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# of lbs lost as of last Wednesday: 3

# of miles speed walked today: 2

# of calories lost from speed walking: 200 (that’s all???)

# of martinis I drank last night: 2 really big ones

Here’s the deal: I have always struggled with my weight. I mean ALWAYS. For as long as I can remember I suffered from being just a little too chubby. The only reprieve I ever got was shortly after I was diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes and lost a ton of weight. But honestly, it’s only because I went in to ketoacidosis and since I was 9, being thin at that age really doesn’t count. But right around the time I turned 15 I gained a ton of weight…and sadly, I’ve never taken it off. In fact, I’ve done quite a good job at putting more on. I am now proud to say that I am at the absolute heaviest I have ever been in my entire life. Isn’t it funny how when you’re a certain age you’ll look at yourself in the mirror, or step on the scale and say, “omigod. I am so fat. I need to lose weight.” But then like 10 years later after you never really did lose that weight and only gained more you step on the scale again or look at an old picture of yourself from back then and say, “Damn! I was thin back then! If only I could look like that now.” The fact is, we always want to be something that we’re not, and for a lot of us, what we are is seemingly never good enough. Like my friend Christina says, “You can never be too thin or too rich.” No shit!

About two months ago I decided to join Weight Watchers® for the 4th time. I joined it once when I was 16 (but only because my mother made me), once when I was about 22, once at 24/25 and now again a year later at 26. When I joined WW the second time I actually lost about 10 lbs. Not bad! But then I got lazy, decided it was better to eat my emotions than to deal with them, and gave it up. Since that time I have gained back those ten pounds and even put on 10 more. Lovely. I tell ya. I have the absolute worst willpower in the whole world—at least when it comes to food anyway. When I joined the program again two months ago I was sure that I was serious about it this time. No more excuses! No more screw ups! No more stretchy pants because my jeans don’t fit! Yes, I was determined. I was a woman with a plan.

I think I am probably the only person in the world to actually gain weight while on Weight Watchers®. I went in my first day (May 22nd) weighing a particular weight and a month later I had successfully GAINED 4 pounds. And no, it wasn’t just water weight. Because when I went back the next week I weighed exactly the same. A four letter word came to my mind when I found out my result. And really, why mince words: FUCK. What was I doing wrong? EVERYTHING. I was doing absolutely everything wrong. I wasn’t counting my POINTS® (the WW word for calories), I wasn’t exercising anymore, I was snacking on candy at work (bad diabetic!) and I was drinking too much. So, after a candid conversation with my brother who basically told me that I could either be serious about doing WW and lose the weight or not be serious and not lose the weight, I decided that I was sick and tired of being lazy, fat, and cranky and so I decided to go back to my basics—to go back to my roots if you will, and I made myself a weekly menu just like how my mom used to do for me back in the day when I was a young diabetic. And let’s face it: back when I was healthy, in shape, and at an appropriate weight. So, I wrote up my menu and for that whole week followed it religiously: measuring my food, not snacking, drinking lots of water, and making sure most of all, that I didn’t feel deprived. And when I walked in to my meeting last Wednesday after having followed my menu plan for the past 6 days, I discovered that I had actually lost 3 pounds. Hot damn! I am not looking forward to this Wednesday though. I think I fucked everything up this weekend when I ate my mom’s cheese enchiladas and homemade guacamole. Like I said earlier, When it comes to food, I have no willpower. I am totally weak and it’s something I’m really going to have to work on.

