Why I think that opposing the mosque in NYC is not only wrong, but racist

PLEASE REMAIN CIVIL. I know this is a touchy subject for people on all sides, but let’s try to refrain from using words like “ignorant,” “stupid,” “retarded,” and the like. I’d like to keep the comments open and not block anyone. Thanks. • 08/23/2010 at 10:27pm

A few days ago, a Facebook friend invited me to join a Cause: STOP THE BUILDING OF MOSQUE NEAR GROUND ZERO SITE!!!!

I can’t even begin to describe the anger that literally burned through me as I read this Cause page. First of all, I thought Causes were supposed to be legitimate 501c(3) organizations. Apparently Facebook is now letting the masses run rampant. But second — and most importantly — of all, it angered me because it just screams racial profiling, yet again.

Don’t even try to tell me that this cause isn’t, because its description reads:

To send a message to our government that we don’t want this place of worship to be built near the very place they attacked us at.

and

I am trying to send a message to the Government that anything that is to be built that has any involvement with terrorist “i.e. a Mosque” near to the Ground Zero attacks should not just be a Government vote it should be a vote that american people can participate in also.

I simply cannot understand why anyone thinks that Muslim people are the same people as terrorists. That kind of thinking would be like me thinking that just because my neighbor is black, they are going to break into my house. It almost physically sickens me when someone uses the phrase “towel head” or insinuates that the Muslim-American owner of a gas station is plotting to blow us up. (It also pisses me off that anyone these days uses the N word, but that’s another rant for another day.)

Anyone with an actual knowledge of the Islamic religion knows that it’s in actuality a very peaceful religion. You know that Buddhist friend of yours? Islam is pretty similar. It’s based on several principles that say things like, “Don’t brag,” and “Be good to other people.”

Terrorists, on the other hand, are extremist groups pretending to be Muslim, but actual Muslims do not approve of terrorists or anything they stand for. A real Muslim would not call herself a terrorist, and any terrorist who tries to call himself a Muslim is full of shit. Don’t believe me? Go to the book store or library and take out a book on Islam. I am forever grateful to my eighth grade English and religion teacher, Mrs. Barra, who, immediately after 9/11, taught us about the Muslim culture and Islamic religion. She wanted us to understand the difference between a Muslim and a terrorist, and even though I paid little attention to anything that year — it was a rough year — I did pay attention to those lessons.

However, there are too many people right now who are uneducated, and who choose not to believe anything other than what they have been told or have absorbed from the people around them and the media. A perfect example:

Why in the world would we want them there and why would they wanbt to be there unless it is to pour salt in our wound. We have helped and trusted these peopel and look what we get for it. I know that not all of them are anti american but how can you tell one from the other until it is to late. I know we need to relie on God but I also think that he wants us to stand up for our selves. Come on American, wake up! I heard a guy said that he wished he could open a hog farm next door to them… I agree. What kind of president do we have that would let this happen??? Oh yeah.. I almost forgot.

I’m not even going to touch the comment on the President, because I have no way of telling for sure whether she is insinuating he is allowing it because he is black or because his middle name is Hussein (which is an African name as well as a Middle Eastern name, and President Obama’s father is African). However, this person scares me. Why? Because she thinks that because you can’t tell a terrorist from a good Muslim-American, we should just not allow any of them here. This kind of thinking is what led to Japanese- and German-Americans being encamped during World War II. Don’t believe me? You don’t even have to go to the library to get the facts; Google it.

Fear and lack of education leads to drastic reactions. One guy even posted to the Causes page saying:

iam from yew york, go and do it see what will go down,faster then it went up!!..

Going back to the previous comment, the reasons for wanting to build this mosque have been made quite clear by the Muslim-American man who wants to build it:

  • there is a high population of Muslim-Americans in NYC
  • the mosque leader (for lack of a better term) has worked for several years with local Christian and Jewish leaders to promote interfaith understanding, and the mosque would help further that work

I understand that my fellow Americans still see 9/11 as a fresh wound. But don’t you think that it hurts your fellow Muslim-Americans, too? After all, since there are so many Muslim-Americans living in NYC, many of their lives were also lost or affected in some way on that day — and Muslim-Americans as a whole have been affected since. They deal with suspicious stares and whispers, racist comments (I once saw an episode of Cash Cab where one of the contestants got into the cab and said, “A cab driver whose native language is English!”), and persecution similar to the Salem Witch Trials, the Holocaust, and American encampments for Japanese- and German-American citizens*. Can you imagine everyone thinking that you were part of 9/11? And don’t say that it’s their own fault, because it’s not. As Faiqa said, all people of Middle Eastern decent don’t jump onto Skype at the same time and plot the next bombing, just like not all Christians are part of the Ku Klux Klan, not all black people steal and do drugs, and not all single mothers are strippers.

