. If anything, I jynxed them myself. It's only natural that a good looking team will fall apart when it counts (and we're not even fighting for a playoff spot, yet!), and a brutal, bleak outlook team would blow you away.

Please, please, PLEASE win against the Rangers tomorrow night! All I am asking for is one win this season, hopefully sooner than later!

A very teary-eyed, broken-hearted Heidi

There's No "I" In Team

I may or may not have forgotten my plan to document my diet and exercise goals through this blog, as I haven’t done so in quite a while. Nothing of any great consequence has occurred in the past couple of weeks, except my venture into the world of team sports.

I decided to join a recreational volleyball team to add another form of exercise to my repertoire, meet some people (read: new guys), and improve my athleticism. Unfortunately, I can’t say that any one of these goals was met in any respect.

After arriving at the centre where volleyball was to take place an hour and a half early, I should have realized that the not so great start was an omen of the events to come. I walked into the gym filled with people wearing knee pads and bumping and volleying the ball back and forth to each other. I don’t even own knee pads, and I was wearing yoga pants and a shirt that displayed the name of my University on the front. I think I was the epitome of preppy girly girl (though I guess that isn’t too far off what I am).

Everyone seemed to know each other, and as they all gave each other high fives, I frantically sent Brother Bella a text asking him what the hell spiking was. I think he was scared for my life, and I can’t say that I was too far off that same fear.

Then the part I dreaded came to a head – the game began. I took my place in the middle back of the court and cracked jokes the entire time on the court while watching the ball fly over the net but never actually going for it. I’m pretty sure my team hated me. I’m pretty sure the other team hated me, and I was working to their advantage. Hell, I may have even hated myself a little bit in that moment.

Ha, who am I kidding, I thought I was hilarious.

In high school, which was also the last time I played volleyball, I was relatively good at serving the ball. I thought that talent (a word I use very loosely) would have carried with me through the years, so I was fairly confident as I took my stance behind the red line. I got all set up, put on my I-am-the-best-server-in-the-world face, tossed the ball a couple times for good measure (and to look like I knew what I was doing), and promptly hit the ball straight into the net.

My teammates were actually very supportive, but by the end of the game I told them that they didn’t have to tell me “good try” after every failed attempt at serving – it just sounded pitiful by that time.

I’m fairly certain that I danced around the court when they told me to rotate, completely involuntarily. I don’t even know why I did it.

Since our two games ended quickly as a result of my team’s loss – okay, my loss – we were allowed the opportunity to play “for fun”. Yay? I could think of many other things that I would have rather done than play more volleyball. My arms hurt and I was getting dizzy from spinning in circles as I kept an eye on the ball. (I’m starting to think I looked like a major retard on the court, which is probably not too far from the truth). My volleyball skills definitely wouldn’t have helped me pick up guys, and from my realization that I looked like an idiot, I think I may have more things to worry about than I thought when it comes to attracting the opposite sex.

All in all, volleyball isn’t for me, so I withdrew from the league. Actually, team sports aren’t for me. I take the saying "There's no 'I' in team" to a whole other level. I’m a yoga/pilates/pole dancing kind of girl, and I’m okay with that. I'm pretty sure my teammates are, too.

Love,

Bella

In Support of the Canadian Troops

I’m deviating from my normal, witty discourse that usually graces this blogspot to talk about an issue that is not only more serious, but important to me. The Canadian Troops in Afghanistan get a lot of flak for their involvement in the Afghan mission for peace, and the government’s consideration to remove the troops from the Middle East in 2011 has been met with a great amount of controversy. I’m going to avoid a lot of the political issues that surround the Canadian Army and their Afghanistan presence because, truthfully, I don’t know enough about it to really debate whether their involvement is right or wrong. I’m merely speaking from a personal level, taking into consideration that one of my friends is currently “over there”.

