Love, Yourself - February Update

I'm not quite sure why I didn't start posting these letters at the end of the month to begin with. I think I'm gonna go in and change all the auto post dates on the letters that will come throughout the rest of the year.

For those just tuning in, last year I wrote letters to myself that will automatically post on my blog each month throughout the year. It's my way of keeping up with progress and showing myself the difference an entire year can really make. Instead of obsessing on the little things, I'm looking at the big picture.

The first week of this month, another letter posted to the blog. And here is the difference that one year can make.

Now. Let's talk about the elephant in the room, shall we? This month last year you had a breakdown. It was really bad. Let me remind you just how bad. You fell into a compulsive cycle and had to leave a job because of it. Because you couldn't control your OCD.

While OCD will always be a part of me, it does not define me. I have taken back my voice. Panic attacks come and go on occasion, but I'm no longer paralyzed by fear!

This month last year you also received some news: your baby sister was pregnant. And that news was hard to take. Because as happy as you were for her, and as much as you knew you would love your nephew (and you do), you were depressed that you still were not a mother. It was very hard news to take. And you knew that somehow, your health played into this but you still did not make the right changes. You tried to hide from the truth instead of fight back. Please fight back.

Not only am I deliriously happy for my little sister and her 3 month old bundle of joy, but I can also celebrate the wonderful joy that one of my best friends will soon experience when she has her little girl, (maybe as soon as this week!) I am fighting back on my own front. I am taking charge of my health and trying to lose weight. One step at a time.

This month you weighed 250 pounds and you were too tired to do anything. You thought you might even have diabetes but you did nothing to test for it, prevent it or fix it. Stop thinking about bad things without doing anything to fix them.

As of this week, I currently weigh 239 pounds. I have lost 11 pounds since beginning my new health journey. I haven't seen the 230's in five years! I am still having issues with worrying about my health and yet still putting off fixing things. Not sure why to be honest. But this is progress!

February 2010      -      February 2011

This post is linked to Mama Kat's Writing Prompt: What were you blogging about last year at this time? What has changed?

When in Doubt Blame the Dogs

Me: So I have some bad news.

Matt: Okay . . .?

Me: Your Pringles are gone.

Matt: What?! I just bought those.

Me: I know. Now you have one of two choices.

Matt: Which are.

Me: Well, your first option is to believe that I would be unthoughtful enough to eat your chips.

Matt: Uh huh . . . and option two?

Me: You could believe that earlier today, while I was off doing your laundry like a good wife, I came into the living room to catch BOTH of our dogs combining their efforts to knock over your can of Pringles and proceed to eat all of your chips. Seriously. They were everywhere. All over the carpet. And instead of being upset about having to vacuum, all I thought was, "No! Matt's chips!"

Matt: Are you seriously framing the dogs for eating my potato chips?

Me: Framing? You honestly thing they aren't capable of such things? Look right now, Whiskey is actively trying to climb on the recliner to eat the sandwich on your plate. Right now! And if you'll notice, I am all the way over here on the couch NOT trying to steal your food at this very moment. I think we know what that means.

Matt: If the dogs ate my chips, how'd they get the lid off?

Me: I think you highly underestimate how resilient our dogs are.

Matt: Did you eat my chips?

Me: . . . .

Matt: . . . .

Me: . . . . Yes.

Matt: Were they any good?

Me: OMG they were sooo good, I couldn't even stop eating them!

Instead of Making Teenagers Take Home Those Creepy Robotic Babies, They Should Just be Given a Baby Basset Hound

Not quite sure what it is about a hound that has turned me into a new mother, but oh it's there. Since being a married adult, Matt and I have helped to raise six dogs and one cat, and yet our newest addition has somehow completely taken over our hearts and lives.

I finally know how the mother of a newborn feels. I'm exhausted and running on fumes. Matt and I have been reduced to taking shifts with Whiskey. I am with her (and Willow of course) all day long until after Midnight when Matt gets home. Then he takes over and I am miraculously given a few hours to sleep. I wake up at 4am when Matt comes to bed, and I try to get Whiskey to get some sleep with me on the couch, if not, I'm up and awake and I won't get another break until noon when Matt wakes up to give me a two hour nap before he has to get ready for work.