I have heard a lot of people say that building a mosque near Ground Zero — mind you, it’s not being proposed ON Ground Zero, just NEAR — is indecent. Why? A couple of people have even said if anything is to be built there, it should be nondenominational. Let’s toss aside the fact that the mosque wouldn’t be ON Ground Zero, and just concentrate on the issue of whether a mosque would be indecent.

As I said, there is a high population of Muslim-Americans in NYC. Statistically speaking, I have no idea how many exactly, nor do I know how many lost their lives on 9/11, but they did, and they’ve been affected in other ways even after the body count was finished. Building a mosque in that area — near or on — would not actually hurt anyone. If you live in NYC, you don’t have to look at it — just like you don’t have to look at the synagogues or guitarists if they bother you. No one is forcing you to convert. No one is even asking you to donate to the construction of the mosque. All you are being asked is to acknowledge that a group of Americans can construct a place of worship in the center of NYC, where space is available. Let’s face it. If a Baptist church were being proposed, no one would even complain. Even the people that think there shouldn’t be a particular religious building in that area wouldn’t so much as open their mouths. Honestly. The church would go up and that would be that.

If you really think otherwise, please say so and tell me why. Please explain to me why a group of Americans can’t worship where they want. I mean, fuck, I’m not even religious, nor am I of Middle Eastern decent, and yet I feel so strongly about this. Let them build their mosque. It’s not hurting you. If anything, it will help heal our country, because we have got to stop getting so riled up when “the Muslims” want to do something. I’ll leave you with what another commenter on the Causes page said, because his last few sentences sum my feelings up perfectly:

I don’t think I have ever been more ashamed of my country than I am now. “A slap in the face of all Americans.” How about the muslim american victims of the World Trade Center? NYC has one of the largest muslim populations in the country and as a new yorker, I have never met a more peaceful group of people. I think if we are going to dictate where people could build their place of worship, we should get in our time machines and tell the pilgrims to fuck themselves and stop whining that they want religious freedom. Now I understand many people live in parts of the country that are NOT considered melting pots, but here in NYC, that is what makes this the greatest city on earth. Following 9/11, there were blood drives, donations, volunteer efforts from muslim groups in the city….as were there from many other groups. We did not refuse their help then and it’s “unamerican” for us to tell them where they can and can not worship.


*Obviously they are not being slain, but the singling out is the same.

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Drunken blogging: The return of Astrid and Dante!

I have so much I want to tell you, like how this weekend went (we had a big fire up at the lake in honor of Popi), how things with Mike and Project Cohabitation are going (good!), and how pissed I am about the way Muslim-Americans are being treated by (some of) their “fellow” Americans, but mostly right now I want to wiggle this in front of your face. Raise your hand if you remember it! I found it the other day while surfing the internet (and basically doing nothing), and last night sent a message to Mary to see if she still wanted to RP these two. A few people were excited about it and wanted more when I first started the Dante and Astrid blog, and it was really cool to actually have fans, so if you guys are still around, I just posted a new one, as well as some originals from like 2004 or something (not sure of the original date, since the actual AIM logs are on Noni’s old computer; they were posted to my old LJ in 2006).

Anyway.

For those of you who have no idea what I’m talking about, I used to do a lot of what is called play-by-post roleplaying (RPing for short), which is basically two or more people writing as if they were a character, and when it’s read all together, it’s like reading a short story (or, in Mary’s and my case, a book at this point). Well, one day while cruising some RP adverts on LiveJournal, I came across Mary’s. She was looking for someone to play one of her characters, and had left a link to a Geocities or something with all of the characters. We’ve been playing ever since… and I just realized that it’s been over five years. I’m pretty sure she is my oldest online friend (in the sense that we have been friends via the internet for the longest time out of all of my internet friends).

