Thursday, February 24, 2011
I just got my "goal" dress in the mail last night; slipped it on, zipped it up half-way, and as of right now that is as far as it is goin', so I've got a long way to go, but having that cute number hanging in my closet will be just the thing to keep me on track.
Oh and my first cheat day? Total glutton-fest, but it was worth it. I think I am going to have themes for my cheat days, this upcoming one I shall call Sake-it-to-me! As the day will be filled with Sushi and Udon and Sake. Konnichiwa, carbs! With perhaps a brownie sundae thrown in for good measure.
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
It arrives to you on an inhale and suddenly your breath catches;
which makes your eyes widen,
your blood flow hasten and gives you one larger-than-usual heartbeat
which presses against your ribs and practically propels you forward
towards the one who sent it.
You feel like a vehicle for something other-worldly
and a total goober at the same time.
There's a word that has come to mind over and over these past months since that look: inevitable.
Now we write letters, pen and ink and parchment honest-to-god snail-mail letters
and this is our only means of communication.
Why are we doing this?
A test, a trial, a quest perhaps, for some kind of an answer?
Because neither of us knows the how/what/and bloody wherefore the flipping universe had in mind, bringing US together and having us fall head over heels.
Have not yet acquired any sort of enlightenment. All I know for now is these letters are amazing. To receive a LETTER in this day and age is rare and I'd forgotten how much they meant, how much they mean.
Me and my best friend from high-school would write notes in school, lengthy ones; yes we could just TALK to each other, which we did of course, but when we were apart (she in English and me in Chemistry,) we would write to each other. It was sentimental and, more often than not, filled with teen-angst that could choke a fucking pig, but I still to.this.day. have every single one of her letters; even those she wrote when we went to our own colleges. Whatever has happened to our love for each other, now that we have become estranged, does not matter because I will always have tangible proofs that we were once incredibly important to each other, that we loved each other. And that, my readers, is some powerful juju.
What will my present day love-letters bring to the forefront of our decision-making abilities? At this point I honestly don't care; what will come will come, time unfolds everything, does it not? If you remain true and honest to yourself. (Wow, um Gilbert, you think you've read enough of the bard? Christonabicycle I'm a dorrrrrrk!)
These letters, they exist, therefore love will exist in them forever.
....will have to be enough for now.
So my advice to you my lovelies is to grab a pen and some paper and write a letter. It does a body good.
Until next time, be grateful, enjoy the day, for it is YOURS.
Saturday, February 12, 2011
The warmer weather is just around the corner, the Vitamin D of the sun awaits to bless my skin with happiness and positivity, and I want to get this party started right.
Because this year I turn 35.
Because I am sick and tired of being sad and dwelly and a general mopey mcmoperson.
Because I need to take life by its seemingly large and meaty balls and make it my BITCH.
Because I know I can.
So that said today is my first consult at the gym with my sensei, the tall drink o' water that is Vernon. He will be with me in this for the next 10 weeks, as will you be, my lovelies should you decide to come along for the ride.
I have to now get out of my fluffy pants and comfy nightshirt and push my well-endowedness into a sportsbra, slap on mah trainers, and dread the future pain of everysingleinchofmybody.
Because play time is over. Time for work.
Until next time, keep firing assholes!
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Nothing changes in my little world; it's like I got put into a worm hole in 1999 and have yet to find a way to crawl out of it's slimy clutches, cuz in my mind a worm hole sounds awfully slimy.
STILL overweight by 15lbs.
STILL struggling getting cast by people other than the same four that I've worked with for 6 years.
STILL poor as shit, and the debt just keeps onnn growin'.
STILL getting my heart broken by falling in love with men that want me until they don't.
and therefore STILL SINGLE.
but no wait, there are NEW things occurring. Things like:
bad knees, NEW!
many more grays, NEW!
much more cellulite, NEW!
poorer eyes, NEW!
neck-skin sag, NEW!
Of course there are things I am blessed with, that should not go unmentioned.
But this has been such a bitch of a Winter and I just am so fucking depressed, the glass is most definitely half-empty and I am most definitely in the bell jar.
And look, just in time for Valentine's Day.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
I am on a mission, taking action to be happy, and not fake happy smothered in booze and high-fructose corn syrup, but genuine "waking up in the morning and looking at the reflection of a beautiful, responsible, loving and deserving to be loved adult" happy.
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
As much as things have stayed the same on the surface, underneath I feel an evolutionary period beginning to churn. I want to change.
People have called me in my profession, numerous times, a "chameleon"; in its essence this means Kimberly Gilbert the actor on stage is more familiar than Kimberly Gilbert person out in the world, on the street. People hardly recognize me, even after face-to-face interactions. It is only when someone remarks about one of my performances that I come to the forefront of their mind, fresh as a daisy! "OhmygodthatwasYOU?!" is a phrase I hear over and over. Friends of mine say that this is indicative of my immensely awesome mad skills on the ol'boards; but I wonder, is that what that it indicates, or does it say something else...
That "else" is what I fear, what I have feared, and it is the possibility that I don't really exist in the real world. I am 34 and all I have to show for it in the REAL world is a messy bedroom, no art on walls, no savings, no ownership of a car/house/pet/plant, and above all this...the one thing people bug me about the MOST...no husband and no children. All I have to show exists in the memories of my audience. But those are my characters, not me. So I guess what this rant is saying is that
I want to exist in the world, but it is not the world's responsibility, it is mine.
I must get out of my old mindset to perpetually rage against the machine, and try to find a way into the daylight, for I fear I might disappear.
Thursday, October 14, 2010
What can't I get through my thick head?
Kim+Yoga+Running+CalorieCounting+focusing on career=bag o'cute puppies.
My track record don't lie folks, so before y'all start thinking this is a "do these jeans make me look fat" not-so-veiled plea for a ego-confidence boost, go back and check your work.
I am a great friend, baker, sibling, daughter, and I will push down my bubbling acid reflux of self-deprecation and even say a great actor, but what I am NNNNOTTT, never have been, prolly never will be, is a great dater. I think I know why, too. I am so muthafucking focused on either avoiding any possible instance of being uncool or hurting their feelings, so, as any RomCom will show you, I fail on both points, every time.
It's raining here in Silver Spring, I'm at my office gig, pre-menstrual and my knee hurts. Naturally all I want to do is go and get deeerrunk and flirt with some bartender till he starts Jersey-pourin', but instead, I log in the banana I just consumed on my on-line calorie-counter (This one RULES it), take a big gulp of water and inhale reality, exhale woulda-coulda-shoulda, and let the day run it's course.