Dear Mr. Webster: I mean, really, shouldn't "Mother of Four Children" and "White Bikini" be official synonyms?

Wait, can you see through this white bikini? You can? OK, good.

Actress/Dancing With The Stars hoofer Brooke Burke, pictured above, has given birth the four children. Four. Their names are Neriah, Sierra Sky, Heaven Rain and Shaya Braven and I shall end that sentence there because I was taught if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say it at all.

So I will say it here, in this sentence. WHAT?! Four children were housed in that belly? Were they pod babies of some sort? Born in mini capsules that you plunk into water to help them expand to full-size like sea monkeys? I mean, I know Brooke's a born stunner (and half-Jewish! Merry Rosh Hashana!) and she's been in Playboy, Maxim, was a Ford model, appeared in the Frederick's of Hollywood catalogue (I'm feeling benevolent so I spelled it fancy) and hosted E!'s Wild On, but what kind of holy water-blessed, rhinestone-infused genes was that woman born with?

I was recently reading about a company Brooke started called Baboosh, which sells assorted bump-enhancing accessories, including the ingeniously named Taut. Are you asking yourself, "What's a taut and ought I have bought one?" Good, now say it 10 times fast.

"For centuries, women from around the world have been wrapping their post-pregnancy bellies to get back into shape quickly and naturally. It is believed that a belly wrap reduces the size of the swollen uterus, reduces water retention in the belly, and helps you lose inches fast, all while supporting that unwanted baggy baby skin! Tauts should be worn after delivery for forty days.

Here's a pic of a Taut, worn by a woman who clearly just gave birth and decided to wriggle into her fave pre-pregnancy black lace bra and thong, have her hair professionally straightened and adopted a coy glance as her hotter-for-her-than-ever husband snapped photos of her against a lush backdrop of billowing champagne chiffon:

Brooke swears this helped her stomach shrink back to the concave, teenage specimen it appears to be today. Of course, genetics must have played a gigantic role, as well as her killer workout schedule, for which I give the lady major props. I'm sure frolicking on the beach with David Charvet in front of throngs of photographers was strong incentive, too. But what I want to know is, if you are a mother, does seeing this kind of pic upset you? Make you laugh at the absurdity of it all? Wish you'd had 1-800-BABOOSH-ME on speed dial in the delivery room? Did anyone out there wrap their tummy or do something equally off-the-wall in an effort to flatten their post-baby bump?

Oh, and in other insane celeb news, I was reading an interview with new mom Samantha Harris, also from DWTS (I swear, I don't watch this show despite the obsession I seem to have with it in this blog) and, when talking about how she whipped her bod back into shape, gearing up for the Emmys, she said - and I swear, this is verbatim:

September 9, 8 A.M.: "Had three strawberries, three slices of honeydew melon, five grapes and 1 ounce of chicken breast."

Hahahahahaha. Ha. Five grapes? Whoa, girlfriend, don't go crazy there. One ounce of chicken breast? One ounce of chicken is about the size of two stacked dice. I could eat that as I slept and not even realize there was poultry sliding down my throat. Apparently, this meal fuels her hour-long Ballet Body Class. I need a trough of oatmeal and Stanley Cup-sized fruit bouquet for that kind of energy. Then again, I don't have that wonderful new mom energy that seems to propel so many women through marathon workouts on 30 calories.

Do you eat to workout or workout to eat?

It looks like little Gynnie hath wormed her way into my head with her comment, "It's worth it to me to do that extra exercise so I can eat what I want and not think about it," which I blogged about on Friday. Then, I saw this over at FitSugar.com and thought, hey, that little blonde minx may be onto something! (Gwyneth, not FitSugar).

As for me, I'm an unabashed endorphin whore and gym junkie and am obsessed with the feeling I get from working up a long, hard sweat. And I was recently reminded of another reason I exercise - to stay healthy and strong - when my sister-in-law's friend's grandmother (got that?) fell and broke her hip while walking into a hospital (to visit my newly birthed niece.) But there's another, slightly less purehearted/more sinister motivation behind my workouts - Me Want Food.

