How to Abort Your Diet.

*Disclaimer: I'm not a nutritionist. I have a body and a historically messy view of food. This is by no means the only way to be healthy. But hopefully it's the wittiest. 

A Step by Step Guide to hopping off the diet treadmill without it throwing you into a wall, thus humiliating you in front of all those ambitious 6am gym people.

Step 1: Admitting you have a problem. In the past 2 weeks have you:

• Weighed yourself more than 28 times
• Googled the caloric content of communion wafers, human sexual fluids, or chapstick
• Considered Diet Coke to be the healthiest beverage choice
• Ate only carrots during the day because you were going drinking with your friends that night
• Punched someone because they tried to share your carefully portioned mid-day nut meal 
• Woke up, ate breakfast, realized you have to run a marathon to break even in terms of calories
• Become paranoid that there was a labeling error and you are actually purchasing 2% milk
• Defeated your natural hunger response and live in a constant state of "is this an ulcer, or should I be eating?" 
• Defeated your Deity-given metabolism and managed to gain weight despite eating under 1000 calories per day
• Defeated your gag reflex and, well, ya know. 

If you answered "yes" to enough of the above questions to make you feel a little crazy, a lot hungry, and mostly terrified that your body will just spiral out of control if you don't have an encyclopedic knowledge of the nutritional value of your foods, take a few deep breaths, and continue to step 2. 

Step 2: Look yourself in the eye (using a mirror probably) and say, "It will be worth it in the long term to stop dieting now. Bodies are malleable and if you gain or lose weight, it can be changed in a healthy manner" 

This might take convincing. Here are some fun activities you can look forward to after you quit dieting: 

• Going out to eat and ordering something other than the lowest calorie item 
• Going out to eat. Period. 
• Eating when your hungry 
• Thinking about more effective ways to built a lean-to rather than what your next meal will be
• In an unexpected turn of events, feel like you have control over your body, not your diet
• Not having the metabolic rate of a 200 year old sloth 

Step 3: Get rid of all that shit they gave you at the start up meeting

Don't fool yourself. Never again will you need that specialized calculator that converts carbs, protein, fiber, and fats into point values. Just chuck it now. Besides, you know you've got all that memorized anyway. Hide your scale, measuring tape, whatever crazy fat calibrators you have. Put them somewhere incredibly difficult to reach. Like duct taped to the inside of your chimney or under your territorial cat's favorite pillow. 

Step 4: Put your skinny jeans in the way back of your closet

Dieting freaks out your metabolism. When you stop, your metabolism will re-calibrate and you might gain or lose some weight. Get ready, it's gonna be okay. This is 500 times harder when you're shaming yourself because your clothes are fitting differently. Accept these changes (as all weight fluctuations are) as temporary. 

Step 4 and 1/2 (the most important step, despite not getting its own number): Accept that the size you want to be and the size you are most healthy at, might not be the same. If you've been dieting hard, you might have pushed your body below where it should go. If you stop dieting and eat healthy, your body will probably go back to it's baseline. That might be a few pounds more or less than you would prefer. You have to accept that you won't look the same as you did at the peak of your diet. 

I repeat: You have to accept that you won't look the same as you did at the peak of your diet. 

One more time: You have to accept that you won't look the same as you did at the peak of your diet. 

Time hop is a thing? Uninstall that shit: You have to accept that you won't look the same as you did at the peak of your diet. 

Got it? Good. Moving on.

Step 5: Figure out how you want to eat now

Personal anecdote time (she says nearing the end of an obviously personal blog): I couldn't sustain 20 hours of dance a week, 16 miles of biking a day, and full time food service on my feet under 1200 calories. But I also couldn't do it eating exclusively carbs and fats. It helped me to keep it simple initially. Eat when you're hungry, stop when your full. Resurrect that food pyramid and try to eat from all the major food groups every day. Some structure is okay. It's hard to go from tracking everything to tracking nothing, so don't worry if you flounder a bit. 

