two years later.

Five months of not blogging was awful.

But the pain of it is lessened by the fact that today marks two years without my eating disorder. Full complete years with no purging, no starvation, no exercise until I felt like fainting.

I'll be honest: I was scared I wouldn't make it till this point. Not that slipping up is the end of the world, or even the end of my recovery, but it is lovely to be able to reflect on such a sustained streak of recovery (and it makes me feel like a BOSS). Transitioning into the real world was full of huge gaping holes for me to fall into: not having a pack of intense women making sure I damn well made it to dinner, not having free counseling in the happiest feministy place on earth, being so busy that some nights I just fall onto my bed naked after my shower and hold my head to stop my brain from zooming around so much. The dating scene (ugh. Posts to come up on that ish). The 12 interviews I went on before I landed my amazing job. The paying rent and loans business. Plenty of real legitimate stress factors. But they didn't paralyze me like I thought they might. I kept on trucking on.

And I feel pretty damn proud.

Much love,
The Sheriff

maybe getting fatter and maybe not caring

As noted previously, I am still new to this whole cooking thing. Being blessed to go to a school that forces you to stay on the generally mediocre meal plan for all four years, I did not really ever have to cook in college, nor did I have the cash moneys to buy ingredients. Hauling tons of food from the grocery store into my house and storing it and then figuring out what the hell to do with it was simply too much when I already so much on my plate, like Res Life and class and putting clothes on. Plus, there was that whole eating disorder resurgence thang that generally left me with even less desire to learn how to make food and consume it.

But now, fully and totally left to my own devices in terms of feeding, it's sink or swim. And the Sheriff is swimming (dog paddling, really) but learning that cooking is not my forte. I get immense satisfaction when something I make is delicious, but when it's just palatable, my motivation to cook again is reduced even further by lack of being a cooking show rock star by natural talent. And yet, feed myself I must. So sometimes my meals are less than balanced: breakfast might be a pop-tart stolen from the snack closet at school, and dinner could be Triscuits, cream cheese, and whatever my roommate is making and willing to share. Working out on the regular has been reduced to random planks and pushups and once a week yoga.

So while I do not have a scale to consult/obsess over and all of my clothes still fit, I am starting to feel a bit softer. A bit fatter, even. And somehow, I don't really care. It's not at the level it was my first year of college, where I gained 40 pounds (yep, 40. Suck it, Freshmen 15), and was just impressed by my own fat and also too happy drinking full-fat chocolate milk with every meal too care. But still. There's a level of apathy and simple observation over the changes that I think is kinda worth celebrating.

I attribute this to several things: being so busy that worrying about my maybe expanding thighs simply doesn't fit in the agenda, living and working in a community that (generally) praises and gets a boner over a more hourglass/thick figure (see: every song about booty performed by a black man), the fact that my clothes are usually not very structured so a little expansion is excusable. But above all else, I think it's more that I feel like what I'm doing with my body and my mind is a lot more important than what my body's looking like these days. Besides, I've still got dudes for days so I'm not too concerned about my attractiveness factor.

And yet. I'm a human, and I've been at least a little brainwashed with the idea of what a "hot" body looks like for a young white woman, and know that I am moving slightly away from that as I acquire a bit more cushion for the pushin, as they say. The insecurities are still there; I'm not superwoman at fighting them off all the time. But slowly, I'm getting there. Sometimes, it is that easy.

Ever had this experience? How do you react to bodily change, especially when it's during a period of intense life changes as well?

Much love,
The Sheriff

the PSU sex abuse scandal: a few thoughts

Growing up, I hated Penn State. HATED THEM. They embodied everything that young angry punk rock Sheriff hated: overly happy, athletics obsessed, beer soaked, and hard mentality driven fools in Pennsylvania (not that I was stereotyping or anything). I always doubted Joe Pa's squeaky image for the team, having heard many lurid urban (really rural) legends of the craziness of Penn State football team party antics and such. Most of the kids who did have the grades to go to college from my high school went to Penn State--getting into main campus was achieving the dream for some. I sneered at these minions and went to my fancy pants lady college and had a ball and became actually less of an asshole towards PSU folks. But the herd mentality still made me uneasy, as I've discussed here before.

So the sex abuse scandal that's going on right now is shocking but somehow also not entirely unexpected to me. How could a patriarchal, old boys club not cover up something of this proportion? If you can stomach it and are not easily triggered, I suggest you read the grand jury indictment. It makes the whole institution look negligent for not doing more to stop it, and frankly, I absolutely include Joe Pa in that group. He was the figurehead and he had to be fired if for nothing else to make the trustees feel better, but he also did one of the worst things someone can do when things are going wrong: doing the minimum required to stop the badness. It's not quite the Kitty Genovese effect, but it's enough that he absolutely deserved to get fired for his lack of action. I don't care if he's the winningest man in college sports. I don't care if he's ancient. I don't care if this team has been his life and the season's almost over.  A BOY WAS RAPED IN THE SHOWER AND HE DIDN'T CALL THE COPS. Period. The efforts of PSU students to raise money/awareness for child abuse survivors are a touching gesture and genuinely seem to be coming from a good place, but the riots the night of Joe Pa's firing? Less so.