Willow is so independent (though still occasionally needy) so I'm able to let her be on her own for most of the day, and only once today was there a bit of sibling rivalry between the two. All my other time is spent trying to convince Whiskey that her crate isn't a scary death trap, trying to figure out if she's really still hungry, or if she's in hound mode (which means she'll eat and eat and eat until she falls over bloated), getting a bath to finally get rid of that farm smell, and of course there's the housebreaking.

I've housebroken dogs before, but today I found myself acting like the mother of a potty training toddler. For the first time since we brought her home, Whiskey properly used the puppy pads in the apartment instead of having an accident on the carpet. So enthused by the experience, I shared a picture with Matt.

And then the second time it happened, I did the same thing.

I've become one of those people.

The majority of my time online today has been on a basset hound parenting forum instead of my usual Facebook, Twitter and blogs.

Owning a basset hound has thus far been one of the most exhausting experiences.

But completely rewarding.

This is My Life

It's 4:21am.

I have a basset hound buried in my arm as I type this.

This is what my life consists of now.

So Much Floppy

Some of you got my guessing game right. Some are still pretty clueless. I'll fill you in.

My anniversary present from my husband was similar to a Christmas present given to another blogger three years ago.

And the floppy . . . I just can't handle it.

 So much floppy . . .

 And tiny floppy little snores . . .

 And buried somewhere inside . . .

 . . . floppy puppy breath.

 I clearly need to vacuum.

 I can't believe playing with those big floppy ears . . .

 . . .  is this addicting.

 And this easy without even waking her up.

 Seriously, not even a twitch.

 Wish I could sleep so soundly.

 But I can't, because every two or three hours I have to carry this fat little basset hound down the stairs to use the bathroom.

 And the fat . . . there's just so much.

Worth it.

I Don't Have Time For This

Matt and I celebrate seven wonderful years of being married this month. As with most holidays and celebrations, we forget their actual date due to impatience (on both parts these days) and often celebrate as early as two weeks before the actual date.

Our wedding anniversary is on the 28th of February. We exchange gifts tonight.

His gift to me cannot be topped. There's just no way I can out do this. He wins at marriage.

I'll give you a clue as to what I got. For you obsessive blog readers, you'll remember a celeb blogger posting something identical about three years ago. The clue?  

 "I don't have time for this."

As for my Dear Husband, I've been working on your anniversary present all month long. Seriously. Every single day this whole month. It's taken hours to make possible and will continue to take a lot of effort on my part.

Click to Open

Happy Early Anniversary, Matt

Thanks for seven wonderful years of marriage.

Love,

Your Wife

Subliminal Messages

Matt normally hates it when I talk while he plays video games, so today I tried something new while he was very mentally invested in playing Marvel vs. Capcom 3.

Matt: *playing game*
Me: Don't forget to take your pills while you're at work.
Matt: Uh huh.
Me: I'm saying this now while you're playing your game in hopes that it subliminally gets programmed in your head.
Matt: Uh huh.
Me: You should also do the dishes . . . all the time. And leave the damn toilet seat down.

Maybe Too Much Dexter

Instead of sitting back, relaxing to the latest episodes of our favourite sitcoms, I told Matt that we weren't going to watch any other shows until we were completely caught up with Dexter. So in less than two weeks, we finished seasons three, four and five and I can say with complete seriousness - we're a little messed up because of it.

I like to think I was messed up LONG before ever watching Dexter. I'm in fact almost positive that the character of Deb was created as an homage to me. For those who have known me for years (aside from my in-laws) you'll totally get the reference. For those who don't want to shatter their perfect image of me (especially anyone who has sensitive ears), DO NOT click this link. <-- Much cursing there.

For those who just clicked it and came back wide eyed with their virgin ear cherries officially popped . . . how effing uncanny is that?

So last night (ironically after we finished the season five finale), our doorbell rings at 10pm. I answered it slowly, while Matt stood in the hallway pissing and moaning about our latest discussion regarding the perks between owning a gun vs a baseball bat vs a sword.

The man claimed to be one of our neighbors from the building behind us. Gave us details about the night. That he worked uptown and his car broke down there, so he called a cab to take him home knowing that his wife would be there to pay the cab driver. However when he got home, the wife was gone and he was short twelve dollars to pay. The cab driver was about the call the police but the man insisted on begging his neighbors for spare change. We didn't have any cash on hand and the man bolted away.