I couldn’t be more proud to say that my friend is part of the Canadian Army and is serving over in Afghanistan, but I’m also terrified that one of the times he goes will be the last time I ever see him. It’s a morbid thought, but it’s valid. I feel sick whenever I see the crowds gathering on the bridges over the Highway of Heroes to catch a glimpse of the cars carrying fallen soldiers, and I pray that, every time I hear about another young soldier’s death, it won’t be Buddy Bella (I’m not sure that he would love that nickname, but since he doesn’t read this blog, he doesn’t really have a say in what I call him). I can’t imagine what the families of those fallen soldiers must feel when they hear about the death of their loved one – I would be devastated, and Buddy Bella and I are certainly not as close as he and his family.

It breaks my heart to know that he sees things that no one should ever have to see, and that he has lost more friends in the war than most people lose in a lifetime. He’s changed since being over there, which is no doubt due to the experiences that he endures, and I hate that he has to live with horrible images forever in his mind.

While I can’t say that I completely agree with the Canadian Army’s involvement in Afghanistan, I am behind it because the soldiers need as much support as they can get for the dangerous work that they’re doing. It’s important that those soldiers don’t die in vain, and that they know that their country’s people are behind them and are proud of them as they go about their mission. I just want all the soldiers, Buddy Bella in particular, to have gone through what they have for a purpose.

Every soldier is a child, sibling, parent, spouse, relative, neighbour, or friend – appreciate that they are fighting for our country and for the peace of another, much more volatile country, and don’t let their involvement be in vain. Even if you don’t agree with the Canadian Army’s involvement in the Afghan mission, please support the Canadian Troops and, if you get the chance, thank them for the sacrifices that they make. Even give them a hug... Actually, on second thought, don't do that. They're trained to kill and any physical contact may make them go a little crazy (so I couldn't deviate completely from humour, it's just how I do).

Love,

Bella

Oh Camp, How I Love Thee...

What do you get when you combine a camp, ridiculously rustic cabins, a ropes course, a session that tried to cram in too much information to process on canoeing, and a session on how to make fire primitive style? The answer would be the 2009 COEO conference (Council of Outdoor Educators of Ontario).

Now, where do I start? How about the part that perhaps sucked the most: the incredibly freezing weather which we experienced Friday night, into the wee hours of the morning. How cold? Freaking COLD. Granted, my sleeping bag is not rated to cold weather, but I thought that my extra blanket that I brought, my super warm (usually) track pants, and two sweaters would keep me toasty. Wrong. Oh SO wrong. I was up at least every hour because I was shivering. Did you know that you can't sleep when you're cold? Or at least it's really difficult. I'm sure other members of the cabin were cold, too. The cabin had screen netting, but no glass for the windows. It also had rather large holes in it, just welcoming the wind to come in any time it pleased. What the heck happened to the weather we had just two weeks ago? Hot, humid, sunny...nights when you couldn't sleep with blankets because it was much too hot? It's still September, Mother Nature! It's not October, yet! We should have built a fire with the wood that our cabin was made of (actually, if we had of had the primitive fire session yesterday instead of today, we just might have). Apparently the cabin beside us had a heater. I should have acted on my thoughts that I had last night to do a one-man ambush on that cabin. I could have fought off those lucky campers with my hands made of ice!

In the early minutes before breakfast I was finally able to coax myself out of my slightly-warmer-than-the-air sleeping bag. That's when the day started. the first session was a rope course. I've heard of them from my roomies and from people at other camps, but never have I actually done any of them myself. It was interesting, good team work is required for some of the things, though. I went rock climbing for the first time, which was pretty amazing, and scary at the same time. There was another element called the "Vertical Playground" where you had a climb a canoe hanging from a tree with ropes and ladders etc. Can you imagine being asked what you did on the weekend, and getting to say that you climbed a canoe? I didn't get around to doing it, as we were running pretty short on time.

