Worrying Makes Me Cry

It's been kind of a sad day so far. My dog tried to comfort me, but I pushed him away and then he went and cowered in the corner.

I went to an informational meeting for my nursing program. I was all worried that I would be the only one there. That's an irrational fear I have about EVERY PLACE I GO. Before I started going to kickboxing class, one of the reasons I gave myself for not going was: "If I'm the only one there, that will be SO embarrassing!" I must be crazy, or just in some weird sort of denial, because there are ALWAYS tons of other people everywhere I go. I bet if I went to the Fortress of Solitude, there would be scads of other people there.

So, there were lots and lots of people at this nursing information session. So many people, in fact, that I couldn't get a seat. Until that is, one girl who came with her parents told them to get up and go wait in the hall. Then I took one of their seats. But that made me feel all sad and alone. This girl has her parents with her! I thought. Then I thought: I'm going to die alone. Then the woman sitting on the other side of me asked to borrow my pen and as I handed it over to her I thought: I could really go for a parfait right now.

It turned out the meeting was so big, they decided to move it to another room four floors down. So we all traipsed down the stairs in a line. Someone made a joke about being dizzy (from having to turn a whole FOUR times while we made our way down to the first floor). Someone said "moooo!" because that's a funny thing to say whenever you're in a crowd and you're all moving collectively toward one area. The girl who borrowed my pen made a point of coming over to me and profusely promising to find me after the meeting and return it to me. I thought: It's a pen, not my baby. But I gave her a stern look that said: If you don't return that pen to me, you will never again have a peaceful night's rest because I will make sure that from this day forward your life is a living hell. Out loud I said: "Ok, cool."

The part of the day that made me sad was the meeting itself. Well, the meeting didn't make me sad...it was what was said at the meeting. And it didn't really make me sad--it made me nervous. And when I get nervous I cry. I'm just really afraid that I won't get into my accelerated nursing program. I know I have a good chance of getting in. I mean, I've got a 4.0 GPA. But then today, the leader of the meeting said something along the lines of: "We've accepted students with a 3.0 GPA and we've denied students with a 4.0 GPA." I know she probably said that because she doesn't want people to be discouraged and thinking that if they don't get a super-high GPA they have no chance of making it into the program. But I was thinking: what the heck did that 4.0 student do at their interview that made them get denied? Commit murder?

And then I just started to question everything. The leader of the meeting said that the goal statement I submitted with my application is SUPER important. She said they check it for grammatical errors, for content, and for evidence that the candidate has a passion for nursing. I have a DEGREE in writing! What if I get denied based on a comma error? Anyway...I know I should just relax and eat a donut. Or, really, I should just relax and eat an apple because at some point I'm going to have to get a physical and I can just hear the doctor now: "Liz, we got the results of your urine test back and it turns out you're a Fat Piece Of Shit. Unfortunately, there is nothing we can prescribe. I know it's a hassle, but you're going to have to diet and exercise." But apples aren't relaxing. Maybe I shouldn't eat anything and I should just go lie in a hammock. It's hard to be stressed out when you're in a hammock. Or maybe I should take a ride on a magic carpet. God damn it! Those aren't real!

I just know that if I make it into the program, I will thrive. I know I can handle the crazy full-time-classes-and-full-time-clinicals schedule. And moreover, I know I will make a great nurse. I'm well-rounded. I'm artistic and creative, but I'm also analytical and methodical. Plus, people like me! I'm just worried that when I go in for my interview, I won't be able to convey my real personality. I'll just sit there all nervous and fidgety and stinking up the room with my sweaty armpits.

As I sat in the informational meeting I was, as I've stated, filled with anxiety, but I was also filled with excitement. The accelerated nursing program sounds intense, but I love a challenge. And deep down, past all my layers and layers of insecurity, I have a feeling I'm going to get in.

That girl never did give my pen back.

The Great Beyond

Hello dear readers, and happy Sunday night. As if a happy Sunday night is a possibility. For me, at least, Sunday nights usually consist of curling into the fetal position, listening to Joni Mitchell, and crying into my pillow about any number of injustices in the world--my computer's lack of hard-drive space, my makes-me-look-like-a-McDonald's-employee EMT uniform, the floods in Fargo, the fact that I don't look good in lace... And then I usually eat some steak and watch The Amazing Race.