Matt: Did he look inside the house?
Me: I think I smelled booze on him.
Matt: I bet he's casing the place.
Me: I should go investigate.
Matt: He gave too many details, just so you'd believe his story.
Me: He could have really been our neighbor.
Matt: Or someone looking to break into our house.
Me: Or a serial killer.
Matt: This is why I should own a sword.
Me: I still say baseball bat would be more effective.
Matt: You can't swing a baseball bat in the hallway but you can stab someone.
Me: I'm starting to think that we're watching too much Dexter. We've become either super vigilant or completely paranoid.

PS: How effing awesome is this? Seriously. This is how I want to decorate my house.

It Doesn't Matter if You Win or Lose

Matt spent a lot of time planning Valentine's Day this year. He took the day off (which was the big surprise for me) and made reservations at one of our favourite restaurants. He also spent the whole day helping me clean the house!

He organized the night to be spent with our friends Will and Jackie. Will kept the Valentine's Day Date secret from Jackie much longer than Matt was able to hold out. But they're newlyweds, and we've been married for almost seven years - I know how to wear down my husband into confessing his secrets.

After we left the restaurant, we came back to our apartment and played The Newlywed game. In the past we've won about 99% of the time. We even once beat Matt's parents, who've been married for 35 years! Last night, Will and Jackie kicked our marriage to the curb. Clearly they are made for each other.

But then again, so are Matt and I.

And we're totally excited to be happily married losers.

I ♥ VD

Eleven years ago today, on our first Valentine's Day together, Matt showed up at my house at 5:30am with two boxes of chocolates with Garfield on the package.

One for me. One for my little sister.

Half of me thought he was unbelievably thoughtful.

The other half assumed he was trying to get laid.

(didn't work)

Happy Valentine's Day to my sweet hubby.

 
Thanks for your continuous effort to get into my pants.

What's Red, Brown, Red, Brown and Can Curse A Lot?

Me, my little sister and two of my cousins.

Motherly came to town this week. I swear I almost see her more often now that she lives in Colorado than I did when she lived twenty minutes away.

Last night Matt and I drove up to Motherly hotel where all of Motherlys daughters had gathered together. Her two oldest daughters Christine and Mitzi drove down from northern New Mexico to visit, and with Kristine and I in the room as well, we created Motherly's perfect daughterly picture of pure embarrassment. What's really funny is that by age, we go like this: Christine (redhead), Mitzi (brunette), Me (redhead), Kristine (brunette). I can't help but think that somehow something is at work here. Or it makes no sense whatsoever especially considering that Kristine and I aren't Motherlys biological daughters.

Something happens when we all get together though. It's a giant surplus of foul mouthed hilarity.

Seriously.

Scenes are made.

It's pretty awesome.

Matt and I walked into the hotel while Mitzi was explaining the dangers of posting things on Craigslist. Motherly is often a little naive and while she's been trying to find homes for some of her puppies here in town, she almost let a man who called her come to the hotel room to "look at her puppies" which we all assumed was code for "I have a cougar fetish".

Mitzi: You haven't heard of the Craigslist killer?
Motherly: No, but I won't let a man come to the hotel room, he might steal my puppies.
Mitzi: Yeah, that's right, he'd show up and you'd be all, "Don't take the puppies, but you can give me sex if you want to."

Then we sat around talking about the fatal gene our family carries with us. That gene that somehow allows us to trip while walking up stairs, makes complete asses of ourselves, and apparently get paper cuts on our eyeballs (true story).

And then they mentioned how the gene has taken root inside of me. I've mentioned before how I'm lacking an internal dictionary in my brain. Well, that's not something new. That's been an ongoing ordeal for me.

When I was thirteen, while Motherly was establishing a home here in Albuquerque, I lived with Mitzi in northern New Mexico where I was finishing out the school year. At a family gathering with a massive amount of my cousins, we decided to play Gestures, a guessing game like charades. My turn came up and I pulled a card and read the word, "molar". But there was a problem. I didn't know what a molar was. My teeth were simply that. Teeth. I was unaware that the ones I referred to as "the big ones in the back" had an official title.

Desperate to not look stupid (irony).. I asked one of my cousins if he could help by telling me what a molar was. He (being the kind person that he was) insisted that it was a hair that grows on your ass.

I know.

I'm gullible.

I also look really frustrated when I put one hand on my butt cheek and use the other to tug at my hair.

This was a story I was certain Matt knew.

He did not.

He knows it now.

Sigh.

