Hey, everyone!

So my friend Amy and I spent a very exciting Wednesday night in Portland as we watched Elton John and Billy Joel perform at the Portland Rose Garden. Wondering who the hell they are? Google Uptown Girl, We Didn’t Start The Fire, Moving Out, and Benny and the Jets.

Aww . . . young Billy Joel with Christy Brinkley. I don't think things worked out for those two.

I personally like Billy Joel more than Elton John. Partly because he was joking with the audience and started doing some microphone twirling bayonet style during We Didn’t Start The Fire.

No need to be shocked, Billy. You're still totally cool.

Although I have to say Elton John’s outfits were pretty awesome. Bedazzled coats with a whole shiny galaxy on his back.

Even his pink glasses were bedazzled! And he was wearing his earring too. I could catch a glint of it every now and then from where I was sitting in the nosebleeds.

So cool. No wonder the Queen of England knighted him. And even if I don’t like his music quite as much as Billy Joel’s I have a feeling that had I grown up hitting the garage sales with his tunes blaring from the car that wouldn’t be the case.

Anyhow, it was a great night and after rocking out for three and a half hours, Amy and I hopped in a taxi and went back to school. Of course the taxi ride turned into an adventure in itself when the driver told us all about the near death experiences of his fiancee Margie. Poor Margie was mugged, almost killed by a taxi driver, and almost sold into prostitution by the time we reached our campus. I can honestly say that I’ve never been more relieved to get out of a cab, although I was paying close attention to all the details so that I can use it in a story someday.

So that was the outrageous Wednesday night. And luckily, I was able to finish my homework before my classes. Although by far, the best part of the next day was when I successfully donated blood.

YES!!!! I DID! MY IRON LEVELS WERE FINALLY HIGH ENOUGH!

I actually did a happy dance when I realized that the third time had been the charm. All my spinach eating actually paid off. This is a tremendous success. And also inspires me to keep up this whole vegetarianism thing that I’ve got going this month. Although, I’ve got to say it was VERY weird ordering a burrito before the concert without meat. I guess I’ll get used to it–but end of the month I am totally treating myself to sushi with crab and shrimp. Because life is not worth living without shrimp.

Mmmmm . . . can't wait!

More later!

Obsessively yours,

Marni

Hey, everyone!

So as I’m sure all of you can guess, I have some body image issues. Although let’s be honest: what 20 year old girl doesn’t? In fact, I’m guessing that every woman has one feature that makes them feel a bit insecure. Which is not to say that men don’t have these issues too, but I do think that the media is harsher on women. Off subject however.

My point is that if it wasn’t for the fact that I’d feel like I was bloating up to the size of an underwater tank I’d be eating this for breakfast everyday:

I ADORE raw cookie dough. And have no self control when it is available. Which is why I won't even let myself look at it in the supermarket for fear that I might rip it open on the spot and devour it like a carnivorous beast out for blood.

Really. I’d look just like this:

I'd drown in the deliciousness of raw cookie dough. And my weight would pull me under. Side note: all images on my blog that are not specifically of me, I have pulled from Google Images and can be found there.

Again, a bit off topic.

What I wanted to say was that even though I don’t eat raw cookie dough straight from the container (anymore) I still deal with my weight. All the freaking time. And there are nights when I am seized by the urge to consume everything in sight. And there are nights when I do consume everything in sight. Which usually leads me to turn to my roommate and ask for her opinion as to why I just polished off my rice cakes, an apple, string cheese, and frozen banana right after eating dinner. We then proceed to commiserate which helps me  remember that of course I am not alone in my body image issues. Even stunningly gorgeous people like Uma Thurman (who suffered from bouts of Body Dysmorphia Disorder) aren’t immune.

I'm not making this up. Feel free to fact check it!

Anyhow, I’ll admit that it still freaked me out to discover that Portland Hillel is using a photo of me to advertise for the Birthright trip to Israel. Marni Bates. In a bathingsuit. Slathered in mud.

My issue isn’t that it’s provocative or inappropriate in any way. I mean, I was at the Dead Sea! Of course I was coated in mud because that stuff feels like heaven. Seriously. My skin has never felt softer and happier than when I was in the mud holes. For the first time I could see how a pig might be happier, all things considered, than a human.