Sundays are also the day I usually examine my life and reflect on all the mistakes I've made and will continue to make forevermore. Earlier today, I watched an episode of Six Feet Under in which Brenda says to Nate: "The future is just a fucking concept that we use to avoid living today." I felt pretty guilty when she said that, because she's right. And I do that. I'm constantly thinking about what my life will be like three or four years from now, and how if I can just get there, everything's going to be amazing. I'm not saying my life isn't amazing now--it is. I mean, I have fantastic friends. I go out. I do stuff. And, Cadbury Creme Eggs exist. I'm a happy woman. But sometimes I feel like I should be doing more LIVING! You know? Like, I should get a motorcycle. People on TV are always doing things like that. They feel bored with life, so they go out THAT DAY and buy a motorcycle. And since they live in California, they take it out for a spin THAT DAY on a blissfully empty highway up in the mountains. They ride like the wind, a peaceful expression on their face as they gaze out over the Pacific ocean.

But in real life, you feel bored, you think: Hey, I'd like to get a motorcycle. Then you research motorcycles online for six months. Then you try to work up the courage to go into a motorcycle dealership. You try on leather jackets and pants. You think about what color helmet you'd like and if you're a decal or a non-decal sort of a person. And all the while you're slaving away at your telemarketing job, putting maybe $20 a week into your motorcycle fund, trying to live on lentils and tuna out of a can, and looking at a sad little photo of a motorcycle that you ripped out of a trade magazine and push-pinned to your cubicle wall, thinking: Someday. Someday.

I don't know that I should buy a motorcycle. I mean, I can barely walk. And I don't have a cubicle to put photos up in, but I do have a picture in my head of what the future will look like...or should look like: There are doves. And flowy white curtains. And a Jamaican man wearing a silk purple shirt and cargo shorts strumming a mandolin and singing 'Somewhere Over the Rainbow' while another man, this man:



feeds me grapes.

I know I'll get there. I just need time. Three or four years. Until then, if you need me on a Sunday night, I'll be in my room--hugging my knees to my chest, rocking back and forth and hitting myself in the face, murmuring "No, no, no. Stupid, ugly, stupid." Don't mind me, I get a little nuts without my steak and Amazing Race.

Welcome to my Head

You know how when you're filling out an application for a reality TV show, you'll get a question like, "If you could change one thing about yourself, what would you change?"

What? You don't fill out applications for reality TV shows? Don't judge me.

Well, anyway, I have an answer to that question. I would, 100%, change about myself the fact that I am afraid of EVERYTHING. Seriously. I have had so many sleepless nights worrying about things that turned out not to matter AT ALL.

Among the things I've been worrying about lately:

1. I have to start clinicals for EMT class soon, and I'm incredibly nervous--to the point where I get the shakes, my heart stops working, and I have to go on a bypass machine. I'm not even worried that I'll make a mistake with a patient, because I'm pretty sure I won't be allowed to do much (since I'm not yet a licensed EMT), and if I am allowed, I'll be well-supervised. I'm nervous about all the down time, all the times when we're not going out on calls. I'm usually pretty good at small talk, but what if I just sit there in awkward silence for 9 hours? What then?

2. I have an interview for my 2nd degree nursing program in a few weeks. For the past year and a half, I have focused on almost nothing else but getting into this program! What if I mess up the interview? What if they ask me why I want to be a nurse, and I go blank? What if I'm driving to the interview and my car breaks down and I have to hitchhike with a smelly trucker who makes me try chew just to make it there half an hour late? What if I do everything right and I still don't get in?

3. Before I can even start my EMT clinicals, I have to get a Hepatitis B vaccination. The shot is administered IM (Intra-muscularly), which means a large needle will be jammed into my upper arm, and apparently, according to my classmates, it really hurts. My EMT instructor (a seasoned paramedic) will be administering the shot to me...but...what if I cry in front of him like a little baby? What if he shouts at me in a you-can't-handle-the-truth sort of manner? Also: I've been doing research online (probably not a good idea given that there is so much controversy surrounding vaccines, it's nearly impossible to get unbiased information) and apparently some people believe that the Hepatitis B vaccine leads to Multiple Sclerosis! I definitely don't want that. I saw an episode of A&E's Intervention where the messed-up kid's mom had MS, and she could barely walk around! She kept talking about the pain! The pain! Then again, I'm pretty sure the Hepatitis B vaccine doesn't cause MS. I could sign a waiver saying I don't want the vaccine, but then what if I get the disease? Hepatitis B can lead to liver cancer!