It's Amazing Men and Women Have Learned to Keep the Species Alive

Okay, please tell me that I'm not the only one that has to go through this. Whenever Matt and I watch a chick flick, he somehow turns into that little kid in Church who belongs to the parents that forgot to bring coloring books or a snack for him. So he sits and squirms in the seat, turns around and asks you questions, gets up and walks up and down the aisles and then starts picking his nose.

Anytime we watch a chick flick, Matt will almost instantly start acting weird. Several weeks ago I turned on this movie called The Timer, because it had Emma Caufield in it and she was Anya on Buffy - and who wouldn't want to watch that?

Midway through the movie, I look over to spot Matt licking his face to see where borderline of his goatee is.

Ten minutes later he's staring at me while he fake picks his nose.

Me: We really need children. Someone needs to genuinely placate you.

Okay, so I know that I do this a lot, but movies make me think. If I'm watching a movie about some couple and the wife loses a leg and the husband loves her anyway, I'm going to turn to my husband and ask if he would love me if I lost my leg. That's how women work. And men are supposed to answer, "Of course honey, I would love you no matter what."

Me: Hey, if we never met, would you . . .
Matt: Oh! I hate watching chick flicks with you! You do this every time we watch a movie.
Me: Hey! I just watched you clean your chin with your tongue and then fake pick your nose for ten minutes, you can endulge me this one thing!

And he did.

Cause he's a good husband.

Who watches chick flicks with me.

Unfortunately he's banned Nicholas Sparks movies from the house.


Welcome to This Week On:

This Week on Letters to Jia:

• Exposed

This Week on Modern Molly Mormon:

• Hints of God Speaking to Man

This Week on the Internet:

• I have a new blog project coming up but it's super secret for right now.

This Week on Twitter:

Play against me anytime! Username is.. you guessed it: untypicallyjia

This Week on Things I Wish I Could Steal but Probably Couldn't Pull Off Anyways:

• You Tube Caption Fail
• James Van Der AWESOME
• Watch all 64 Super Bowl ads Online

I Used to Be a Swinger

Does anyone still actually own a swing set? Cause seriously, if not, the kids today are totally missing out. It's one thing to go to the park, but to have your very own swing set - that's what makes a kid feel special. Unless of course it's a child of this growing generation that doesn't feel special unless they have their own iPod - which case, all parents need to give them a swift reality check and then a swing set.

When I was four years old, my Grandparents and I moved into a two story home with my aunt Debbie and my older sister. In front of the house there was a large sand box that was empty except of course for the sand. I was okay with that though, I was a very creative child and as long as I had a pair of socks and a giant sand box, I could create a number of fat little sand stuffed creatures. I also ran out of socks a lot and was forbidden from taking them to my sandbox. It got a little boring after that.

Then one day, as if by a miracle, a swing set appeared in my sandbox. Like the proverbial bike on Christmas morning, my swing set was a red shiny metal, fresh out of a box and assembled by my aunt - just for me. Except I liked the swing set dramatically more because I couldn't actually ride a bike and when I tried I would always fall down. (Seriously, I ran into a brick wall at 5, fell into a puddle of car oil at 6, broke my arm at 10, and when Matt tried to teach me to ride again in High School, I almost fell into a ditch). But a swing set I could work.

Unfortunately I don't think swing sets came with proper weight anchors, or thick coatings and additional protective measures. Because anytime I would swing too high, the swing set would nearly tip over backwards. I had one of those attachment swings that two kids could sit in and swing back and forth. One day, the plastic broke mid swing and I fell through, slicing my skin from my hip bone to the bottom of my ribcage. My backside hit sand and the swing just kept going, running me into the ground, stuck in in a broken plastic seat, pants filled with sand and bleeding to death.

Not really to death.

In fact my family never found out about it. Once I freed myself from the death trap, I went inside, cleaned myself up, found the first aid kit and did my best to avoid all contact until I had healed up. No one ever found out. I was either super stealthy, or drastically under supervised. Either way, I didn't have to get stitches or hear a lecture on how to properly use a swing set.

Swing sets come with proper protection now . . . I think it takes away from the childhood experience if you ask me.

Terrible Blog Post

I wasn't going to do this.

I was going to be nice.

Really.

But honestly . . . as much as I love my friends who happen to be Green Bay Packers fans . . .

You're bringing out the 'Terrible' in me.