No. I just happen to believe that I rather looked like this:

The feminist in me cringes at comparing my body to cars . . . but that's sometimes how I feel about it.

And I know that it is important to love my body. To accept it no matter the size and be grateful for all the things it does for me. Also I should be psyched that I’ve been so much healthier recently and no longer picture a muddy truck. However, that doesn’t mean I really want that photo all over Portland. Or all over my school. Because it is going to follow me into the restrooms on campus. I’ll be in a stall, look up, and BAM! MARNI IN A BATHING SUIT.

Am I overreacting? Possibly. The good part is that I appreciate the humor in the situation. Am I excited to see these pictures everywhere I go? Most definitely not. But I guess, if I were to look at the situation through optimistic lenses, that the pictures will just remind me to take care of myself. And of the spectacular time I had in Israel.

And on that note, I have to join my friends to watch the Biggest Loser. Because it just isn’t a Tuesday night unless Bob and Jillian are kicking someone’s ass into gear.

I'd rather train with Bob. Although both of them would ensure that I'd be unable to move the next morning.

Obsessively yours,

Marni

P.S. My sister started a really cool exercise blog that you can find at http://www.chacosontherun.blogspot.com/. I’ve been enjoying it a lot. Although she had me at “Miles to go before I sleep.” I love a good Robert Frost reference.

P.P.S. Want to read about another author addicted to raw cookie dough? Meg Cabot and I share the same obsession. Although I also follow her blog religiously because I think she’s hysterical. Read it at: http://www.megcabot.com/diary/.

P.P.P.S (Last thing I swear!) My cousin talked me into being a vegetarian for a month. It’s day two and I’m trying not to crack. More on that later.

Hi, everyone!

Someone once asked why none of the autobiographies included sex. And I think that deserves an answer. It was not because Debbie wanted to make us squeaky clean and rated PG13. In my case, it was because my experience with the other gender was limited to awkward cafeteria run ins, which inevitably involved me almost sloshing food all over them. Classy, right?

Beverages have a tendency to spill around me. It's a curse.

And my nice girl image? Well, that was there all through high school too. Which is why, much to my chagrin, my Senior Most Likely award was that I’d be Forever Sober. High school code for too boring ever to party.

Well, they got me wrong. Last weekend I went to my first real off campus party. And I did end up drinking and kissing a guy that I hadn’t known an hour earlier. If you are thinking, Wow, Marni! This is shockingly personal to be posting on the Internet! I have to admit that you are right. But I’m doing it for a reason.

See, in high school (and for a while in college) I felt like a loser for lacking experience in the alcohol/boy/party departments. And that night I learned something very important: I really wasn’t missing anything. Seriously. Not that it was a bad experience or one I regret having . . . but not exactly life changing. And the next day I had to deal with awkward text messages and Facebook posts.

Why stay sober? Oh, there are SO many excellent reasons.

I’d rather spend my time hanging out with friends, watching T.V., working on a novel, rehearsing my piece for the Vagina Monologues, even needlepointing, to trying to find a diplomatic way to say “Sorry, but I don’t think I want to date you.” And none of those activities make you feel sleazy the next morning.

I might feel guilty for admitting my lack of interest on the Internet if I hadn't been so irked by his Facebook comment. Does that make me petty? Maybe. Am I okay with that? Yes. Yes, I am.

Luckily, I didn’t say or do anything all that stupid that night. So I didn’t actually have to follow through on this little gem:

I have trouble taking drinking advice from an alcoholic writer who killed himself. Still, pretty funny.

So to all those girls (and boys) out there who haven’t received a text message asking if they are hungover or been mentioned on Facebook as a “drunk chick,” don’t be in any hurry to change things. It doesn’t make you a loser or a geek. It shows discretion.

Does this mean I’ve given up on guys and romance? Of course not! I don’t even dislike the guy I kissed (I just think he should date a girl who really wants to date him . . . and who likes being called a chick). However, I’m not going to settle until I find someone that draws out the Marni in me. Who challenges me, excites me, and adores me (even though I do stupid stuff like discuss my personal life on my blog). And until then, I’ll watch Bridget Jones’ Diary and enjoy my PG 13 rated life to the fullest.

More later.

More maturely,

Marni