the deal with French deodorant

You know the stereotype. The French simply don't wear deodorant. I'm saying that, simply, this is not true. In a blog I stumbled upon called "Ask a Frenchman!" the man made this good point:

...[Most] stereotypes about France that one can find in the US (and exported later to the rest of the English speaking world) come from right after WWII when GIs were stationed in France. And as previously mentioned, it was a time right after France had been occupied by Nazi Germany for four years, when everything was rationed and everybody was deprived of many things...

There have been moments in class where I was like, "LORD! Is that me?" only to turn around and see a middle-aged man standing behind me, wanting to ask a question. So, there are a few trouble cases in every class, but I can say that I had the same experience in college in the States. We just smell. It happens.


What seems to bother us even more than smell–that is to say the thing that drive me insane even when I smell like cucumbers–is the cloud of damp that starts to spread down your sleeve when you're, say writing on the board or holding up something to show your students. Teaching scares the crap out of me. And me makes me sweat like a sumo wrestler*. 

Since arriving in France, I've been walking around with armpits that smell like cucumbers. I'm not complaining. I mean, I don't usually seek out the scented deodorants–on the contrary, I look for the most basic thing I can find. But when Suave has a multi-pack of extra-strength on sale in "Garden Fresh" scent, it's hard to say no.

I've finally run out and purchased my first thingy of French deodorant... which is applied with this awkward rolling ball that leaves your pits smelling like fingernail polish remover. Okay, I bought it because it was cheap, but I'm getting worried about what's seeping into my body.

I've also gotten really worry about this whole sweating thing. I've stopped using antiperspirants, since I'm worried about the aluminum in them. While it's not necessarily enough aluminum to lead to the effects of aluminum exposure, it's still unknown. Research is stacking up to show a connection between antiperspirants and breast cancer as well–due to both aluminum & the toxins that your body isn't able to remove.

Look at it this way:

[Antiperspirants] blocks the naturally produced sweat and prevents those toxins from being released. After weeks of application of antiperspirant, there is a lot of toxin built up under the armpit. and as soon as you forget to apply deodorant- all those nasty toxins that had been building up for however long you applied AP deodorant- are suddenly free to be released... and it comes out smelling so awful...

Tru dat. So if anyone has a great suggestion for the elimination of pit stains while maintaining a healthy, toxin-eliminating underarm, I think that could be a great money-maker, because what I will say is this: The French are wearing their deodorant, but they're wearing their pit stains proud.

And I have to say, good on ya France, for being healthy & realizing that there isn't a thing we can do about the (mostly odor-free) wet blankets we become over a day's work.

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day 12, to the one who caused you pain

Day 12. The person who caused you a lot of pain

WHY WON'T MY BLOG LET ME USE ITALICS? There is NO code getting in the way. HELP.

A quick note, often jotted down on a Post-It note and tucked into my planner or journal, or even taped to the wall.

Megan,

Focus on one task at a time. You can't get everything done. Most of your to-do list isn't even mandatory. You will get a story published someday. You will be a "writer" even if you can't write everyday... but you SHOULD keep trying to write most days. You're failing on that one. You can't fail for the day. Take a deep breath. Look at what you got done. Forgive yourself.

Love.

Each day, I tell myself I'll be more positive. Each day, I fail at am not very good at doing it. I keep trying, saying things like "I'll do yoga today. I'll do yoga today." This year, it's getting better. So instead of focusing on those that have caused me pain, I'm trying to let all pain–especially self-inflicted–float away like the dry pine needles that are still littering the sidewalks, the bits of Christmas that got kicked to the curb.

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61

On Saturday I made a Nutella Pie, via a recipe I found on (never home)makers. My mousse-like filling did not turn out the color of there. I think this has little to do with my pie-making skills and lots to do with the fact that the 3 oz. of milk chocolate were in the fridge (and I was too impatient to let them come to room temperature).

Regardless, it was delicious. I left a bit of the filling in the bowl and dipped the spatula in it, licking the thing until I'd smeared it all over my face like a five-year-old. I then ate part of a piece after dinner on Saturday.

Today, I had a cinnamon roll for breakfast. I ate a buckeye (peanut butter bonbon) that I found in the freezer. After my sister make chocolate-covered pretzels for my upcoming bridal shower, I stole some of the melted chocolate and smeared it on a banana.

After Sunday dinner, my family finished the pie. I did a good bit of helping. And this is the end.

Today, I am freeing myself of extra sugar. For the past few days, I've been giving into every sugar craving, mostly to maintain any amount of sanity or happiness that I can.

I don't like it. I don't like giving in or feeling like I can't give in once in a while or feeling like I shouldn't have sugar. I'm taking a break from all of it. I'm going dessert-free. I'm getting my body back.

I looked at a list of celebrities that are my height. Their weight range is roughly 97-108 pounds. A star I've never heard of dropped five pounds in two weeks so that she could reach her goal weight, her "best" weight, of 104 pounds.

This is ridiculous. This is not a standard that I should ever expect myself to abide by. They get paid millions of dollars to maintain an extra-slim body. They're held to a different standard. I'm finally understanding that I never want to be that thin again.

I do want to love this funky little body I've got though.  A few pieces of it have really grown on me. My tiny mouth. My suddenly wavy hair. My shoulders. Ok, I can handle that.

My thighs. My belly. Not so much. We're getting ourselves back into shape, legs. We're doing it for the wedding and we're doing it to prove that you don't have to ever step on a scale to be your "best weight." Because we are not numbers. We are not hard, calculated data. We are water and salt and nitrogen and in flux.