Today on my lunch break I decided to go to the gym. I can’t go after work. I’m just too tired. Plus it’s so easy to come up with an excuse: I have to stay late at work; I have a WW meeting to go to; I have an appointment with my therapist; it’s Monday; all the mean Armenian women hog the machines. There are always a million and one excuses why I don’t go to the gym. So, thanks to a friend who pointed out that there’s a branch of my gym not too far away from where I work, I decided today to go to the gym during lunch. It was perfect. I was one of maybe 10 people there, I still had plenty of energy since up until then I had only been sitting at my desk for 3½ hours instead of 9½, and now I can go straight home after work and relax with a cocktail instead of feeling guilty for not working out first. But I’ll tell you something. I am seriously out of shape. 30 minutes on the treadmill walking on a 2.0 incline at a speed of 3.6 almost put me over the edge. And all of that to lose only 200 calories?! You’ve got to be effing kidding me! I’m consuming more calories right now in my cup of Progresso soup than I lost at the gym this afternoon. And, do you know what’s even worse? On the treadmill next to me was this tiny little girl, who couldn’t have been more than 16 years old. And while I was walking and sweating balls this little thing was running effortlessly next to me. And at one point after she started running I felt this cool breeze kinda blow by me and I thought to myself, “I wonder if she turned on the personal fan that’s on her treadmill,” until I looked over and realized that no, her fan wasn't on. That breeze I felt was her—the air she was churning—as she ran past me. Well, like they say in AA: one day at a time.

I don’t consider fat a disease. I mean, c’mon, who had the gun to my head? Nobody. What gene in my body says I have to eat four cakes instead of two? It’s a choice.

~Kirstie Alley~

I have a terrible habit of starting things and then never finishing them. Like joining Weight Watchers, going to the gym, reading books, and writing in my journal. Right now I am presently reading 4 different books with three more sitting on the back burner until I’m done with the first two—one of which happens to be Tom Robbins’ Jitterbug Perfume, which I’ve been meaning to read for four years. I’m half way through finishing D.H. Lawrence’s Lady Chatterley’s Lover, and a few chapters in to Charlaine Harris’ 11th Sookie Stackhouse Novel entitled Dead in the Family. A biography of the Borgias also remains partially read as does Julia Child’s Mastering the Art of French Cooking, which I like to sift through while I watch television and sip on a dirty martini. So after I have an affair, slay a few vampires, and familiarize myself with one of Italy’s most salacious families, I intend to teach myself how to make the perfect French omelet in addition to one hell of a boeuf bourguignon. Sounds like a good plan…if I can actually accomplish it! It frustrates me that this predisposition to never carry anything through transgresses in to all aspects of my life. I think about going back to school to become a MFT or sexologist, but never do it. I think about writing the next great American novel—or rather romance novel, but never do it. I think about making homemade duck liver pâté and coq au vin but never do it. And I think all the time about moving to Europe, traveling historical towns, eating fine foods and writing about it. And if it weren’t for the fact that I’m afraid to be poor I’d actually do that one. But my own desire for monetary comfort dictates that that fantasy must—at least for the moment—remain just that: a fantasy.

When was the last time I followed through with something? Even this weekend I cheated myself out of finishing a list of chores. I cleaned the bathroom, pledged and windexed my whole house, vacuumed all the dog hair from under the bed…but when it came time for me to mop the hardwood floors, I decided instead to sit down on the couch, drink a beer, flip through Julia Child’s best selling cookbook, and watch the 1988 hit film, BIG, starring Tom Hanks and Elizabeth Perkins. I also DVR’d Death Becomes Her because it was my favorite movie when I was in 3rd grade. I really have no idea why my mother would let me watch such an awful, sexually charged film at such a young age, but knowing the woman I turned out to be, it makes all the more sense to me now. But I digress and that wasn’t my point (although I really should re-touch on that topic again at a later time). All I had to do was mop the floor. That’s all I had left! But I didn’t do it. I chose to be lazy, drink a six pack, and reminisce on bygone days. What shame.

I also seem to have the unfortunate habit of thinking about old lovers while driving on the freeway—a dangerous habit which has almost caused me to have a number of unnecessary accidents. I constantly go back to the same two—one of whom wasn’t even a lover in the physically carnal sense of the word. But both of them are definitely former loves, and for some inexplicable reason, the gentle hum of my car driving 85 mph down the 5 freeway seems to put me in a type of fugue state where I completely forget where I am altogether until I reach my desired destination and daily regret having to say to myself, “I have no idea how I got here.” If only I could think of them at more appropriate times: like while walking on the treadmill at the gym or while touching myself in the shower. Isn’t that what normal people do? I even know of some who choose to think romantically of their former lovers while engaging in something physical with their present lover. But not me. There’s nothing worse than calling out the wrong person’s name in bed. That happened to me once. Someone called me Michelle. I should have ended it there. Unfortunately, I went on to date that individual for a year. You know, sometimes the signs are so forcefully in front of your face that you can’t help but be blinded by them and thus look the other way. Come to think of it, I’ve made a lot of mistakes with men through the years. And in such a short time, too! But that’s what happens when you’re a serial monogamist like I am. When one relationship ends another one begins and it doesn’t leave you with much to reflect on in between.