4. I have a microbiology test that I should be studying for. What if I fail? What if I fail?

5. I have heard rumblings that the world is going to end on December 21, 2012. Umm...what's that all about?

So, yeah, those are my main worries. Also: I'm a little concerned that a favorite childhood movie of mine may never get released onto DVD. Check out this scene and tell me you wouldn't want to own this gem.

I know! Now you want to watch it! But you can't. Because it's not on DVD. And I probably won't be able to sleep tonight because of it.

Tour de E.D.

This week began with me having to drive to Grand Blanc to go to Genesys Health Park Hospital and a take a tour of the emergency department there--an EMT class requirement. What's worse, I was told to "dress professionally." Me being the fat piece of shit that I am, when I hear the words "dress professionally" I break out into a cold sweat and frantically start making deals with God (i.e., "I promise, God, if I can just look good for this one day, I'll never eat another donut ham hamburger."). It's times like these I wish maternity clothes weren't just for pregnant people.

So, I put on my old standby: some gray "officey" pants with a hidden elastic waistband, a "drapey" black cardigan thingy, a $5 Wal-Mart necklace, and ballet flats (though I'm the farthest thing from a ballet dancer you'll probably ever see).

When I arrived at Health Park, I stressed for a good 10 minutes about whether to leave my coat and purse in the car or take them with me. The FPOS (Fat Piece Of Shit) in me wanted to wear my coat inside (Fat logic: coats cover up my fat!) and bring my purse (Fat logic: if, all of a sudden, I feel ashamed of myself, I can pretend to be digging around for something in my purse while I discreetly wipe the tears from my eyes!) But alas, I decided to be brave and go coat-less and purse-less. I clipped my hospital ID badge to my sweater and walked in with my head held high (or, as high as I can hold my head, because my body has started storing a good amount of fat there and I'm starting to get neck-aches).

We were to meet in the Atrium--a cross between a swank hotel lobby and that smelly fake-jungle warehouse where they keep all the exotic birds at the zoo. There was a lady selling flowers. There was a piano that played by itself. There were real, live trees! And of course, there were my EMT classmates, all gathered in a huddle, making crude jokes and poking each other--just like 7th graders at a school dance. I didn't see my one and only friend from class (an outspoken (some might say loudmouth) older woman who is pretty much hated by the rest of the class, but who I feel sorry for), so I sort of edged my way up to the group and just stood there. I looked around to see what everyone else was wearing, comforted by the fact that if I had to dress up they did too. What did I see? Jeans. Jeans. Jeans. Ripped jeans. And: Tennis shoes. Dirty work-boots. T-shirts. Thong sandals! Oh. My. God. I could have fainted. But I knew that in this crowd, that would only please people--because they'd get to show off how much they know about medicine and shout things like, "Give me some room here! I need some room here people!"

So, I didn't faint. I decided to shove my annoyed-ness waaaay down into the pit of my stomach and probably take it out on the dog later. Finally, mercifully, the tour began. We were taken downstairs to the emergency department and shown all around--the ambulance bay, the triage room, the "B" side (where they take the less injured patients), etc.

I know I shouldn't compare things to TV. After all, life is nothing like TV, relationships are nothing like they are on TV...I mean, for crying out loud--TV makes Long John Silver's look like a good place to eat! But, I continually expect TV magic in my real life, or maybe I just hope for it. But no...the Emergency Department at Genesys Health Park was nothing like the Emergency Department at the fictitious County General on NBC's E.R. And, I wish it was. I just kept looking around thinking, this is the rest of your life, Liz. This is the life you have chosen for yourself. Gurneys. Metal carts with needles on them. Antiseptic. Heart-breakingly cheerful cartoon scrubs. A strange, poopy stench in the air. It can all seem pretty depressing at nine in the morning, especially if you're surrounded by a group of classmates who pretty much shun you and most especially if you've been tricked into wearing fancy pants and trouser socks.

The paramedic showing us around assured us that the Emergency Department gets a lot busier later in the day, and as I listened to him talk with passion about why he loves his job so much, I snapped out of my bad mood and remembered why I decided to become a nurse (and an EMT) in the first place--medicine is damn exciting. And, it's an honor to be the one who gets to help people, who gets to be there for them in their time of need.