If I'm going to look good in that wedding dress, ignoring what size it is or how much weight I feel I should lose to fit into it well, I have to believe that I look good. I have to accept myself, and in order to do that I have to really start taking care of myself. I have to know what my best body is.

72

When I got to my sophomore year of high school, there were a lot of foods that I quit eating. Like sugar. Or butter. Or sandwich buns. Or mayonaisse. This lasted until my last year of college, with the exception of a few weeks spent in France.

During that time, I picked up a habit of, well, picking. I won't eat a whole dessert, cookie, candy bar, piece of candy, pancake. Instead, I take a bite or break off a piece. I leave the rest for later or offer it to my fiancé. He finds this annoying, but more often he finds that it works to his advantage (like when it means he can order pancakes for breakfast and get one of my two crêpes filled with Nutella).

My last year of college, I let myself eat what I want. I didn't have time to cook food, which is a huge sacrifice for me. A healthy diet and a good amount of time in the kitchen is the one luxury I always allowed myself. I love cooking food, for myself and for sharing. I love grocery shopping. I hate the microwave.

I got really comfortable with the microwave. With frozen Indian dinners or packets of steamed vegetables. Cakes that you heat up to melt the inside. I gained some weight.

I'm desperately trying to get fit and shed the last-semester-cookies-and-beer weight before Joe sees me on a regular basis... and more importantly before I try on my wedding dress again. I've tried to stop picking at things. I've stopped eating lunch and opted for casual grazing throughout the afternoon.

Then I baked cookies. One day this week, there was 100 percent humidity. It is officially summer in Western Ohio. The windows are open. We are living in a heavy, damp, invisible cloud. I left margarine for the cookies on the counter for less than five minutes and it was soft.

My sister keeps making fun of me, calling them pancakes. The humidity flattened the cookies, making them ooze in the oven until the dough was mostly carmelized with a lump of chocolate chips in the middle. They never set. They turned into one giant, crumbly dough mass in the cookie jar.

This has made it very easy for me to continue my habit of picking away at the cookies. Instead of incriminating myself with a broken cookie resting on the top the the stack, I can look in and see four cookies broken already. I can reach in, pick out only pieces that have chocolate chips and snack away.

This is not losing weight. It is, however, allowing myself to enjoy my life and not worry all the time about consuming the right number of calories, drawing frowning faces on the days when I go over 1500 or punishing myself by taking away all carbohydrates. It's a slow track back to my lean body, with no focus on weight and every focus on feel energized and happy and excited for those 30 minutes of cardio, those hours outside working with Dad.

95

I used to love playing outfield, center, living for the moment when I could launch the softball from well behind second to the catcher in time to tag someone out. I used to love using my slow-pitch softball bat and the extra drag it made, the extra force it required to pull my body around and hit in fast-pitch. My arms used to be solid.

That is all gone now, apparently. As I type this, my arms are shaking. They may fall off. I've been so disgusted with myself lately that I got a new workout video. I heard she's intense. People aren't kidding. I never thought I'd think that cardio was a relief from strength training. So, I got the 30 Day Shred video.

She looks innocent enough, right? Wow. Level one kicked my ass. The strength training. My arms. Over. I'm determined not to let this get me down. I. Will. Win. It took me more than 90 days to complete the 90 in 90 challenge. It may take me more than 30 days to get any sort of "shredded" body.

And honestly, I don't want to. It's nice to know that. It's nice to finally acknowledge that that is not my body type. I am not that tall. I am not that flat-chested. I am not that dedicated. We can't all be, because then what is the "ideal"? But I know that in 30 days, I'll feel better. I'll put less shit in my body. I'll have more energy. I'll breathe easier (especially in that wedding dress).

Speaking of wedding things... Let me tell you, I'm feeling pretty solid about our wedding theme and all the small elements right now. I did some digging to see what happening with art deco weddings right now (no worries, paternally-inclined readers: I've finished two final projects already. Only one more project and 23 hours of translating to go!)

This seemed so accurate! The ostrich feathers will be making an appearance at our reception. That's our cake design, if you remember the earlier post. We even thought about getting a birdcage for our cards. I'll find that while Dad keeps working on finding our getaway cars, like the one above. He's got some good leads. Really, I just want Joe and I to pose for some cute pictures like this couple–love the casual, nostalgic feel and the desaturated color.

I love these pictures! I'm so excited to have Rachel, my best friend, as the photographer. She knows my taste exactly, and we're definitely working toward the same artsy and less conventional style. I want to play with a lot of color, do a lot more dramatic/couture/fun/fashionable poses instead of stiff styles. The play with warmth and shadow here is so fun and unique. Love.

I've been dying for a 1920s/30s hairstyle since, well, somewhere near the womb. I'm glad that this elegant picture hits so close to home with what I'm planning: the hairpiece, low hairstyle and powerful lips with simple makeup. I'm feeling like a real success today! Maybe I could keep the hairstyle long after the wedding...

This mess of art deco is so fun! I love the geometric orderliness of the movement. This picture doesn't really hit on any part of the wedding, but it shows a lot of things I love from the time and why I wanted to use it as a theme. It's sensual and sleek while still being classy and very sophisticated. The colors are, how do I say this? Muted in a powerful way? Everything I try to type about them is a contradiction. I wish I had a Katherine Hepburn body to rock the sheath dress and daring cuts like they could. Would that be inappropriate for a Catholic ceremony? Ah, well. At least I can have the amazing hair.