It was not the passion that was new to her, it was the yearning adoration. She knew she had always feared it, for it left her helpless; she feared it still, lest if she adored him too much, then she would lose herself, become effaced, and she did not want to be effaced, a slave, like a savage woman. She must not become a slave. She feared her adoration, yet she would not at once fight against it.

~ D.H. Lawrence (Lady Chatterley's Lover)~

There are two things that you must do while you’re in Paris; smoke cigarettes and eat foie gras. They’re equally the same in terms of American interpretation: they’re both completely indulgent and they’re both really bad for you. But while you’re smoking your Gauloise and eating the fatty liver of a duck, whose been destined for a life among the rich brasseries of Paris, just remember that you wouldn’t be French unless you could appreciate the fattier, finer things in life. There’s also a reason why French women are so fantastically slim and sensual. Many have proposed the theory that they’re merely thin by manner of their walking habits, the fact that they eat smaller portions, or the suggestion that their metabolism just accommodates a smaller framed-person. All of those reasons are certainly acceptable and especially plausible. But I believe that the true reason lies in their carcinogen-inhaling habits. Sure, the Parisians walk more than your average American. They have to! It’s like living in New York city. Only one in 3 (I made this number up) people own a car. But I think the true reason is dictated by a combination of all of the above: they smoke cigarettes, and they therefore have a decreased appetite. Their decreased appetite enables them to eat smaller portions (it’s also what you’re served here), and the fact that they walk all day…well, that speaks for itself.

Today I did not have breakfast--probably because I didn’t wake up ‘till 11 (damn jet lag). I took the Metro to Sacre Coeur, where I walked close to 1000 steps exiting the underground, walked all through Montmartre, then hopped the Metro back to the 5th, where I exited St. Michael, bought a “Trois Fromage” Panini, walked to Notre Dame, ate, and then walked the 20 minutes back to my apartment. After talking with my parents via skype, I walked another 2 hours through le Saint Germain, down through the Latin Quarter, past all of the fantastic Middle Eastern restaurants, and back another 20 minutes to my apartment, stopping briefly along the Seine to take some photos and pop a couple of glucose tablets. I changed my clothes, had a glass of wine (of course!) and then walked to Le Buci for dinner where I had 6 escargots bathes in garlic, butter, and parsley sauce, followed by a generous portion of steak tartare, pommes frites, and a small mesclun salad. I met a woman tonight who is a psycho analyst in France. We shared a drink and talked about life in the porn industry, in psychology, and we talked about our husband. Hers regards her as a Madonna. Mine is an addict. Neither one of us knows what to do. So, we had another glass (wine for me; beer for her) and spoke about Freud.

Today was a good day. Its always a bit lonely visiting a new place by yourself. But somehow in Paris…I don’t feel so alone.

# of cigarettes: just 1 so far. Not too bad.

# of hours it took me from the time I left my house until I reached my new apartment for the week: 21 hours

# of hours I slept in the last day: 3

# Times I've wondered if I really should have come all the way here by myself: a few

Today is my birthday. I am officially 26 years old. Ten years ago today my mother took me to London and Paris for my birthday and on the actual day--April 25th--we spent our first day in Paris. I remember that we had dinner at Les Bouquinistes, and the maitre de brought us champagne. That restaurant is still here, and although today marks my decade return, I sadly realized that I cannot afford to eat at the same restaurant, so I'll just have to commence my birthday night in some other way.

My best friend was suppose to be joining me here today. Unfortunately, US Airways screwed her over (due to the volcanic eruption in Iceland) and so here I am, alone in Paris on my birthday, while mon amie is stuck in Phoenix. So, the big question is, what does one do in one of the most famous cities in the whole world on her birthday...alone?