Anyway. It is possibly creepy that I am this excited about this, but rereading some of our old logs made me really appreciate how much this has made my writing improve, and they’re also pretty freaking good. Plus, you can’t call me creepy, because I am sleepy and slightly drunk, so that’s excuse enough for my potentially overenthusiasm.

ANYWAY. Go read these. I promise they are awesome. You don’t have to start with the Prologue ones, since I don’t have them all up anyway, but you should definitely start with In the Beginning.

ANYWAY. Before I creep Mary out and make her not want to write with me anymore, I’m going to publish this (and probably regret it in the morning afternoon).

GO READ IT!!

PS: My birthday is in less than a week and I’ve only just now decided what I’m doing. Ah, apathy and depression.

PSS: This might sound crazy, but I think I like Jim Bean better than Jack Daniels. Sacrilege! (Not that I’ve had any JD in years, but still.) (Wow, I sound like an alcoholic! Goodnight, now!)

PSSS: I owe a lot of you guys comment replies. And Twitter replies. And emails. Sigh.

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Liz and Mike see Megadeth (finally)

Last night, Mike and I went to do something by ourselves. For Christmas, I had bought him tickets to see Megadeth, who he was really into at the time. The show was scheduled for February, but because the lead singer of Slayer ended up needing surgery, it got postponed all the way to… yesterday.

My love for thrash metal has been renewed. For a long time, the only thrash I really listened to was Metallica, because I grew up on it. But, as we all know, Metallica sucks now. I have to admit that I suck and for a while didn’t know the different genres and couldn’t really tell the difference. Age has wizened me. (And, okay, so has Mike.)

Anyway, around the time that Mike got super into Megadeth, I got really into them, too. Now I’m in love with Testament and Megadeth. Slayer was good, but I wasn’t too thrilled, which probably had something to do with the fact that they started almost every song with that same standard cymbal count off thing. The one song they didn’t do it on, they counted off with the bass drum. They were still cool, though. Don’t worry, Slayer fans, I have nothing against your almighty.

We ended up leaving early, though. We were both sitting down at that point and looked at each other. “You ready?” Mike asked. I swear, the man reads my mind.

We hiked back to the car and went to Denny’s, then drove through a downpour because it wouldn’t be a Mike and Liz outing if it didn’t rain so hard we couldn’t see the road. (I swear it is going to rain on our wedding.) As soon as we got home, we both went to bed.

So yeah, maybe we are old and boring now, but at least we’re old and boring together!

Highlights of the Night:

  • Getting in at the tail end of Testament’s set and taking in their kickass stage set design.
  • The fan who, as Testament ended their set, jumped up on stage, ran up and across the stairs on stage, then stagedived into the crowd. The lead singer said, “That’s how you fucking do it!”
  • Megadeth did “A Tout le Monde,” which is one of my favorite songs of theirs. Mike said they do it every time, but still. It was awesome.
  • Dancing to Megadeth. Metal is the only music I can confidently dance to, because even if you are uncoordinated and look like you’re having a seizure, it can only be seen as headbanging.
  • Hitting the rumble strips on Route 15 during the downpour and realizing it was time to slow the fuck down.
  • Laughing when the downpour ended just a few minutes later. Most likely, we were both laughing with relief that we were alive, and because it rains like that every time we go somewhere together.
  • Getting home and kissing goodnight. It is so cool to actually kiss him goodnight and go to bed, as opposed to one of us dropping the other off with a kiss goodnight. Cohabitation has a lot of perks.

I also have to mention that the Wall of Death was not as badass as everyone makes it out to be. Or at least, it didn’t look that way from where we were. (We were five rows up from the pit.) Testament actually made everyone in the pit do it, and I honestly just laughed the whole time. Matt said that it was brutal, though. He would know better, since he was in the pit, but… I wanted to see some Lord of the Rings battle crashing, man. Did anyone even bleed?

And speaking of Matt, we almost met! I actually almost met another blogger, but we saw each other and weren’t sure we were the right people, so the opportunity kind of slipped by. I should have just waved like a crazy person.

Still, it was a great night. Mike and I enjoyed the time together, and of course enjoyed the music. There is nothing better than closing your eyes and having a seizure dancing to good, live music.

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Bike, I have conquered you (sort of)!