This takes time. Sometimes you eat a whole bunch and get really sick. Sometimes you don't eat enough and get really sick. Sometimes your digestive tract takes a while to adjust to eating normally and you feel like garbage for a few weeks. Sometimes you get stressed out an calculate everything you've eaten over the past week in a matter of minutes. Don't let this getcha down. It's okay to not be perfect. 

The End. Good luck. God Speed. Happy Wednesday. 

You shouldn't fix your bike while drinking.

In the roughest of chronological order I present: 

Reflections on the week of December 8th (told in the 2nd person. because some things are better approached at arm's length)

When push comes to shove, you and your roommate do have clairvoyant powers and will most likely accurately call the end of the world on a hunch. 

Congrats Bro and Dan. :)

If you pick a shirt off your floor and it isn't stained and you vaguely remember wearing it because someone you really dig commented how it matched your shoes and all you did with the rest of that day was take a 3 hour nap followed by 3 hours of dancing to golden age musicals and songs about the universe, as long as the pits don't smell you are definitely clear to wear it to work today. 

The best remedy for the crippling frustration at your weak finger's inability to remove your bike tire from the rim without puncturing the inner tube, is to drink while you do it. This is false. You will resort to tools and your inner tube will get snagged. Fortunately you have the chutzpah to wait anxiously outside Johnny Sprockets 2 minutes before they open so they can fix your bike immediately at half an hour before your ass needs to be on it pedaling to work. Worth it. 

"I think I got 1.5 hours of sleep last night because I was infuriated at humanity's inability to get its shit together, but I'm not even tired. I'm functioning just like a normal human. Which can mean only one thing, I am definitely superman."

Later that day you cry for a few minutes because you have the best friends in the world. This is where you recognize that the sleep:santiy correlation is suffering. 

If you stretch your middle split long enough, eventually all your muscles release and your torso just kinda creeks to the floor. Like Star Wars IV when the garbage compactor nearly crushes Luke Sywalker, Han Solo, Chewbacca, and Princess Leia. When this happens for the first time, sometimes you panic because this is totally new and supposedly your psoas holds all your repressed feelings from forever and now they have been unleashed and the best thing to do in that moment is to have an audible conversation with the fuzz living under your bed. Weirder things have happened. 

Sometimes you pour a heart in someone's latte. Sometimes that heart gets a little weird and looks like a butt. Sometimes that butt looks a little like an O'Keeffe. Sometimes you get a little too enthusiastic about this development and perfect the details. Despite months of occasional practice you still can't pour appropriate latte art, but Gloria Steinem would be proud.  

You've called the police so many times that you've developed an uncanny ability to remain deceptively calm while talking to the operator. So calm that the operator begins mirroring your tone by the end of the call and you think "maybe I should start crying now just to remind them that I need them to take this situation pretty seriously."  

Sometimes your "no shave November" bleeds into your December and at this point you're like "I have hair on my arms and stuff so why get all bent out of shape about my legs?" You've always known patriarchal beauty standards were bull shit anyway. Then you buzz half your head and realize that the hair on your legs is now longer than the hair on your head and you feel like you've really accomplished something here. 

You can go 5 days straight without washing your hair. Definitely no one noticed. You looked stunning every single day.

You gave in and now own a smart phone. You dislike it even more than anticipated and this pleases you. So you leave it at home for a few days as punishment for its existence. Also because you couldn't figure out how to turn the volume down. 

My body is the perfect vessel for demonic possession.

So last night my roommates and I watched The Conjuring. Because that's what you do when you have the horror movie tolerance of the typical 5 year old and thought you'd take the night as a "rest day."

As predicted, I stayed awake until 1am rationalizing why my body is the perfect vessel for demonic possession.