I may not fit in in EMT class, but I fit in in the world of medicine. And guess what? Scrubs are damn comfy.

Sometimes The World Is An Ugly Place

I just spilled cottage cheese in my purse. Yes, cottage cheese. Damn you, huge 700-page 'Breaking Dawn' book! You squooshed my cup of cottage cheese so hard that the lid popped off. Let me tell you, it ain't easy cleaning cottage cheese out of a purse. AND, now I have no cottage cheese to eat! God damn it, I hate everything. I will ease my troubles by looking at pictures of celebrities I have crushes on:











Ah...man meat. Always makes everything better.

How to Spend a Day

Pretty much my favorite thing ever to do is go to the movies...on like, a Thursday afternoon or morning, when the theater is mostly empty and feels even darker and more like a big, perfect cave than usual--when I will be surrounded by rows and rows of empty seats, when I can put my feet up or lie across the seats (you know how you can make a couch by lifting up the armrests? I do that.), when I can gorge myself with popcorn and Cherry Coke and not be judged, when I can watch a sex scene without my mom or dad sitting next to me, when I can cry so much my T-shirt gets soaked and not feel like people are watching me, thinking, Does she know this isn't real?

That's my favorite thing. So on Thursday I decided to skip school and do just that. I drove the 30+ miles to Michigan's mall-extravaganza, Great Lakes Crossing. Great Lakes Crossing is a huge outlet mall. The stores are arranged in a big circle, which according to mall literature is a mile all the way around, and like a Las Vegas casino there are very few clocks at Great Lakes Crossing. But there are a lot of places to purchase soft pretzels and Orange Juliuses, and who needs clocks when you've got a belly full of chewy pretzel dough and creamsicly goodness? Also at Great Lakes Crossing: the mall speed-walkers...you know, those people who race-walk the mall instead of getting a gym membership? They deftly weave in and out of foot-traffic, knocking iced coffees out of ladies' hands and babies out of their strollers without even noticing.

Of course, Great Lakes Crossing also has a Cinema--an AMC sandwiched between a Rainforest Cafe and a Johnny Rockets. After getting my ticket, I purchased my requisite huge bag of popcorn and bucket of soda, drenched my popcorn with butter for about 20 minutes (they have a self-serve butter pump!), and then went in to see The Reader. Now, when you go to the movies at an odd time like Thursday morning, there's always the chance you may get the whole theater to yourself. This has happened to me. But it didn't happen to me with The Reader. When I walked in, there was one man in there already--an elderly fellow with salt-and-pepper hair and Marlboro-man skin, wearing a tan windbreaker. I felt bad for ruining his chances at getting the theater all to himself and simultaneously hoped that more people would show up, because while getting the theater all to yourself is awesome, sharing it with just one other person is super awkward.

The movie started and I was immediately captivated. Maybe it was the delicious scent of popped corn drifting up my nares, maybe it was the delightful largeness and darkness and coolness of the theater, or maybe it was the tremor of rebellious glee I got from skipping school--but I think it was The Reader. For those of you who may not be familiar with the film: it's about an affair between an impressionable and passionate young boy and a mysterious older woman. That's all I'm going to say. Oh--and that it's the sort of movie that...well, to quote Jack Nicholson in As Good As It Gets, "makes me want to be a better man." It's dark, it's sad, it's passionate, it's beautiful, it makes you ache inside, it makes you feel. And as an added bonus, you get to look at this handsome fellow a lot:



I swear I'm not a pedophile. He's 19. I looked it up.

All in all, I'd say: an afternoon well spent.

Bloody Good Fun

I've been reading the Twilight series...you know--with the vampires and the werewolves? You know--about desperate Romeo-and-Juliet-style teen love between the mortal Bella Swan and teen vampire Edward Cullen? And no, I'm not reading the series because I'm a teen girl whose favorite color is hot pink and whose favorite singer is J.T., but because I didn't want to miss out on another Harry-Potter-esque fantasy series craze. You see, I never read the Potter books. And I never read Lord of the Rings or Eragon or any of those. I know it's never too late. I could go back and read them now, but the party's over. There are no more midnight Barnes and Noble Harry Potter extravaganzas with booksellers dressed up as Dumbledorf...and without that, well, what's the point?