Yesterday was gym hour #2. I was originally going to go with Sandy on Saturday, but I’d spent literally the whole freaking day at the beach, and the gym closes at seven on weekends. (So much for being open twenty-four hours!) I got home a little before six, so by the time I would have picked her up and driven us there, it would have left us maybe enough time to put our shoes on. We decided to go this coming Friday, instead.

I went by myself again yesterday, which I actually don’t mind. Usually I want a buddy for most of the things I do, but this… I dunno. Maybe I just enjoy the me time. Anyway, I got on the bike again, and I think I figured out how to work it. I’ll have to test my theory tomorrow when I go again. I did it for twenty minutes while reading Scarlett Fever by Maureen Johnson*, then hopped off and went to go conquer the abdominal twisty thingy**. I figured it out; all I had to do last time was adjust the weights. Sigh***.

When I started, I told myself I’d do twenty reps, but ended up doing thirty! I even actually worked up a little sweat****! By the time the thirty were done, I didn’t want to do more… and yet I wanted to do more! I decided to go try the real treadmill instead. I only walked at a very brisk pace for twenty minutes, but by the time I was done, my face was dripping sweat. I kept having to wipe it off with the back of my hand while on the treadmill, and I now see the benefit of bringing a towel. Who knew I had that much sweat in me?

Even more surprising, though, is how much I love the gym. I love the feeling after, of my endorphins all drunkenly making out and trying to get in each other’s pants. I always leave the gym feeling really good! I can’t wait to go again.

I can’t go tonight because Mike and I have a Megadeth concert to go to. But otherwise, my plan is to go at least five days a week, if not every day.

If you’re doing the #superbyseptember challenge, how are you doing so far? If you’re not doing the challenge, what do you think of the gym? I used to think it was only for guys who wear loafers with no socks.


*Review coming soon on Freaking Bookworm!

**I actually looked at the machine for its name, said it out loud… and don’t remember it now.

***Sometimes, I wonder if my dad accidentally dropping me on my head as a baby did more damage than we thought.

****I have discovered that I am not an armpit or chest sweater. No, I am a face sweater!

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I survived my first time at the gym!

The first thing I did at the gym — after signing up and getting the grand tour — was weigh myself. The grand total was 134.6, a far cry from the 141 my home scale claimed. Since the scale downstairs is old, and the one at the gym is digital, I’m going to assume that the gym’s scale is more accurate. Besides, I like 135 a lot better than 141.

Then I tried to use one of the cardio bike machines.

Ha. I'm so inept at this gym thing. How in the fuck do you turn the bike on?!

Turns out, all I had to do was start pedaling and it turned on by itself.

I got started fairly easily, although the machine had a lot of settings that I’m sure in time I’ll get used to. I didn’t bother stretching, and I got a little overambitious.

I've only been "biking" for 5 minutes and my legs already feel like lead. I should have stretched and timed myself for 15 instead of 30.

I didn’t realize at first that there was a little caddy on the back right of the machine for a water bottle and cell phone, so I kept my stuff on the floor until I did notice. I got really thirsty about six minutes into it, though, but couldn’t pedal and reach my water bottle at the same time. I stopped pedaling to reach it, inadvertently stopping the machine.

Fuck me, I switched my time to 20 minutes and have 7 left, but I can barely move my legs! Hahaha, must keep going!!

It ended up working out, though, because I would not have been able to do thirty minutes. Twenty was brutal enough.

I distracted myself by watching SportsCenter* and responded to tweets, trying to ignore the fact that my legs were barely moving.

Two. And. A. Half. Minutes. Left. #helpme #workingoutonthecardiobike

I was honestly surprised I could walk when I got off…

Oh hi, I has jelly legs. #helpme #atthegym #gladthatsovercanidoitagain

…and yet I wanted to do it again.

I wanted to try some of the abdomen-working-machine-thingies**, but the ones that looked the easiest to use were being used, of course. So I went over to what I thought were the treadmills*** and inspected them.

They looked like futuristic hovering skis, and I was pretty sure that if I got onto them somehow, I would manage to fall off.

Please don't let me fall off of the treadmill. #amireallygoingtodothis #atthegym

Even worse, after clambering up onto them, I discovered that there was no stability; the handles moved along with the ski looking things, and I knew that I was not safe. In fact, I couldn’t get myself to move them fast enough to get the machine started, for fear of falling off.