1) My Catholic Standing
I hit this sweet spot in Catholicism where I'm baptized and confirmed and just Catholic enough to be on the satanic radar, but (given my current "mid-twenties-humanism" approach to spirituality) I probably don't qualify for full protective benefits from the spirit in the sky. Not to mention all this business about Pope Francis and the bishops and the gays. If this went down on October 18th I might have a shot at getting exorcised. But by the 20th the Vatican would be all:


PAPA FRAN: "Oh hey, there's this chick out in Chicago vomiting blood and killing innocent Divvy Bikers, probably Satan up to his dirty tricks again, whaddya say Bishops?"

BISHOPS: "Oh yes, deploy the exorcism commit...WAIT a hot second, she's a flaming homosexual. This could be terrible publicity after formally taking back our brief acceptance of the heathens on October 20th. Ah well."


HOWEVER, there is hope. I happen to be the granddaughter of the one and only Fran Dessoffy, (of no genetic relation to the aforementioned Papa Fran) who is probably the most holy human on the face of the planet. My family has destroyed basically every rule in Catholic doctrine and this woman loves and accepts us anyway. So I'm 90% confident that should I require an exorcism, she could hook me up with one of her many cool priest friends and save my mortal soul and whatever Divvy Bikers remain.

2) They prey on the psychologically week 
I watched a horror movie with 3 people, mostly with the lights on, and still stayed up half the night contemplating why a demonic spirit will more than likely latch on to my person.

The other day I literally shouted "NOOO" and jumped out of my seat on the train because I thought I saw a bedbug. It was a spec of dirt.

one can never be too careful about these things.

3) Nick is my brother
I mean this in the most sibling-y way possible, but this at least triples my chances.

4) I am in excellent physical health
Possessed Lili Taylor was mad strong. I like to think my chances of fighting off various priests and clairvoyants is better than hers. Again, making me the logical choice.


So we are now on night 2 of knowing that this movie exists. That's all I got.

G'night,
Kait

Pro Queer Space Argument to be thrown into the gauntlet of tumblr critique.

Ayeeeee

So I haven't updated this puppy in a while. Mostly because I've been dancing more than I've ever danced before and when I'm not working, biking to work, icing my thass, or dancing, I am sleeping. (Or binge watching Pretty Little Liars, but that's another thing entirely.) 

I'm also friending said dancers on facebook. After a few weeks of being like "please God, don't find my blog" I was like, "fuck it. They've seen me face-plant into a yoga mat in a high cut leotard, they can handle the mess of personal information I've disclosed to the internet over the past four years." 

National Coming Out day was last week and I'm on season three of Pretty Little Lairs, this is enough of an excuse for me to post something about the importance of queer spaces. 

I've seen some interesting articles popping up on my facebook about the death of gay culture. In Chicago with that slew of boystown bars closing, people are starting to question the need for queer spaces. So I'm going to throw my 2 cents to the pro-queer spaces bucket. 

To address the aforementioned (5 point word) article, Boystown has it's problems. Firstly, it's BOYstown. This would indicate that it is a space for cisgender gay dudes. Which is basically what it is. And every time I go, I've realized it's primarily a space for specifically white young cisgender gay dudes. I'm not going to bother looking up the stats, but if Chicago's biggest gayborhood is not a place for 6 out of 7 humans on the LGBTQIA spectrum, or racially inclusive, we have a problem. 

Similar arguments can be made against pride and market days. Is the best display of queerness really to get day drunk and dance around in our underwear? Nahhh. 

We do need to make our safe spaces more inclusive, but phasing out queer spaces in favor of general acceptance is not the way to go.

Living in Chicago, it's easy to forget that not every place is as gay friendly as most cities. My high school and neighborhood was not particularly gay friendly. I knew 2 dudes who were gay and out at my high school. When one of them tried to start a GSA the administration told him he couldn't. Now this is a school with a bible club and sports teams with try outs. You can have those organizations and reject the GSA. That's telling the gay kids that they don't have any allies. And if the administration doesn't accept gay kids, do you thing students will? I can acknowledge that 2009 was a different time (tumblr didn't exist, so being queer wasn't trendy). But my private Catholic College was more accepting of my gayness than my huge public high school would have been had a figured my shit out before I was 19. 