So, when my sister told me that she read Twilight and loved it, I thought, what the hey? I actually listened to the first book of the series, Twilight, on my iPod, because I don't have a ton of time to sit and read for pleasure, what with my annoying studies and all. I liked it...and I did fall a little bit in love with Edward Cullen. It's kinda hard not to. The kid is pretty much perfect...except for the fact that he won't give it up, much to Bella's chagrin. Edward swears his physical standoffish-ness is merely an effort to protect her. After all, he's a vampire and hence, very strong. He's more "man" than she can handle...if ya get my drift. But I think Edward's unwillingness to deflower Bella has more to do with author Stephanie Meyer's religious background than anything--she's a graduate of Brigham Young University and a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Also: the Twilight series is for young adults, and peddling sex to minors is kinda taboo.

While I enjoy the characters in the Twilight series (Well...I really just like Edward. Bella can be very annoying--stubborn, selfish, and at times, the ultimate anti-feminist), the writing is a little thin. I find myself skimming to get to the good parts. The plots are predictable, and there's a whole lot less imagination than there could be--especially in a world inhabited by a family of vampires who've been alive for over 100 years and a pack of werewolves who are just learning about their new-found powers.

Apparently, I'm not the only one who feels this way. Leave it to the master of imagination--Stephen King--to speak the truth. Haters may say ole' Stevie is just jealous, but I ain't buyin' it. Stephen King knows what's up, and in an interview with USA Weekend he said what I've been thinking ever since I started reading the Twilight series. Check it out:

Stephen King Rubbishes Twilight Author

Ahem...but...ahem...despite King's declarations, I am going to finish the Twilight series. I just have to know--will Bella and Edward end up together or...um...is he single?

I Did It!

As proven by the blurry picture above (I swear that card has my name on it!), I am now CPR and AED certified!

Game Over

Why is it always the good shows that get kicked off the air? Oh yeah, it's because most people in America are ignorant assholes who can think of nothing better to do with their Monday night than sit, unshowered, on their frayed couches in their dank basements watching "Deal or No Deal" while slowly eating through a bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken and a bag of Funyuns. I don't have a problem with spending your night watching TV, and I certainly don't have a problem with stuffing your face with greasy meat--it's the "Deal or No Deal" part that gets me.

Scaredy-cat studio executives want to save cash by creating more primetime gameshows and pushing scripted shows to 9 and 10 o'clock (EST). That's why, over the past year, we've seen shows like "The Price is Right: Primetime Special" and "Are You Smarter Than a Fifth Grader?" cropping up. By the way: most Americans appear not to be smarter than a fifth grader, but they still know a lot of shit from third grade. Most Americans are willing to eat up this new serving of primetime gameshows with a spoon. Or maybe a spork with dog hair stuck to it that they found in their car. But not me!! NO!

Sure, I am a whore for reality TV. But reality TV has more grit--more blood, sweat, and tears--than your average gameshow. Take "Survivor," for example. "Survivor" is technically an elaborate gameshow, but we the viewers get a chance to fall in love with or despise, gradually, all the contestants. And therein lies the hook. We want to tune in every week to see our favorites rise to the top or to see the ones we hate get what's coming to them (in reality speak, this would be said person: getting "thrown under the bus," being "blind-sided," or having to "pack their knives and go").

I wouldn't have as much of a problem with one of my new favorite scripted shows, "Life on Mars" getting edged out in favor of a high-quality reality show, like "Top Chef" or "Amazing Race." But I do have a problem with it getting edged out in favor of a primetime gameshow! What is TV coming to? If I wanted to watch "Million Dollar Password," I'd stay home from work and watch it at three in the afternoon, when it was meant to be watched.

I Killed a Mannequin Today

Hello, dear devoted readers. I'm sorry I haven't written in a few days. It's very bad manners, I know. But what can I say? I've been busy. In EMT class, we've been preparing for our BLS certification test. BLS, for those of you totally not in the know, stands for Basic Life Support and includes things like: CPR, Automated External Defibrillator use, and assisting someone who is choking.

What happens is: we have to go into a room that is set up with 8 stations. Imagine sad-faced proctors sitting behind empty cafeteria tables piled high with CPR dummies. Station 1 might be: two-rescuer child CPR with AED (Automated External Defibrillator--the thing that shocks your heart, that is, if you don't have a can of Red Bull handy). So, you have to go over there and kneel down next to the mannequin. Then the proctor says something like, "You're at the movie theater and you see this kid collapse. Go!" So, I shake the kid (mannequin), and I say, "Hey! Hey! Are you all right?"