On days I don't workout, I tend to eat a bit lighter (not *dieting* in any sense - just making healthier choices.) But on a day like yesterday, when the Red Tent is about pitch itself in my family room for five to seven days and my meal plan looks something (OK, exactly) like this:

Fresh fruit from Edible Arrangements (I'm not even playing here - they sent me this and I had a happy freakout on par with the day I got engaged) Heaping bowl of oatmeal with dried blueberries and brown sugar Large slice of semi-frozen, heavily frosted birthday cake Two teeny pieces of broccol left languishing in my fridge Two (and a half) monstrous slices of stuffed deep-dish pizza

...well, let's just say that on those kind of days, I'm mighty glad I walked 30 minutes to the gym, did another 30 on the Gauntlet, lifted some light weights and walked back home.

So, I ask you...

PS PRIZE ALERT Would Cebca, Bdaiss and Meg please email me at leslie@lrdiaries.com? Something fun from lucy awaits you! Answers to your questions to come...

GOOP- It's like POOP, but with a G!

G. Pal wants you to nourish your "inner aspect." Um...Qu'est-ce que c'est?

When I think of Gwyneth Paltrow, the following things come to mind:

1) Ill-fitting pink dress
2) Besties with Madge
3) Fetishy-y shoes
4) Eats seaweed and unhulled rice
5) Dated Brad Pitt AND sported matching haircuts (This means she most likely swapped bodily fluids with the Man God, thus redeeming herself in my eyes from the crime committed in #1)
6) Named her little boy after a baby in a basket (Incidentally, I just asked Dan, "Who was Moses? Was he God?" and he actually put the Cubs season tickets salesperson he was talking to on hold to turn and look at me like I was the craziest person on earth. And he threatened to call my grandmother, who will no doubt be terribly saddened and disappointed to hear that after 16 years of Sunday and Hebrew school, I still asked this question.)

Anyhow. Gwyneth has a brand new lifestyle and advice website inexplicably called Goop.com Um, according to the American Heritage Dictionary:

"goop" (gōōp)
n. Slang
A sticky wet viscous substance.
[Perhaps alteration of goo.]

The sticky wet site is divided into sections like "Make," "Go," "Do," and "Be." She tells us "My life is good because I am not passive about it. I want to nourish what is real, and I want to do it without wasting time. I love to travel, to cook, to eat, to take care of my body and mind..." blah blah blaaaaaah.

Understandably, a BlogLand backlash sprung to life as soon as Goop did. As the bloggers at the LA Times put it, "apparently no one wants to take life direction from the girl who has it all." I *get* the negative reaction - it's like, Oh, really? You like to travel? You love to eat and care for your body? Wow, that is REALLY relatable. Stars - they're just like us! Her advice may come from a good place but when Gwyneth urges me in soft gray font to "Pause before reacting" or to "Go to a city you've never been to," it incites a mini-fury inside me. Like, duh, of course I want to out the kabosh on my PMS-fueled freakouts...of course I want to fly to Rio and dance in the street for beads...but I don't have a private therapist (OK, I do, but still) or lear jet or bazillions of dollars to make all of this happen at the encouraging snap of her manicured fingers. Her Bad Mother at BlogHer put it very nicely when she said, "Gwyneth looks to be aspiring to be a wellness-oriented Martha...but please: I'm functioning on no sleep and am very, very lucky if I can get matching socks on my preschooler and pick stray Cheerios up off the floor, never mind keep fresh flowers around and set aside an hour in the morning for yoga and organic fruitshakes. I mean, it'd be nice, but it ain't gonna happen and I get depressed just thinking about it."

In other words, when Gwyn tells us not to be lazy, to workout, stick with it and "Goop. Make it great," we all kind of have to throw up in our collective mouths a little bit.

It's interesting because, like millions of other women, I don't get my panties in a bunch when, say, Oprah tells me my poop should be the consistency of toothpaste (yes, she said this) or when Jamie Lee Curtis challenged magazines to show women as they really look. Why is this - what makes us relate to one celeb over another? Is it because Oprah came from such a disadvantaged, hard knock background and pulled and clawed her way to the top, while Gwyneth was born into a Tori Spelling-like existence? Or looking to our fellow bloggers, why don't we get all up in arms when our e-friends talk to us about being thankful or taking five minutes to smell the flowers or encourage us to eat organically? Indeed, many of us thrive on such advice and are able to implement real changes in our life as a result of it.