Come on now.

And my story isn't half as bad as most people's. So keep your small town queers in mind next time you try to dismantle a gay mecca. Sometimes the idea is enough to let people know they belong even if they don't actually live there.

Even in Chicago, I feel the most comfortable in the gay spaces (Taking into account that I'm a white, cis-gender, able bodied, middle class lady, but for the sake of the argument:) Everywhere outside of Halsted you're straight until proven gay. If I'm walking around holding hands with anyone but a dude, I'm in the minority. A minority that's accepted, but still someone that gets more than a casual glance from people walking by. If I'm in boystown or at pride, everyone assumes everyone is gay. I can wear cargo shorts and bro tanks without getting looks. Unless there's some huge genetic rift, this is just how it's going to be. As someone who likes to keep a low profile, I appreciate pockets where no one bats and eye.

Lastly, there's just something cool about a bunch of non-hetero's in a room together. Groups of straight girls get to bond over their lust for Leonardo DiCaprio literally anytime they want. If you're in a room with a lady human, chances are she is in love with Leonardo DiCaprio. And you can just relate till the cows come home. I don't get it. But you do you. Not that every non-straight non-cis person is exactly the same, but there's usually some common ground.

"who sells men's jeans that will accommodate my ass and thighs?" 

"of course I knew Ellen Paige was gay before Valentine's day 2014,"

"how many holidays did you have to wear combat boots and flannel before someone figured it out" 

"do you want to get coffee sometime?" 

I could go into a whole gay hallmark drama about that coffee date, but you get what I'm saying. And sometimes I wish I could put all the queers in a fishbowl so I could find dates. Don't lie. You've thought it. Unless your a dude in theatre, no sympathy. 

So yeah. Lets not do away with those gayborhoods just yet. Let's make them totally embracing of people of color, trans folks, people with disabilities, etc. That needs to happen. 

And also, could we get some low key bars up in here? Like, some place that doesn't have a smoke machine or subwoofer? Or maybe a knitting club? I would totally be down for a gay knitting club. 

Grandma out. Have a good night. 

Heyyyy White People

Let's talk about racism.

Seriously folks, it's time I addressed this.

Frankly, my blog is an excellent example of a white person being totally apathetic when it comes to taking action against racism. I pride myself in being socially conscious and politically active. Since I've started this blog, countless innocent black folks have been murdered by white folks with a shooter bias and I literally haven't said anything about it! That's really really terrible and I'm so sorry for not acknowledging this sooner.

Racism is a touchy subject for me and I think it is for a lot of white people. I grew up in a predominantly white, blue collar, suburb just south of Cleveland. I figured that since Jim Crow racism wasn't a thing anymore we were living in a post-race society. I grew up in a generation that didn't talk about race because we figured it wan't relevant. But if you acknowledge that there are still really harmful stereotypes surrounding black culture or like, watch the news, it's pretty clear that we're still living in a racist society.

I try to be a good white person. I recognize that I have privilege as a white person in this country just because of the color of my skin. I think about race constantly. I am very aware of the things I assume about people based on their race and when I catch myself making an assumption I work to undo that schema. After doing some research I came to the conclusion that reverse racism can't exist because us white folk aren't the minority group being prejudiced against. I'm not trying to sound superior. But I'll risk sounding superior to say that this should be our baseline, white people. Racism isn't about to fix itself. And we are part of the problem, so we need to be part of the solution.

It's come up more often recently, probably due to the death of Michael Brown, may he rest in peace, but so many of my friends have been talking about their experience with racism on a daily basis. White people assuming they're trying to steal a bike, making preacher jokes, shit about buying drugs. WHITE PEOPLE WHAT ARE WE DOING?! I am so angry that we consider ourselves to be a post race society but my friends are still getting racist comments on the daily?!