Past that, let's go to the canoeing portion of the day. Aka the time that I felt like I was going to crawl into a hole and not come out. This session said that it was for all levels, including beginners, so I thought, "Hey, cool, why not? I went canoeing two weeks ago, I'm pretty much pro, right?" Again, wrong. The instructor wanted to see what type of levels he was dealing with, so asked a question about who could do something called a J-stroke, and they were asked to go to one side of the room. That was Chinese to me at the time, so I assumed that I couldn't do it. At this point in my life I curse my parents for not showing me or signing me up for canoeing earlier. I was one of 2 people who were left on the apparently VERY beginner to canoeing. Everyone laughed as we huddled together with fear in our eyes. I was told afterward that my dear, dear friend felt bad that he had left us alone and should have stayed with the beginners (even though he is CLEARLY wayyyy past that stage...). I can take the heat, though! (Not really, but we'll pretend!) I thought that we were going to be in the clear, since they were talking about some pretty intense strokes and only volunteers were being used. Naturally, I tried to act super small so as not to be seen by the instructors' eyes. Just as we were about to go outside to attempt solo canoeing, the other beginner and I were called upon to "practice" the strokes in front of all of the superior canoers. F.M.L.

Now, while we were in the room being embarrassed by pushing around "roller canoes", the wind picked up pretty heavily. The instructor then said that there is a combination that he doesn't like for canoeing: Solo, Beginners, and Wind. DING DING DING! We have a winner. In my case, we had all three. So, solo was out for me. I've only ever been canoeing once before, and now they want to get me going solo? PUH-LEASE! The water was a little cold for me to want to go swimming (which is what I'm sure would have happened once the canoe had to be tipped to do solo paddling). Anyways, that was a horror for me, and was possibly the longest three hours of my life; waiting, just waiting to make a fool of myself.

Now, after I arrived back on shore with dry clothes my heart rate started to go back to normal compared to the previous hours' experience. On our way to our next session we saw a group of people throwing spades and knives at a dead tree stump. Way to go, educators! Anyways, after being amazed by a new take on anger management we went on to the last session of the day that had to do with fire. The session was in a very old, very wooden building. So, it's only natural that our presenter gave us materials to try and start the process of making a fire in the wilderness on the wooden floor. No matches, no gasoline, just a few pieces of wood, a knife, and string. Very normal, right? If you agreed with that you may want to seek out psychiatric help, just a suggestion. I'm pretty sure the camp councellors were waiting to see flames engulf the building at any moment. We got the main jist of it! We didn't light the place on fire, though, we felt it would be irresponsible. But apparently our ancestors knew what they were doing at one point in time! Those cabins are lucky we're not there tonight...

Anyways, we came home after a long day. Bring on the warm, windless house with nice, sturdy glass windows!!
Currently snug-as-a-bug-in-a-rug,
Heidi

Let's Re-evaluate...

I don’t have anything to do at work this week besides think about my weight loss goals while constantly trying to fight off cravings. I actually think my job may be hazardous to my health, as I eat in order to stay awake and to avoid boredom as much as I can. Seriously, today, I ate my lunch BEFORE lunch, and AT lunch I ate my snack because I had nothing else to eat. I am getting so sick of having to think of things to make for lunch that I bring hardly anything – not smart, Bella, not smart.

Anyway, one of the main thoughts of the past week has been this whole “quitting chocolate” thing. Thing is, if I tell myself I can’t have something, it makes me want it more. I have a major issue with “no one can tell ME what to do”. Apparently that includes what I tell myself, as well. So, after much deliberation, I have decided that I will seriously limit my chocolate intake, but I will still allow myself to have it.

I bought a bag of Lindt chocolate squares and a box of those 100 calorie Cadbury Dairy Thins, which I have stored in my freezer, in the back, only to be enjoyed in moderation. I have a Dairy Thin after lunch and a Lindt chocolate square after dinner. This is my first night doing this. I’ll let you know how it goes – that is, if I don’t end up in a sugar-induced coma as a result of bingeing on my beloved chocolate that I haven’t had in…one day. Please don’t judge me.

I got my foot tattoo touched up this past Tuesday, so I can’t workout for about a week. Apparently it’s not good for the tattoo to rub against anything as much as it does when I workout – found that out after half of it rubbed off about a week after getting it done. Contrary to what some of you may believe, not going to the gym is maddening!

Anyway, that’s where I am right now on my journey to being lovely and thin on my first trip of 2010 – the Vancouver 2010 Olympic Games.

Send skinny vibes!!

Love,

Bella