Kidding. (Kind of).

So unlike most women who will be watching the Super Bowl eager to see the return of Glee that follows the game, I will be eagerly waiting for the seventh win for my Pittsburgh Steelers as they face off against the Green Bay Packers tomorrow!

And while I'm not a violent football fan - coughcoughraiderscoughcough - I feel that it's only right for me to stand up for my team, scream and shout, and wear the black and gold proudly as my friends up north put on their green and yellow.

After Steelers beat the Jets a few weeks ago, I texted Motherly (a life long Dallas Cowboys fan)...

Me: Hey, how does it feel knowing that my Steelers are going to play the Super Bowl on your Cowboys field? Haha.
Motherly: They should be proud to play in God's stadium.
Me: Well they are God's chosen team.

I was raised by a bunch of savage Cowboys Fans. I am the black (and gold) sheep of the family. But I learned something about football growing up. You stick with your team, win or lose. And while this season has been very sad for my family (seriously, omg Cowboys..how funny was this season?) they are sticking with them, and I'll do the same win or lose tomorrow. I'm a good sport.

In the meantime, I'll join in the Super Bowl hype and request that my most loyal of readers send me gifts to celebrate this awesome occasion. Any of the following would be greatly appreciated:

Steelers Throw Pillow

Rings T-Shirt

Seven's Door T-Shirt

I will be singing this all day tomorrow. To my fellow Church goers, I apologise in advance.

Self Esteem Saturday: Self Esteem is a Work in Progress

Featuring Kerren from Ramblings of My Life

My self esteem is definitely a work in progress – I have good days and bad days, just like most women I guess.

For most of my life I have kept my upbringing a closely guarded secret. I have been ashamed of it and terrified of the power it has over me. My greatest fears about my childhood are that people will judge me for it and secondly, that history will repeat itself. You hear these stories all the time; a person who is abusive in some way as an adult will often blame the abuse they suffered as a child. My fear that "it is in my nature to abuse", kept me from having children in my 20’s, and it was only once I hit 30 that I had enough faith in myself to want a baby of my own and a belief that abuse is not inside of me.

From the age of 5, I was subjected to different forms of abuse on a daily basis – this continued until the age of 16 (you must understand that it has taken me 35 years of life to be able to write that sentence.. it is not easy to write or admit). This abuse has affected me in so many ways…so many consequences.. one of them being that my self esteem is a mess. If I have to conjure a visual of what my self esteem looks like, then I would have to say, “picture a house a few months after a tornado has run across it” – there will be areas of the house that have been restored, where the clean-up work is in progress, then there will be areas of the house that are still registering complete destruction – this is my self esteem.

I am currently in therapy (again) to try to come to terms with my objectification as a child. It is a very difficult process and I am constantly battling the “fight or flight” response. I know that the only way I will be whole is to continue with the therapy, face my demons and walk out the other side into the sunshine.

I have been plagued by the fear that I am not a good person; that evil lives inside of me; that I am not good enough; that I will never be good enough and that it is my fault. My fear that these thoughts are reality has kept me wearing a mask for years. I have always been extremely calculating when it comes to my interactions with people. What I mean is, I have learnt to “think fast” and calculate the response that I give in order to hide who I am. It is exhausting to say the least! One of my greatest discoveries in the past month in therapy is that I am really not a bad person – in fact, I have some pretty fabulous character traits – Yay Me! I am learning every day what this means and sometimes I feel like a child who is learning to communicate for the first time – the difference this time is that I am learning how to communicate as me, and not as the person I think others want me to be.

My self esteem and childhood issues are also closely related to my weight. As I know a lot of people do, I am inclined to comfort eat and in the past 10 years I gained about 30kgs of extra weight. I hated looking in the mirror, I hated people taking pictures of me – the greatest drawback to feeling this way, is that I have very few pictures of me with my firstborn when he was a baby. I just didn’t want to be in the pictures, and
now those days are gone and I can never get them back.

In July last year I went out with a group of girls on the town for the night – obviously people were taking photos and on Monday they were posted on Facebook and I was tagged. There was one picture in particular that made me weep.. Literally.. I sat at my desk and wept. For starters I didn’t recognise the girl in the picture.. Who was she and where had I gone? Secondly, it occurred to me that my self worth was directly related to my weight – It was time to take action! Long story short, I have now lost 24kgs, I exercise every day and I feel great. I know that my self worth should not be so closely linked to my weight, but I also know that when you feel good about the way you look, you feel better about yourself in general.