Okay what am I saying here. A few things:

Thing 1: Racism still exists. White people, it's time we acknowledge it.

Thing 2: More than acknowledge it, we need to actually do something about it.

Thing 3: What can we do? For starters, talk about it. I get SUPER uncomfortable talking about race because I am terrified that I will offend someone I care about, or say the wrong thing, or make an ass of myself BUT I've decided that the consequences of not having these discussions are way worse that the possible faux pas that will happen because of them. Like this post, I've re-written sentences so many times and I'm absolutely sure that a whole lot slipped though the cracks. Posting it anyway. Please call me out on things.

Thing 4: Black people, bear with me. Sometimes I am unintentionally inconsiderate. I really don't care what color your skin is, but old stereotypes die hard. Is that even a saying? I'm making it one.


So this has been the first of many blogs to come addressing racism. Mostly it's serving as a "this is a thing we're going to talk about and it could get ugly but at least we're talking." There will be more detail soon, but I was sick of putting this off so I decided to post it as it is.

Have a good rest of your Sunday,

Kaitlyn

Chicken and Juno and Netflix.

Ayeoooooo

Nothing particularly spectacular has happened to me in the past week and a half or so since I last wrote anything, but what with my night off and this unseasonably warm November day, it feels like the right time to update this.

Last weekend I auditioned for Joel Hall's second company. I can't say enough good things about this company. Usually when I go to drop ins at other studios, I'm in a room full of young, skinny, white ladies such as myself, who have been dancing since they were 5. At Joel Hall I am dancing with people of all ages, sizes, races, genders, and levels of experience. It sounds like that would create a really disorganized class, but it really works. I feel like I've learned more than I usually do from my classmates here and I'm meeting some really cool people. As far as the audition goes, I feel great about it. I bombed the petite allegro, but it didn't throw me off, so I'm taking it as a lesson in recovery. I still haven't heard, and they said we'd know within the week. So I'm not holding my breath, but the audition and classes I've taken there have made me realize that this is the kind of atmosphere I want to work in. Even if I don't make any of their companies, it's good to know that there is a studio I feel at home in.

Literal hours after the audition I hopped on the megabus and went home for a few days. It was a nice little visit. It's weird going home now after college because I don't really know when I'll be back again. Hopefully around Thanksgiving. At any rate, I managed to see a lot of my friends and family who I don't get to see very often. I have no intention of moving back to Ohio any time soon, but it is comforting to know that I have a loving home base to fall back on should I ever truly fail as a professional barista.

Speaking of which, my latte hearts still look like dicks.

Which brings us to today. Which was awesome.

After work I went to the library to get some music and THEY HAD THE JUNO SOUNDTRACK. THEY NEVER EVER HAVE THE JUNO SOUNDTRACK. FINALLY. They also had Regina Spektor, They Might Be Giants, and Ingrid Michaelson. Basically my "biking to work" playlist just got a million times better.

New jams in hand I was feeling inspired to actually cook stuff. I've been eating bagels and whatever is about to go out at work for the past week and it is no longer cutting it. So I made my usual variation on carb+veggies+protein. But, big news this time: I cooked chicken. I bought raw, potentially salmonella filled chicken and cooked it and ate it with minimal fear of death, debilitating illness, or accidentally contaminating my roommates. This is big for me. I'm so full right now.

Then I decided it was time to buzz my hair again. I'm growing the top out and it's just not cooperating. It looks sort of like that wave on the Indigo Girls album art. I can't really blame it. What with all the bleaching, product and hair dye I subject it to. At least now the sides are trimmed. Whatever.

Anyway, lastly, tonight I joined the adult world and bought my own netflix account. Because I keep mooching off people and then today I was like, "Kaitlyn, it's been a 4 star day, and you can absolutely swing $8 a month, just get your own netflix." Then I was like, shoot, I need a cool password so when someone asks to mooch off my netflix I can pay it forward without embarrassment.