Well, before we ponder the many possibilities, I'd like to share with you what my surroundings look like. I am staying in an apartment--correction. A studio apartment, that is literally no larger than a dorm room. It has a tiny little couch against a wall--well, its not really a couch so much as a couple of cushions stacked upon each other. I'm sitting on the couch typing at the moment. To my immediate left is a giant window about 8 feet high or taller that opens up on to Rue Mazarine and looks down onto a cafe (Le Bistro Mazarine). In front of me not more than 3 feet away is the "kitchen" consisting of a microwave, two hot plates (the French love their hot plates!), a sink, and a small shelf above it. To the right of the sink is the bathroom with a shower and a toilet. Its about as large as an airplane bathroom. By the front door is a little desk and up the stairs is a bed (the stairs around directly behind the little desk to the immediate right of the small couch I'm sitting on). Its super tiny in here but with the enormous window that looks out on to the street who really needs anything larger? I also just happened to notice that all the clocks in here are behind by an hour. I thought it was a quarter to 7. It's actually a quarter to 8, which mean I really need to put on some makeup and decide what I want to do for dinner. Like the Italians, the Spaniards, and well, most of the Europeans for that matter, Parisians do not eat dinner at 5pm or 6pm like so many Americans do. Most restaurants don't even open for dinner until at least 7:00pm and they stay open well past midnight. However, since today is Sunday, I suspect that perhaps many people won't be eating at 11. So I think I'll plan to head out for dinner around 9. Oh, would you like to know another thing French people love? Military time. And really, it's actually quite sensible. None of this "am"/"pm" bs. But for those of us who refer to 13:00 as 1pm, it can be very challenging to calculate what 19:55 is (7:55pm by the way).

So, for tonight I think I'll walk down a few streets until I come across a restaurant that looks appealing (and they all do!) and then maybe I'll trudge through my old stomping grounds in the Latin quarter reminiscing on the good 'ole days 5 and a half years ago when I studied here and really had no idea what I was doing. It's always better sometimes I think going back to a place older. It's the whole concept of "had I known then what I know now." There's a reason that cliche saying is out there: it's always true.

# of Cigarettes somked today: 0 Hooray!

# of Calories consumed before noon: let's not talk about it: sausage, eggs, toast, peanut butter cup, fish tacos, chips, etc...

Last time I updated my online journal: almost 3 months ago! Someone spank me!

Would you believe that not too long ago I used to write in one of these things religiously every day?? Of course, at that time I was a single college student with nothing to do but study, date men whom I met online, and drink my liver in to sorosis every weekend. Now, I have a real job (if you can call watching porn a real job) and I have responsibilities I have to attend to: like feeing my 2 dogs, or making sure my cat has water. Stuffing my face with Mexican food is on that list too, but I'm choosing not to dwell on that right now. I ate like a piggy today. So much for my 2 mile speed-walk at the gym yesterday. I just effed it all up right now. But it's not really my fault. TC slept on the couch last night--no, not because we got in a fight. He lied down to watch some of the Military Channel and passed out. Yeah, that usually happens to me too. Anyway, when I woke up at 6am to get ready for work, he felt so bad that he made me maple breakfast sausage, fried eggs and toast. I actually felt amazing after that big breakfast, but I should have skipped my two taco and beans lunch. Now I feel like a tub of lard. Why didn't I listen to Ian? “Breakfast like a King, lunch like a prince and dinner like a pauper.”

So, I have a new job. Here’s what happened: about 5 weeks ago I was laid off at Playboy Radio. Pretty shitty, huh? I’d been there for a couple of years. Anyway, that same week I secured an interview with another company, and now I’m their marketing coordinator. A little different from the radio gigs I’ve been doing for the last few years, but certainly nothing that I can’t handle. In fact, I think I’m pretty good at it so far. Anyway, I write all their press releases, coordinate advertising campaigns, etc. It’s kind of fun actually. And I get to really hone in on my type-A personality and spend a lot of time organizing how we market a film, which I like to do. Oh, did I mention that I’m still watching a lot of porn for work? Yeah, fortunately that hasn’t changed.