I'm still so angry about this it's hard for me to think straight. What say ya'll?

Much love,
The Sheriff

PS--this adds some good questions to stir the pot further.

farewell

I am incredibly sad and pissed that this day has come.

But here it is.

FF readers, you've been with me (maybe) for a year and a half. And you've read good and less good posts (some quite excellent, if I may get my brag on for a hot sex), explicit and theoretical posts, my ramblings and guests eloquent words.

But, for at least the foreseeable future, I gotta say good-bye.

Which breaks my heart and is actually making me tear up as I type this.

My life right now is very full, and delightfully and stressfully so. I've got an awesome city to get to know, and amazing friends both new and old, and a very intense job that not only has me physically at work breaking up fights and attempting to teach from 7 to 3 but that also includes planning engaging lessons and taking certification classes and scrambling for supplies.

I just cannot give this blog the love and attention and posting it deserves right now. And as much as I still fight for women and body image love and feminist yearnings all over the place, these causes have been supplemented with also fighting the achievement gap and poverty and racism.

I have so much enjoyed reading your comments and hearing about discussions spurred by postings here, and I hope that you all continue to keep these conversations going in your own lives. Activism doesn't have to be protests and pins on your backpack; talking to people and calling them out on their bullshit is equally, if not more, important!

Keep fighting the good fight. Hopefully I'll be back here someday.

Much love,
The Sheriff

friday links

I'm happy and my friends can't stand it!

Bisexuality and hiphop---this piece is good ish.

Beyonce's pregnancy and the debate over its meaning is sorta silly. But I'm pretty excited to see how damn cute this behbeh is.

Just married 'mos! HAPPINESS.

Who falls to addiction and who gets past it? This one hits home.

Adventures in open marriage.

5 things ya should know about marriage.

Ladies, does your poop smell? Here's a cure!

Much love,
The Sheriff

self-consciousness in pictures: facebook vs the yearbook

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 Remember when you were a baby-child (or ya know, in high school), and you had picture day? And it was a really big deal because it was going to be in the yearbook and it's how everyone would remember you for all time and they gave you those awkward impotent little combs to yank through your hair before having your chin posed at strange angles. Good times, friends.

Of course, yearbook photos did and still do cause anxiety and self-consciousness, especially because they're so posed and often tend to capture us at our most strange and adolescent, with bad haircuts and pimples and oddly fitting clothes. Smith, unlike apparently a lot of schools, still does yearbooks and sends them out to the graduated seniors families.


My dad flipped through it and texted me that myself and Lady Lola looked cute on the convocation page. Convocation? That night when we rampage around campus half-naked and yell chants about house pride and booties and whatnot?

Oh shit.


What if I look fat?

I hate to admit it, but those were the first thoughts to run through my head. My primary concern was if I'd be immortalized in the consciousness of my graduating class as tubby girl in a bikini top, sarong, and a leopard print pink plastic fedora.

Some of the issue with this is that with Facebook, you are immortalized on the Interwebz for all time...but you untag with abandon. And trust me in that I abuse that privilege. A little bit of a tummy in one picture? Untag. One eye half-closed (perhaps drunkenly)? Untag. Photo taken from below, the never-even-a-little-flattering angle? Definitely untag.

But has anyone else scrutinized these photos? Would other folks devote half the energy to hatin' on my body that I do to myself? Perhaps, but I doubt it. When friends whine about how bad a picture is that I've put up of them, rarely do I even see their supposed imperfections until they show me them. And even then, who cares? One bad photo among the dozens (hundreds?) of good ones doesn't mean that everyone will forever remember you in that light.

And I finally saw the dreaded yearbook convocation picture (via Skype, thanks to a good pal). And while it is not the most flattering photo of myself, above all else, I look deliriously and genuinely happy to be frolicking with my Albright ladies. And that makes it a beautiful photo all in itself.

What say you? Any Smithies find questionable pictures of themselves in the glories of the yearbook? Does everyone scrutinize their yearbook photos with such nastiness?

Much love,
The Sheriff

BONUS--Celebrity yearbook photos. Why is J Lo so hot always?

friday links

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The evolution of tampon ads...we've got a long way to go, ya'll.

I, surprisingly, really enjoyed reading Sally's body hair management system. Mostly because it made me feel less crazy about my own. And also made me realize how little it matters!

"Assume good intentions"--I've heard this said many times before as a norm during group sessions about tough topics, but it is also a great general life reminder.

Is 25 old now?

NOOOOOOOO. I don't normally give a shit about celebrity relationships, but this makes me sad (maybe because I taught summer school at his alma mater?). NOTE--this may or may not be a real thing, since the Smiths are denying it.

Females--Do you masturbate? These folks can cure you! Shaking my head...

Humorous post about pooping and childbirth. Still does not make me feel great about the fact that this will probably happen to me one day, but it did give some LOLs.

College students use drinking as an "excuse" to have sex and not have to be labeled sluts. Sad, but true....but it still enrages me! NO ONE NEEDS AN EXCUSE TO HAVE CONSENSUAL SEX!

Much love,
The Sheriff