I decided that this ski treadmill thing was not for me.

I contemplated getting back on the bike again, but that was too much like giving up, so I strolled through some of the other machines. Completely and totally intimidated by these contraptions, I went back over to the abdomen workout equipment and saw that the “twisty thingy” was free. Unfortunately, I couldn’t figure out how to work it, so I moved on to the other abdomen machine and tried that. It felt like it was kind of working my stomach muscles, but my back started aching a few minutes into it, so I’m pretty sure I was doing it wrong.

Since I had forgotten my period survival kit, I decided to admit defeat until Sandy comes with me call it a night.

I felt so good after, though; it was like all of my endorphins were bouncing around and hugging each other. They may have even been making out with each other. I cannot wait to feel that way again.

The only problem is, right after eating dinner****, I immediately wanted to go back to the gym to work it off. That kind of scares me, given my history. Being able to be in control of my weight is an intoxicating feeling, and dangerous for me because I have shitty coping methods. Instead of reaching out, I do things that are bad for me but are things I can be in control of, like cutting and self-starvation. Well, I shouldn’t say “do”; these are things I once did, and I can be in control of myself… I just don’t like that I immediately wanted to work off my dinner. That kind of obsessive thinking is not good.

I can say this: I will not count calories. That was where I really obsessed. I limited myself to 1,000 per day, keeping track of everything I ate, and made myself literally sick because of it. I am keeping track of what I eat, but only because I want to limit fast food. I eat way too much of it, and if I see how much I am eating it, I’m more likely to keep it cut down. At least, that’s what I’m hoping.

The only thing I don’t understand is, when I first went to a size 7, I weighed about 137 (according to the doctor’s office). Now I weigh less, but the pants I bought the other day are a size 9 and are really tight. I’d really like to blame the pants here. Any ideas?


PS: I feel kind of guilty that I’m trying to lose weight, considering my old methods of weight loss. Like, everyone keeps telling me I look good, and yet I don’t think I do… so I feel guilty for trying to lose the weight I gained. Does that make sense?


*I’m so excited that football season is upon us!

**I’m new at this. You can’t really expect me to know the machine names!!

***Sandy later informed me that these hovering skis are not treadmills and are actually called gliders**.

****I had Taco Bell. Don’t judge me. My blood sugar was low and it was the closest thing to the gym.

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Doing a guy’s laundry 101

I’ve never lived with a guy that I wasn’t related to, and the only relatives I’ve ever lived with are Dad, Popi, and my Uncle Lonny. I’ve never done a guy’s laundry before.

Mike was going to do his laundry today, but since he didn’t get the chance, I figured I’d do it for him while he’s at work. He didn’t ask me; I just thought it would be nice for him to come home to clean clothes*.

While loading his clothes into the washer, I realized a few things.

  • Guys put things in their pockets, so it’s important to check those pockets. And there are a lot of freaking pockets. I don’t ever put anything into my pockets, unless I’m at a concert or an amusement park. And even then, I am a Virgo and take my shit out of my pockets right away. However, Mike’s pockets were empty tonight. I still have to get in the habit of checking them, though.
  • Guys’ clothes smell different. They don’t smell bad; they just smell… different. It’s a stronger smell. A manly smell, you might say.
  • I’ve never actually done Mike’s laundry before, other than helping him fold, um, maybe twice. But I do know there is a certain way he likes his tee shirts folded, and I intend to honor that*.
  • Guys have less clothing than women, but I’m pretty sure Mike beats me in the tee shirts and socks departments.

Do you do your guy’s laundry? What have you learned from this interesting experience, and how do you apply it to everyday life? Your essay must be at least five sentences long, and is due twenty minutes after you read this.

Class dismissed.


*I’m sure that in a couple of years from now, I won’t feel this way.

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I’m adopting… vicariously!