So basically I can cook chicken, give myself a quick and dirty hair cut, marathon Breaking Bad, and listen to Kimya Dawson whenever I want.

Success.

Peace be with you,
Kaitlyn

Dancing and Bedbugs and Lolla oh my.

hi.

Before I get into it, I'd like to acknowledge a lot of my blogs have been incredibly self centered recently. I'm trying to figure out what I'm doing with my life and hasn't left me with much mental energy to formulate educated thoughts that are not already all over the internet about issues outside of my own life.

Also, give me one person who can explain what's happening in the Gaza strip. Like, I could try, but in 15 minutes my blog will be irrelevant. I'm not much for prayer, but if there was ever a time this is it.

I digress. Anyway, I have a hunch that the vast majority of people who read my blog are in the same boat. So I hope you can get something out this, even if it is just a sense that you're not the only who is neck deep in first world problems and post grad woes.

Thing 1:
About 3 weeks ago I decided that I wanted to make dance a priority. So I saved my tips, started taking classes at Joel Hall, and signed up for a few company auditions. I love being back in class but sweet Jesus I am out of dance shape. Not out of actual shape, I can bike from my apartment to the south loop in 35 minutes at 4am, easy (I need to brag about physical accomplishments, this is what I have going for me right now). But dance classes are this whole other animal. Firstly, all the biking has made my legs and hips really tight, so my flexibility is way under where I need it to be. Also, my abdominal wall is probably actually just a pile of jello. I've been working on it, and I'm getting stronger, but the other day in class I literally hit the floor halfway through a jackknife set. Like, full on fell over. So embarrassing. Plus, biking for an hour, being on your feet for 8 and then biking home for an hour only to run off and dance for two hours is exhausting. And this is not unusual. I knew what I was signing up for but I need to figure out how to actually, physically do all of this because I am definitely still in the adjustment period.

Thing 2:
Earlier this week I found a bedbug in my room. Now I've been down this road before, so my immediate reaction was hysterical crying for 1/2 an hour. Then I threw myself into the laundry and garbage bag routine, notified my roommates and landlord, and rationed out 40 dollars worth of quarters. After four days of prep the exterminator came, confirmed that my room has bugs, and treated the apartment. As of now we are in a ten day waiting period living out of garbage bags.

My job is to bait the bugs. Since the bugs are only in my room I have to sleep in my bed every night. The carbon dioxide emitting from my unconscious body lures the bugs out of hiding. To get to me they have to cross the exterminator's chemical barrier. But as I understand it, this doesn't kill them immediately. They nom on me for a bit, then crawl off to die. As you can imagine, this is exceptionally comforting and makes taking naps and going to bed a totally stress free time. Except that it's not, and it isn't, and I hate everything about this. Also, I've worn the same 3 outfits for the past 7 days. And I get like four hours of paranoid sleep a night. Which makes "biking working biking dancing" really hard to manage. And the icing on the cake, I react to bed bug bites with huge hives that are incredibly itchy. So I'm currently sporting some really attractive bleeding welts. It's great.

Also OCD and infestations of bloodsucking parasites. Just. Mmm.

Thing 3:
One of my nearest, dearest, closest friends Sara is leaving for Atlanta in a week. This is not a bad thing! I want to be clear that I am so so excited for her and cannot wait for her to just tear it up as a badass lady fitness professional (I'm going to refer to you as a fitness professional, Sara, just so you know.) I'll spare her the embarrassment of publishing my love note to her on my blog, but she is so important and I already miss her so very much.

Thing 4:
Lollapalooza. I just cannot. I have had it with the herds of underage youths in booty shorts, flowered headbands, and camelbaks. Can I just say, you're not hiking the fucking Sahara, I am judging you.

I hope ya'll who went had fun.

Grandma out,

Kaitlyn.