So here’s some exciting news: I leave in 3 days for Paris. That’s right! The City of Lights here I come! I’m taking myself for my twenty---- th birthday. I haven’t been back in almost 6 years. The last time I was there my boyfriend at the time decided to pay me a visit and ended up breaking up with me his first day there. I could have killed him! Oh, what that did for my self esteem. I was foolish enough too to stay with him for the rest of the week, but I guess at the time I figured, ‘why not enjoy the week for what it is and when he leaves it’ll be all over.’ I was a wreck though. I can remember going to class the day he left and crying next to this really cute boy I had a crush on. I remember he looked over at me, I made eye contact with him, and then I just totally lost my shit. But life happens, and I’ve learned from that mistake. This time, I’m going alone and my best friend in the whole wide world (who happens to be female) is going to meet me there. Now this will be a trip to remember. Oh, the mischief we’re going to get ourselves in to. I’m going to attempt to do a daily journal while I’m there, so definitely make sure to check back and read up on our adventures. Oh, and don’t be surprised if I never come home. If I can find a way to make a living there in the week that I have, then I’ll stay. So, we’ll see…

The best of America drifts to Paris. The American in Paris is the best American. It is more fun for an intelligent person to live in an intelligent country. France has the only two things toward which we drift as we grow older—intelligence and good manners.

~F. Scott Fitzgerald~

Cigarettes: 0 Hooray! I haven't smoked since my landlady's party 2 weeks ago. Although, I did have two puffs on Thursday night. Does that count?

# of times I wish I could close my eyes and be in Paris: 15--and I only woke up an hour ago

Favorite person I met while online dating: Seth

 
Two years ago I bought xoxolovemarissa.com. Two years later, I still don't really know what to do with it. It just seemed like a good idea to buy a website. Everyone was doing it! Ok, everyone wasn't really doing it, but a lot of people had them, and I figured that if I didn't up and buy this domain someday soon, one day someone else would and then I'd have to pay them $10,000 for a url that more than anything I should be embarrassed about. I mean, come on. xoxolovemarissa.com? People laugh every time I spell it out. It sounds like either the website of some Barely Legal porn star, or one of Miley Cyrus' adolescent girlfriends. But it's how I've signed every letter I ever write someone near and dear to me since I can remember. It's kinda my thing, I guess you could say. So it only seemed appropriate that I would make it my website address.

I used to write in an online journal (the kids today call them blogs) way before online journaling was even cool. I mean, it was starting to get popular. There were websites like easyjournal and livejournal but I don't think wordpress or blogger existed yet. I had quite a following too. Mostly because I had become obsessed with online dating and would go on a date with a different random (that's what I called the men I met online) every night of the week. I'd then come home and usually write about my experience. Oh my god, I had so much damn fun! If you've never tried online dating you have to. It should be one of the seven wonders of the modern world. Right up there with visiting the pyramids and walking through Stonehenge. I had a friggin blast! The only problem though was that I became way too obsessed with it. In fact, one could suggest that perhaps I was out of control and needed an intervention. In fact, an intervention is what my friends intended to have with me if it wasn't for the fact that I finally met someone (not online if you can believe that!) and so I had to stop online dating. But even now I think about it. Just the other day I was sitting in the studio and was trying to locate one of my show's listeners on AshleyMadison.com. I had heard that Captain Rob was on AshleyMadison so I wanted to find his profile and just check it out. (Side note: Captain Rob is not really a captain, but he insists that he be called that. So naturally, I am happy to comply). But then I discovered that if I wanted to find him on there I would have to sign up for a free account--which of course, I can't do. I thought about it for a few minutes, and then again when I got home, and here I am thinking about it now. But if I sign up for an account it will be all down hill from here. I have 5 years of sobriety when it comes to online dating. I can't fall off the wagon now.

So since I won't allow myself to get in to online dating anymore, I don't really know what the theme of these journals will be. I guess they will just be about me, my life, and the people I know. I'm sure I can make that a little exciting. And if not, then I guess I'll just have to get myself in to a little bit of trouble to give you something interesting to read. And why not, really? You only live once.

You have to count on living every single day in a way you believe will make you feel good about your life--

so that if it were over tomorrow, you'd be content with yourself.

~Jane Seymour