I thought I’d mentioned that I found a list of adoption resources on my local library’s website, but I can’t find the post. Anyway, I did, and I went to the library today to hunt down a couple of the books. I couldn’t find one of the books on the list that I’d wanted to check out, but I ended up checking out another book that I had originally not planned on checking out. Basically, I wanted a couple of different perspectives for the novel I’m working on: one of an adult woman who gave her child up for adoption, another of a teenage or young adult woman who gave up her child for adoption, and of the adoptive mother. The books I got should hopefully give me each:

Dancing Naked, by Shelley Hrdlitschka (YA) A sixteen-year-old girl gets pregnant by her douchebag boyfriend — I’m reading it now; that’s how I know he’s a douche — and decides to give the baby up for adoption. Even though my main character, Gigi, was nineteen when she gave birth, I needed a teenage perspective.

Giving Away Simone: A Memoir, by Jan L. Waldron (Nonfiction*) A woman who gave her daughter up for adoption reconnects with her and tries to build a relationship with her. I actually only just realized she reconnects with her, which works out perfectly for me because that’s what my main character is trying to do. I’m hoping that this memoir might cover fighting the original adoption order in court, but it will at least give me some perspective on a birth mother missing her child.

The Adoption Reader, edited by Susan Wadia-Ells (Nonfiction*) A collection of essays written by birth mothers, adoptive mothers, and adopted daughters. Several different perspectives, all in one book!

On a completely unrelated note, I also got Scarlett Fever, the sequel to Suite Scarlett — which I have been dying to read for months but couldn’t ever find at the library because it was always checked out, and didn’t feel like spending $16.99 for the hardcover**.

I really want to get at least an hour of writing in today, and since I have to go to the bookstore to get something for Mike anyway, I might as well make a trip out of it and treat myself to some Starbucks (and of course my addiction — the spinach and feta stuffed pretzel)! I also need to go to the gym and sign up (and work out for an hour), and get some things at Target. I have to do all of this before 9:00 so that Mike can take the car for work tonight.

And I have to admit, it sounds so strange and yet so sweet to say that I have to be back in time for him to take the car to go to work. I wonder when we’ll start getting on each other’s nerves? :D

Anyway, I’m super excited about this research; a new fire has been lit under my ass, and who knows? I might actually finish writing the first draft of this book before November!


*Which, as my friend Jillian once pointed out, means “not not real.” Way to go, people who came up with that one!

**Let’s pretend that I didn’t make myself a hypocrite by spending the same amount on several Chelsea Handler memoirs. Sigh.

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There are no holes in my eyes, but I might have Sjögren’s

Five hours ago, I left my aunt’s and headed to Walmart for my eye exam. My first, mind you, in three years. I went only because I was pretty sure my prescription had drastically changed, and figured I might as get it over with already before I did real damage to my eyes.

I was relieved when my eye doctor told me that there were no tears — HOLES — in my retinas. I was completely and totally floored, however, when she told me that my prescription hasn’t changed at all.

I am, she told me, a victim of eye strain. Since I spend eight or more hours a day in front of the computer, and as much of my spare time as possible reading a book, my eyes are tired as hell. Since they are also so freaking dry all of the time, the glare while driving at night is worse than it would be for a normal person.

So, my eye doctor gave me special eye drops… and a prescription for bifocals. Fuck. Bifocals?! Fortunately, they’re the kind that are gradual; you won’t see a little oval on my glasses. Basically, they will help my eyes relax more when using the computer or reading. So there’s that.

She also, after asking me questions about my health and hearing my laundry list of autoimmune disease symptomsespecially after me telling her that my mouth and eyes are always dry, and that I get styes and mouth sores all the time — suggested that I might have Sjögren’s Syndrome. Several months ago, I had looked up Sjögren’s and, seeing that the symptoms and my symptoms are nearly identical, asked Pam (my PA) about it. She had said she didn’t think so, and I can’t remember why for the life of me*.

Anyway, I was looking at the symptoms of Sjögren’s again earlier this afternoon, and thinking about my own symptoms, and I think that there is a real possibility that this could be it. The pamphlet that my eye doctor gave me also said that Sjögren’s can come hand-in-hand with other autoimmune diseases, like Rheumatoid Arthritis, so I’m really thinking that I might have Sjögren’s, Rheumatoid Arthritis, and I know I definitely have Raynaud’s Phenomenon, even though no one has diagnosed me with it.

The Sjögren’s website also has a a list of tests a doctor can run to diagnose you. Unfortunately, I’ve had several of these tests done several times… and each time, everything comes back positive. I don’t mind going for more blood work**, but what I really want is to see an autoimmune disease specialist who doesn’t think I am crazy or who isn’t completely out of it themselves.