The proctor says: "He's not responding."

So I say, "I would send someone to activate the emergency response system and get an AED." Then I start CPR by opening the airway. Then I would say, as I put my head down close to the kid's (mannequin's) mouth, "I'm looking, listening, and feeling for breath."

Proctor: "He's not breathing."

Me: "I'm checking the carotid pulse."

Proctor: "There is no pulse."

Me: "I'm starting compressions." Then I would do 30 compressions, counting out loud, "One! Two! Three!" as I go (I would count all the numbers--not just one, two, and three). Then after 30 compressions, I would give two rescue breaths, and then begin compressions again until my partner arrived with the AED.

Sounds easy, right? Well, let me tell ya--you can know all the steps cold and then when you get in front of the proctor--and your classmates--you go completely blank, or forget to activate the emergency response system or something simple like that.

Today we had a practice session and I messed up a ton. First, I couldn't get a good seal on my BVM (Bag Valve Mask--the thing you always see the nurse or doc squeezing to deliver oxygen to patients on Grey's Anatomy or ER, while they're racing through the corridors of their busy hospital, attempting to save lives and juggle their tumultuous personal lives all at the same time). So basically, I wasn't getting any air into my mannequin's lungs. Poor, not-really-alive resuscitation Rob. Even when my proctor showed me how to do it right, I still kept messing up!

Then later, while attempting to resuscitate a mannequin-baby in a pink striped jumper, I forgot to send someone to activate the emergency response system and then I checked the brachial pulse before I delivered rescue breaths! What the fuck was I thinking? I had been working that station with two of my classmates and the proctor, a bald older guy named Hollis, said to them, well you two did great, but I'd like you (ME!) to try again. Later he apologized for asking me to try again, saying, "I hope you don't think I'm an asshole."

No, sir, I think I am an asshole.

Another proctor, a young-ish woman in a green shirt with an angular bob haircut, said to me, "Hey, relax, it's just practice," when I was doing compressions at her stations. I nodded and thought, Just because my face is beet-red and I've broken into a flop sweat doesn't mean I'm nervous. I really wasn't that nervous, to be honest, but doing compressions is physically exhausting and it'll take it out of ya--especially if you started your day by eating your weight in hot, fluffy biscuits, like I did.

I left the practice session with a massive headache and a strong desire to quit EMT class. Then again, that's almost always how I feel when I leave EMT class. All I know is, I better get energized before my test on Wednesday. And: I know just the way to do it. The new Butterfinger Buzz combines the Butterfinger taste you love with as much caffeine as the leading energy drink!

Why is it that for every problem I have, candy is always the answer?

So Many Fat People! All In One Place!

So, as everyone who reads this blog probably already knows--I'm fat. And, as everyone who reads this blog probably already knows--I love television. Well...this past weekend I found a way to bring these two parts of my life together! FINALLY. Because, being fat and loving TV usually don't go hand-in-hand...unless you count eating a bucket of chocolate candy while watching Millionaire Matchmaker.

It all started last Thursday night, when my dad and I got to talking about his favorite subject--my weight. He's always saying things to me like: "Sometimes I lie awake nights just worrying about you." And look--like many fat people, I'm a little bit insecure. Having my dad tell me that he lies awake nights worrying about me doesn't exactly inspire me to lose weight, although I know that's what he intends for it to do. It actually makes me even more insecure. I think: God, most girls' dads probably don't lie awake at night worrying about them. There must be something really wrong with me. And then I cry. And then I buy a package of Eckrich Smok-y Links and eat them while watching What Not to Wear.

Anyway, he sat me down and started turning on the charm. And let me tell you, my dad is incredibly charming. If he weren't an actor/business owner, he would be a motivational speaker. If he were a super-hero, convincing people to do things would be his power. It doesn't matter what it is, if he tells you to do something, you will eventually want to do it. He'll say: "I know you really like the Bean and Bacon soup, Liz, but you have to try the Lemon Chicken Rice. You have to. It's a Greek classic!" And I'll say: "I don't know, Dad...lemon soup? That sounds gross. And I really like the Bean and Bacon." But somehow, when the waitress shows up, I order the Lemon Chicken Rice. And even though it is gross, there is still the sweet taste of having made my dad happy, if even for a moment.

