Heather L. Barmore
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Heather L. Barmore
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Heather Barmore
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    Change In Action at Babble Voices


    Carb It

    "It is a hard matter, my fellow citizens, to argue with the belly, since it has no ears." ~Plutarch

    I will readily admit that I went through an ephedrine phase, by way of Xenadrine. After the FDA decided that ephedra is terrible on the system and Xenadrine did away with it, they tried to claim that the new stuff was the same as the old stuff. It so wasn’t.

    (side note: I also went through other poor dieting phases, that my mother would die if she knew about. And it’s not me not being honest, because if you were to ask me I’d be like “hell yes”, but for right now, use your imagination as to exactly what ‘other poor dieting phases’ are. I’m sure your imagination will lead you to the proper conclusions)

    Ok, it’s not like I had nor have serious weight problems or anything like that. And it takes months for it to be noticeable that I’ve gained or lost weight, because I’m tall enough and in proportion, but yes I did go the ‘drug’ route to lose weight. And holy hell I lost a lot of it. At the same time, Peg had jumped on the Atkins bandwagon. For years with her working and Garrett and I have multiple activities, dinners consisted of Burger King and McDonalds. I was eating Big Macs at the tender age of 5 (but I was such an adorable chubby little girl).

    Growing up it’s not like I was inactive and just sat around watching TV all day. I did ballet, tap, jazz, cheerleading, soccer, threw shot put and discus and some running. When I came to AU instead of gaining 15-20lbs, I lost 15. Awesome. I was the girl that was at the gym every day at 6:30 AM. The next fall, around Thanksgiving of my Sophomore year, I started taking Xenadrine. That shit made me so ill that I didn’t want to eat. And when I did eat, my meals consisted of a veggie burger and cantaloupe and an excessive amount of OJ (the calcium fortified kind, thank you very much).

    The whole take Xenadrine, feel like shit, plan worked out nicely; with a lovely 60lbs weight loss, after which I was told that I look anorexic. Even Peg was a little shocked that I had lost more weight than she had even though we started at the same time (ahem, that’s what getting up at 6 AM for the gym gets you). Oh wait, see that weight loss high, I was just on? Yup, gone. I think that I’ve managed to gain well over half of it back.

    But let’s face it, I stopped paying attention. Nicole Ritchie can pull off the anorexic look, I can’t. Nicole Ritchie has also never worked on a campaign, in which all you do is eat, worry, work, then eat some more. Then four months in Spain, although I did lose 10lbs there, I gained it all right back upon setting foot in Dulles (I’ve been deprived of Chipotle for four months, I deserve to have it twice a week for a month. Asshole.)

    There was a time, when I actually cared and worried. I go to the gym, I do yoga, I’m not just sitting around doing nothing. And hell yes, I’m going to eat. I will have potatoes for breakfast, maybe even a breakfast sandwich on a biscuit; hell, throw in pizza with eggplant parmagiana and linguine with pesto ON TOP of pizza crust. I don’t care.

    Just remind me to wake up and go for that run in the morning. Damn.


    Vivian Jaffe: Passive Aggressive?
    Brad Stand: Shut up!
    Bernard Jaffe: Aggressive Aggressive-I Heart Huckabees

    Writing out of anger and hostility is a bit of a catch-22. One the one hand, you get out all of your anger and drama and damn, it makes for good reading. On the other hand, you will inevitably write about something that you will regret saying later.
    So you instead sit and do breathing exercises with your eyes closed, thinking of things to come in 20 years and fighting off the urge to cry and/or run.

    I want to complain and bitch right now like it’s nobody’s business, and I would if I could, but I can’t. Because this is the internet and people have google.

    So let me be passive aggressive and cry later. Because, ladies and gentlemen, that’s what this wonderful life of mine is all about.

    P.S. I'm in such a shitty mood I don't even mind the possibility of being dooced.
    P.P.S. I retract the previous statement. I do mind.

    Found Him!

    Life is an endless struggle full of frustrations and challenges, but eventually you find a hair stylist you like. ~Author Unknown

    I am in love.
    I have found the perfect man.
    Some one who makes me happy, listens to me, and compliments me.
    I’ve been served fresh baked pastries and all the orange juice in the world.

    I met my new man in the Washingtonian. I read about what he could do for black women and I wanted in. But at the time I was too nervous and broke. The next time I spotted this man, it was during Apartment Search 2005, he was just next door. That’s when I found out about the home made chocolate chip cookies.
    This man has been a long time coming. For four years I’ve struggled, finding both men and women, but no one that I really liked. I had to go all the way to Albany to be satisfied, but still no luck. But this man, he’s a keeper. He won’t burn me or hurt me; he’ll just let me go natural and be. I love that in a man.

    His name: Bill Lawrence. His salon: Bill Lawrence Salon. My hair: so this isn’t complete crap at the top of my head, something can actually be done to it-like this very lovely two strand twist I've got going on.

    Rewind to last fall, when I decided that I wanted to go to the Peace Corps. I knew that the process would take about six months, just enough time for me to grow out my relaxer (a chemical straightening process that many black women use. If it stays on too long, it can burn your scalp, but then again pain is beauty) that ruined the crap out of my hair and go natural. I braided for awhile, but I’m not Beyonce and spending $200 a month on my hair wasn’t ideal. I kept growing my hair without getting a relaxer and decided that the peace corps wasn’t for me just yet, but Spain was. In January, I made the big chop. For the subsequent months, my hair grew and grew and I just got used to it being short. It’s this afro-like mass, but rarely in afro form, because I’m too lazy. My friends thought it was cool, I thought it was easy (my mother for the record hated it and said that it wasn't interview hair, she made me get it braided which left me with a scar/permanent part; anyway, I had my hair out for my final interview and got hired. So ha! Down with societal demands.) And my hair just grew.

    I found Bill Lawrence’s salon (Matthew specifically), just in time, because el pelo was out of control. It’s nice, classy, small and intimate. It gives off this homey feel. And did I mention the pastries, oh and the coffee that comes in actual mugs that are green and match the decor of the salon. I was complimented about my hair (which I’ve slowly learned to just love and live with) and no suggestions were made to straighten it. There wasn’t excessive product used. Oh, they were just so freaking nice. My only caveat was the price ($85 for a cut and style), but that’s just because my dumbass didn’t budget to get my hair done.

    It’s so nice to finally find someone you really just love and trust. My if I feel this way about a good salon, imagine how I’ll feel about an actual real life man. Just YAY.