I guess the real answer here is to go see Pam and see if she can get me into Yale, like Sandy keeps saying I should do. The thought of driving back and forth to New Haven for more tests is not very exciting, but I need to know. I am over three years into this, and cannot even think about starting a family until I know what exactly is going on with my body and how it might affect any pregnancies or mini me’s***.

I have an appointment with her the first week of September, but I’m wondering if I should call and see if I can get in sooner. What do you think I should do?


*I also apparently didn’t blog about this. Grr.

**Although, I noticed yesterday while outside with Mike that I have tiny holes scarred into the inside of my elbow, which I’m guessing is probably from getting blood drawn so freaking often.

***Not that I’m ready to have a baby or anything. Mike and I do know that we want kids, though, so I want this all figured out before then. Mainly I just want to know for my own peace of mind, but I have to know for my future kids, too.

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#superbyseptember, let’s do this!

Remember how I said I weighed myself too late for Super by September? Well, Karen — who put this whole thing together — is letting me in anyway. I just have to weigh myself again before this coming Sunday so she has a more recent number to work with. I also now have a list of the other participants. My pen pal Brooke is doing it, too, so at least I know one other person. I should have just asked Karen if I could still do it, considering the deadline was last Sunday and I weighed myself Monday, but since I’m shy and slightly intimidated by doing a weight loss challenge, I decided to just let it go and join the gym anyway.

And speaking of the gym… I have yet to join. I promise I will go tomorrow and see what packages they have available, and hopefully sign up. I’m kind of reluctant to spend any extra money right now, but I know this is something I really need to do, and putting money into it will motivate me to actually go. I was raised on a tight budget. We weren’t dirt poor or anything, but I know the value of a dollar and I don’t waste money if I can help it.

So anyway, if you’re from Super by September and you’re reading this, hi! I’m hoping I’m not the only new person.

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How I failed a weight loss challenge before it even started

I was supposed to get my weight in for the Super by September challenge by Sunday night, but since I spent most of that day moving Mike and didn’t have access to a scale until Monday evening, I missed the proverbial boat.

So, last night, I took a deep breath and psychologically prepared myself for the scale. I stepped on, and my sister and I peered down at it. Since I can’t see shit until I get my glasses prescription updated, Lauren told me the grand total: 141lbs.

My normal weight for years was 118. I was a size 5, and though I didn’t have rock hard abs, I liked my body. It wasn’t perfect, my stomach wasn’t completely flat, but… I liked it.

To gain 5-10lbs is probably normally for my age. I’ve gained over twenty. I wore a size 7 for a little while, but when trying on clothes, even that doesn’t fit anymore. I was a mess last night while trying on pants at the mall.

Like I said, I have the curse that makes all extra weight go to my stomach and ass. Sometimes, it is physically painful and, most times, uncomfortable to wear certain things in my wardrobe.

However, every time I say how much I want to lose weight, everyone tells me I look fine. Hello, I can see how I look, and no, I don’t look fine. More importantly, I don’t feel fine.

Even though I missed the Super by September weigh-in, I’m still going to get my ass moving. I’ve decided to get a gym membership, but I have to go into the gym first and find out what their different plans are and whether I would be better off paying a year in advance or paying the monthly fee.

My aunt told me that if I exercise five days a week, I’ll start to see a difference on the scale within six weeks. I want to set some weight loss goals, but I have no idea how to do this healthily, since when I was in high school, I decided to lose weight unnecessarily and went from around 115lbs to 102 or something like that. I made myself really, really sick — hi, I’m hypoglycemic! — and though I’ve had a few slip-ups fasting-wise, haven’t lost that much weight that quickly since. Honestly, I would be happy if I could get down to 125lbs and just be a size 5 again. I don’t care if I never see 118 again.

I do care that I look like I’m five months pregnant, and I do care that shopping for clothes is no longer fun.

So, my goal for this month is to join a gym, dammit, and to go five days a week, for at least an hour. My other goal is to write one hour every night and work on Secondhand Mom. I found some adoption resources and am planning on picking up a couple of the books at the library tomorrow.

If I stick to these goals, I’m going to… Um… Well, I can’t think of anything that I really want right now, so I guess I’ll stick to the damn goals.

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