So, he started smiling at me and telling me how funny I am and how well-spoken and determined I am. "I see you in kickboxing," he said. (We take kickboxing class together twice a week). "You never give up." It's not often that my dad showers me with such praise, so of course I humbly drank it all in. And then he got to the point: "So, you know, your mom and I watch The Biggest Loser every week. And we really like it. And...they're having auditions in Detroit! And I really want you to go. We really want you to go. We think you could get on and win!" Oh yeah--my mom was there too. But she was sleepily eating a beef quesadilla and half-watching Ghost Whisperer, so, it was kind of like she wasn't there.

I just sat there, staring at him, chuckling nervously. "You want me to go to an open casting call for The Biggest Loser?"

"Yes!" He beamed. "It would mean so much to me."

I said: "But I don't even know if I'm big enough." I know--typical fat-girl denial.

My mom suddenly turned her attention to me, eyebrows raised, mouth curled in a half-smirk, shooting me a look telling me that yes, I was definitely fat enough.

Like I said, my dad is good at convincing people to do things. So by the end of the conversation, I had not only shaken his hand and promised to go to the casting call, but I had begun to reassure him that this was truly what I wanted. "I want to be the biggest loser, Dad! I do! I want to! I can't wait to go try out." I didn't know where these words were coming from. I wasn't lying, but I did have the feeling I sometimes get when I'm giving a speech--where words are coming out of my mouth and I don't remember even thinking them.

Getting up at 5:30 a.m. and driving all alone in the frigid cold to a Gardner-White Furniture store in Macomb, I wasn't quite as enthusiastic as I had been when I agreed to all this. But, I had my "fat picture" (which for me is just, like, any picture of me) and I had my ten-page application (which asked questions like: How would someone who knows you well describe your worst qualities? Um...Overly sensitive, talks-too-much, fearful, etc.). I was all set.

After a minor mishap with Google Maps (if you call Google Maps telling me to go right when I actually needed to go left a minor mishap), I arrived at Gardner-White around 7 a.m. and saw an already enormous line snaking its way around the building. In case you were wondering, it looked a little something like this:

 

 

 

I was lucky enough to find a parking spot in the packed lot. So, I parked and filled up my little knapsack with my audition materials and the things I assumed would make waiting in line more bearable--my iPod, my Microbiology book (I had a test to study for), my phone, etc. Then I walked my sad, fat self to the end of the line, which was already way past Gardner-White and had extended onto the sidewalk in front of a neighboring cluster of condos. I hadn't been standing there for more than 2 minutes when I realized how little the things in my knapsack would make waiting in this line more bearable. For one thing, it was 9 degrees out. I hadn't even brought my scarf! I did have gloves, but they were the shitty $2 ones you buy at Target that get holes in them if you even think about touching something that might cause a snag. Luckily, though, I had pounds and pounds of disgusting body fat to keep me warm.

I looked around and noticed that other people had come much better prepared than I had. They had chairs, blankets, battery-operated heaters, mini-grills, hand-warmers, and grocery bags filled with food! I felt like I was standing on the grounds of a gypsy camp. I probably would have started feeling sorry for myself (I mean, that is my M.O.) if it weren't for my fantastic line-mates. Just after I got in line, I was joined by the jovial Noel, whose dad dropped her at the curb and who skipped right over and introduced herself to me. She has one of those personalities that puts you immediately at ease. She exudes warmth. It turns out Noel is an RN, and I'm studying to be an RN, so we had a lot to talk about. Soon after she arrived, Matt, a curly-haired 19-year-old Taco Bell employee who had recently lost his father to a massive heart attack, showed up.

As time ticked slowly by (and I do mean, slowly), I started to feel this wonderful camaraderie with everyone there. I knew I had almost no chance of getting on the show. I mean, sure, I'm fat. I have at least 100 pounds to lose. But there were people there that need this show a lot more than I do. Like Matt. His dad died of a heart attack at 50, and at 19, Matt is already headed down that path himself. Watching the show, your heart goes out to the contestants who all have stories like Matt's, but actually standing in line and looking into the faces of all these people who desperately want and need to lose weight is so much more poignant. It's sad, but it's also inspiring. I've had issues with weight my entire life, and with that, I've often felt completely alone. It was nice to see the tangible evidence that no--I'm not alone. There are thousands of people out there that are just as frustrated as I am with being overweight, and just as committed as I am to getting healthy.