And so my self esteem is a work in progress, some days are good and some are bad. But if there is one thing I know for sure, it is that I owe it to myself to get to a point where I love myself.. and love myself unconditionally.. for all the good inside me. I am a good friend and a very good mother. I love my boys with a passion and dedication that is worthy of praise. They are such fabulous children, and I know that a lot of who they are is a direct result of my love for them – that is worthy of me feeling good about myself every day!

I am woman..

I am beautiful.. I am intelligent.. I am compassionate.. I am woman.. I am me…

I am woman.. hear me roar!

---

I truly identify with this post in so many ways. How many of us who have gone through abuse wondered if we had that same darkness inside of us? Hell, they make movies based on that very concept! I admire Kerren for her strength. When she saw a picture of herself and didn't recognize who the woman was in front of her, she took action! And she's learning to love herself in the process. Well done!

For those who have had similar experiences with abuse, I would like to encourage you to speak out about your survival at Violence UnSilenced.

Be the voice of survival.

Each week we will use Self Esteem Saturdays to spread joy and love to one another.  Please show love for Kerren in the comments below, for being brave and putting herself out there on display to the world. 

Note: Pass the word along about Self Esteem Saturday! We need more bloggers out there rebuilding low self esteems and spreading the word that healing is a progress that can be achieved! If you are interested in being featured on Self Esteem Saturdays, please send an email with the title  "Self Esteem Saturday" to untypicallyjia@gmail.com

The Dog Did It

So there's a potential chance that we could have a few family visitors this weekend. Yesterday I dove into the task of clearing out the spare bedroom (which presently functions as a well hidden storage unit). I took my woes to Facebook:

Welcome to This Week On:

This Week on Letters to Jia:

• Seven Pounds isn't just a good Will Smith movie

This Week on Untypically in Love:

• Valentine's Day Giveaway! Ends 2/7/11

This Week on the Internet:

• Today I'm being featured at the Casual Blogger Community. (Welcome visitors!) I'm so excited! It's almost as awesome as going to the Casual Blogger Conference. Except I didn't get to go. Aww . . . now I'm sad again.

This Week on Twitter:

This Week on Things I Wish I Could Steal but Probably Couldn't Pull Off Anyways:

• Not the best way to use the Kinect
• Share Time Ponies
• I KNEW IT!!

Love, Yourself (February)

Dear Jia,

A year ago you started writing your love story. You know the one. How you met the love of your life, your best friend and eternal companion. This was a good outlet for you. It brought the creativity back in your writing. You need to keep writing. It's good for you.

Now, let's firs talk about your weight. Because this month last year, you started to notice things. You realised that this didn't happen over night. It was progressive. And that there was more than just "being fat" at stake. You were very unhealthy and you could see it happening. Please keep this perspective!

Now. Let's talk about the elephant in the room, shall we? This month last year you had a breakdown. It was really bad. Let me remind you just how bad. You fell into a compulsive cycle and had to leave a job because of it. Because you couldn't control your OCD. Certainly it was a bad job, and you had good reason for what happened, but this was the low point. You crawled into your closet to "feel small" because the world felt too big. And you scared a lot of people. But you also started to get a grip on things and talk about what was happening. You admitted your OCD. Your depression. Your panic attacks. And that helped so much. Please don't take any steps backwards. Keep moving forward.

This month last year you also received some news: your baby sister was pregnant. And that news was hard to take. Because as happy as you were for her, and as much as you knew you would love your nephew (and you do), you were depressed that you still were not a mother. It was very hard news to take. And you knew that somehow, your health played into this but you still did not make the right changes. You tried to hide from the truth instead of fight back. Please fight back.

This month you weighed 250 pounds and you were too tired to do anything. You thought you might even have diabetes but you did nothing to test for it, prevent it or fix it. Stop thinking about bad things without doing anything to fix them.

This is what you looked like in February 2010. This is a screen capture from a vlog you made. You thought the video was really funny but because you looked like this, you ended up hating it. Stop wearing Matt's sweaters to hide your fat. Stop not wearing makeup and using a pony tail as a default hairstyle. You have a flat iron and lipstick: use them!

So take a picture of yourself today, February 2011 and post it tomorrow along with the progress you have made.

Love,

Yourself