The birds and the bees who dwell in the Black Forest

I learned about the birds and the bees in 7th grade from one of my family's many foreign exchange students named Juliette Rabovski from Germany whose first time was on a bed of no, not roses, but crunchy leaves, bugs, and sticks deep in the woods of the Black Forest. Dang hippie German girl. She didn't shave her pits either. I was 12, she was 17, and, looking back, she was a little too eager to tell me about her woodsy sexcapades. I remember it like it was yesterday. We were sitting on the front porch, swinging. She was glamorously smoking a cig (funny, my dad smokes and it never seems glamorous when he does it) and teaching me Cranberries songs on the guitar. (Do you have to let it linger? Do you have to? Do you have to?) Then she busted out with the question: "Peyton, have you had sex?" Hold up, wait a minute, let me put some "No you idiot, I'm twelve" in it. But of course I didn't answer like that. I was too enamored by her glamorous cig smoking, Zombie singing ways to answer sensibly. Before I could babble out anything that sounded glamorous enough to fall on her ears, she started in. "I have. I have a boyfriend back home. We do it all the time out in the woods." Again, gross now, glamorous then. I'll save you the "glamorous" detes, but I will say this: it was probably much more detail than a 12 year old girl should hear.

I woke up thinking about Juliette from Germany this morning and that particular story. Then it made me start thinking about all of the other very peculiar students we hosted over the years. I truly do believe that my life is much richer because of these people and the experiences I had with them. Honest to goodness, that includes the experience of hearing about the birds and the bees from Juliette from Germany. Thank God she beat my parents to it because, holy crap, that would make for one extremely awkward convo. I should write Juliette from Germany a thank you note, should I not?

Juliette from Germany came to us through the foreign exchange program that my mom participated in. As far back as I can remember and up until I was 16, my family hosted foreign exchange students each year. There was Jennifer from Edinburgh, Scotland (she was crazy, like certifiably insane) and Christine from London, England (who came back on her accord about 5 years after we'd hosted her for a visit; loved her; she played dress up with me). Then there was Take (pronounced Tock-Ay) from Japan who almost burned our house down from wok cooking. Then Lynn Won Yong from Beijing, China (probably the tallest human being I have ever seen in my life). Then Mickey from Japan who I have NO remembrance of. Next came Simon from Macau, China. After Simon there was one other Asian guy who I can't remember his name. Then Juliette from Germany. And finally, Alvaro Jimenez from Huelva, Spain who blew all the others out of the water. He was awesome (and hot. I so had a mean crush on him.)

My mom hated Juliette from Germany, though, and after only of few months, sent her off to stay with another family out of town. That was okay by me. I got my bed back and could now impress people with my Zombie and Linger playing guitar skillz.

Don’t Squat With Your Spurs On

I am now the very proud owner of a pair of cowboy boots. This is my first ever pair of cowboy boots. I remember, growing up, a friend having a hot pink, suede pair with fringe that I coveted for so long. Although I might get a few crazy stares in public, I'm pretty sure I could still rock some pink fringe today. I have, however, [insert a huge sigh of relief from the general public] graduated from those - now kitsch, I'm sure - pink suede's to a more refined, rustic, discreetly embellished look.

They are brown. Not the muddy kind of brown you might find on a pair of K-Mart brand, 'I'm-just-buying-these-to-get-the-job-done' kicks. No, these boots are the rich kind of brown. The kind of brown that could never be described with the adjective 'dirty'. You know what I mean? Brown is just a dirty sort of color in most cases. But in contrast to the 'dirty' brown that conjures mental images of mud, dirt, and waste, this brown, the brown of my boots, is perfect. It is that rich, chocolate brown that conjures images of the perfect chocolate bar, perfect shiny brown eyes. Oh, I have the perfect illustration: imagine walking into a very old house, a house that may be dingy, dusty and cracking, but whose hardwood floors are still perfectly intact, perfectly rustic and aged, perfectly stained, perfectly brown. That is the brown of my cowboy boots. Brown leather. With stitching. In a pattern that says 'I may look sweet, but I'll kick your ass if I have to.' That act may be aided by the pointy toe.

They are molded to my foot, my shape. If anyone else tried to wear them, I'm convinced they wouldn't feel right, and might just be downright uncomfortable. But when I pull them on, they are as comfy as bedroom slippers. The leather envelopes my foot and gives a little slack exactly where I need it. When I put them on I really do feel badass. I walk differently. My strut exudes confidence when I'm wearing my brown leather boots. I like hearing the 'hey cowgirl' and 'yee-haws' when I walk past a stranger.

There is not one article of clothing that hangs in my closet or another pair of shoes for this girl that contends with these boots. They are now one of my most prized possessions; and I am proud of them.

So says the girl in the rich brown, aromatic leather, subtle yet fiercely designed boots.

The LUNCHTIME PeyPey Chronicles

As stated in a previous post, I have an unhealthy relationship with food.

Oh come to me, cheese, ice cream, hot wings, pizza rolls, beer, some of the great loves of my life!

I'm not sure when this relationship began. I remember my mom never letting us drink cokes. My dad and Papa usually grew a garden every year, so we almost always had fresh produce. I was a very active kid. Brad and I played in the creek, were 'backyardigans', swam, played ball, etc.

Still, despite these things, I was always the chunkster in class.

Now, don't get me wrong. I had a great childhood. I can honestly say that I did not feel the first pangs of being self-conscious until I started dating Mark. My friends were always A LOT skinnier than I was but it never bothered me. I honestly cannot remember saying to myself as a 9, 12, 15, 18, even 21 year-old, 'I hate my body and I wish I was skinny.' It's true!

But now, 25 years old, the heaviest I've ever been, I'm saying it: 'I hate my body and I wish I was skinny.'

I think even my feet are overweight. No joke. My face is as round as one of those huge grapefruits that you know has had hormone injections. My jeans scream 'Thunder-thighs! Thunder-thighs!' at me every time I try to yank them on. My boobs? Dolly style, but really just all fat. My belly button can't breathe. And these 10 digits I have hanging off of my hand that feed me all that tasty goodness are the size of a gift basket summer sausage. Dang enablers. That's what I'll do; I'll just cut my fingers off.

So, it's pretty gruesome. Time for change.

Not everything that is faced can be changed, but nothing can be changed until it is faced.

Well, I'm facing the gruesome details today, January 12, 2009.

I plan to journal as much as I can about my food escapades during my lunch hour. But here's your (to all 3 of you who I think read this) part: keep me accountable. I'll try to entertain you at the same time.

So here's my first entry:

For breakfast today, I had a delicious bowl of Fiber-One Raisin Bran (probably the reason for the last minute bathroom visit before I left for work). And for a snack at 10:30, I devoured a bowl of blueberries and blackberries. So so far, that totals up to the following:

329 Calories
2 g Fat
71.5 Carbs (Yikes!)
42 g Sugar (Double yikes!)
12.5 g Protein
15 g Fiber
130% Calcium
37% Vitamin C
100% Iron

Ok, so that was a little time consuming. Not sure I'll do all that with everything. I'll focus mainly on Calories and I guess Carb intake. By the way, a lot of those sugar grams were from natural sugar in the berries.

It's 12:30, time for my SmartOnes Spaghetti and yogurt with granola.

I'll keep you updated. Just keep me accountable.

Oh! And I'm going to the gym tonight.