We waited in the bitter cold for 9 hours straight. I was number 510 in line. When we finally got into Gardner-White, it was like finding water in the desert. I thought, I will never go outside again. Gardner-White was all warm and cozy and filled with lamps and couches (no, we weren't allowed to sit on them. Fat people ruin furniture, remember?). We had to wait another hour inside, but I would have stayed in there all night--that's how nice it was compared to the cold. When we finally got to the end of the line, my whole (huge, fat) body was abuzz with nerves. Was I actually about to go and meet with a casting director?

The way they do it at a Biggest Loser casting call is they usher you in in groups of ten. Then they sit you down at a table and a casting director goes around and asks everyone a couple of questions. My line-mates and I worked it out so that we would all be in the same group. It was me, Noel, Matt, another friend Lynda who we met later in the day (a venerable African American woman with the sweetest 11 year old daughter, Cameron. Lynda promised her an iPod for waiting patiently all day), and 6 other people I didn't know. We ran into the casting room cheering and clapping and jumping around, like basketball players running onto the court in front of hundreds of screaming fans. This was our moment.

Our casting director was an adorable 30-ish guy named Tad. He wore a Green Day T-shirt and a stylish porkpie hat. He started by telling us that he understands our plight, as he used to be over a hundred pounds overweight himself. Then he explained to us all about the show, and what would happen if we were cast--how long we'd have to be away from work, school, our families, etc., and a little bit about the two seasons they're casting for (attention Biggest Loser fans: I totally got the inside scoop). As a bona fide TV addict, I was thrilled just to be in the presence of a casting director and to get even the tiniest behind-the-scenes peek.

So: Tad went around the table, looking at everyone's pictures and making notes on everyone's applications. The questions he asked weren't probing. He would simply ask, "Does anyone in your immediate family have a weight issue?" or "So, you're a nursing student. Can you get time off of school?" Those were the questions he asked me. I tried to be as outgoing and smiley as I possibly could and to let my personality shine through (you know, the personality my dad convinced me was glowing enough to get me cast?), but that was hard to do in the less-than-2-minutes of time I had with Tad. He did say he liked the clip I used to attach my photos to my application (a tiny binder clip with a flower pattern, in case you were wondering) and I told him that it was my gift to him. He clipped it to his jeans pocket.

Matt, my line-mate, got misty-eyed before Tad even made it over to him. It was, I think, a combination of nerves and thinking about his dad, whose picture he had brought with him. I gave him a little side-hug, but I kept thinking: save the tears for Tad! Save the tears for Tad!

Ultimately, our time with Tad lasted only about 20 minutes. But it was a great 20 minutes. I thought my line-mates and I all did well representing ourselves, and we were told we'd know if we were going to get a callback within two hours. As we walked out of Gardner-White, it seemed impossible that the day was finally over. I was exhausted, sore, starving, and still half-frozen--but I was on top of the world. I hugged Matt, Noel, and Lynda goodbye and we all exchanged numbers. Then I got in my car and drove home, feeling more hopeful and happy than I have in months.

Alas, I did not get a callback. I don't know if any of my line-mates did, either. But I hope they did. And even though I'm probably not going to be on the Biggest Loser, I am inspired--and in the long run, that may be worth more than $250,000.

I Still Love You, Jason.

I can't help it. I think I am falling love with Jason Mesnick. Even though he picked the girl I wanted him to pick and then promptly dumped her on national television, I still cried tears of joy when he asked runner-up Molly for a second chance and she said yes! I guess I just have a soft spot for single dads with skinny legs and nice teeth. Also: I gotta give mad props to The Bachelor producers for taking tense moments and making them even more awkward. For example: Jason finishes tearfully explaining to Melissa why they're "just not right for each other" and Melissa angrily whispers, "You are such a bastard," and then tactful host Chris Harrison pokes his head in with this helpful remark: "So just to be clear, Jason, you are officially ending things with Melissa tonight?" Um, yeah, Chris. That's what I don't want to be with you anymore means.

"My name is Harvey Milk, and I want to recruit you."

I just wanted to say that I finally saw "Milk" today and it was FANTASTIC. I am so glad Sean Penn won Best Actor for it. He was amazing, and Harvey Milk is my new hero. If you haven't seen it, please go see it today. Cut school, cut work, don't study, don't go to the gym, don't go grocery shopping, don't do the laundry, don't walk the dog--just go see Milk. I guarantee, you'll be inspired.