What makes you relate to a celebrity - or any other woman, for that matter? Are there some actresses who just bug the crap out of you and you wish they'd hop in a limo and be driven far, far away? Models or singers who instill hatred totally independent of their bodies? Who do you like/actually want to hear from, and who needs to shut up?

Oh, and in more "Stars - They're Just Like Us!" news, Gwyneth works out "freaking hard" - for proof, click here! I will admit, I do tend to abide by the philosophy she mentioned to Oprah recently about avoiding dieting: "It's worth it to me to do that extra exercise so I can eat what I want and not think about it." Hence the heaping mug-full of Betty Crocker Fudge Brownie mix which I took down last night, with a spoon and a happy face, while watching The Office. Yay Pam and Jim!

Love Lucy? You will after this!

I miss yoga.

Truly, I do. My stupid bulging disk has rendered me decidedly un-Zen-able, per doctor's orders. But just because I'm sad, sidelined and have hamstrings tighter than Mickey Rourke's face doesn't mean you should be, too, especially during National Yoga Month. Plus, I can always just DRESS like I'm a practicing yogi...which leads me to this fun contest.

In July, my appearance on the Today Show, discussing safe outdoor exercising, sparked a nationwide buying spree of the lucy Interval Skirt on par with the Cabbage Patch Kid frenzy of 1986. OK, perhaps I'm giving myself a bit too much credit (and I just made myself weepy thinking about sweet little Calliope Stardust Goldman) but still, my dedication to lucy has done nothing but grow.

As a result, I'm lucky to be able to offer the wisdom and advice of two fabulous yoga instructors who work with lucy. One is Tanya Barham, a super-cool teacher with self-described "exercise ADHD" - she swims, runs, rows, boxes, does jeet kun do (which could be an exotic vegetable for all I know, but doesn't it sound cool?) - and, of course, yoga. The other is Tracy Thorne, a certified personal trainer and long distance runner who is all about body awareness, balance and overall well-being

T&T are here to answer your questions. And trust me, you want to ask a question because doing so will make it possible for you to possibly win one of lucy's limited edition Art Hoodies, which look like this and are waaaay cute.

Head over to my book website, www.lrdiaries.com, for more details (sorry - having trouble linking to it for some reason...). Then come back here and post whatever burning yoga-related question you'd like to have our experts answer. Maybe you've been trying to get into Twisted Bird of Paradise for months but just can't wrap your ankle twice around the opposing shin and need some guidance. Maybe you've always wanted to try Hot Yoga but are scared of the smell and crave reassurance. Whatever! Just leave it below and I'll choose a few for the experts to answer in a forthcoming post...and three of you will win what may just be the most expensive hoodie you'll ever own!

PS What the frick is up with Gwynnie Paltrow's new web site, GOOP.com? A) It sounds like something I'd be forced to eat at overnight camp and B) Do I really want to sit back and absorb wisdom such as:

"Invest in what's real. Cook a meal for someone you love. Pause before reacting. Clean out your space. Read something beautiful. Treat yourself to something. Go to a city you've never been to. Learn something new. Don't be lazy. Workout and stick with it. Goop. Make it great."

OK, so GOOP is a verb. Or a state of mind. Or Gwyneth just swore at me. Either way...I'll investigate tomorrow.

PS #2 Check out my 3-week-old niece, Maia, and I, shot this weekend in LA. How amazingly cute are her little pumping fists? It's like she already knows she's a champion. Plus, nice cleavage on me, eh?

Strangers with produce

There I was, minding my own business, peeling an orange in the late September sun on State and Delaware in Chicago. I looked cute, yes, but not spectacular. I wasn't even wearing my booty-enhancing shorts. Just a Lucy running skirt (FORESHADOWING ALERT! FORESHADOWING ALERT! Stay tuned tomorrow...really) and sports bra top, about to hit the gym.

I attribute what happened next to either
a) Scurvy
b) Male hormones
c) Just a nice guy with pure intentions (note - this never happens)

"Would you mind if I shared your orange?"

The voice came from behind me and I turned to see a nice-enough-looking young lad, mid-20s with a backpack on, smiling over my shoulder. He did not appear homeless of malnourished. I should know better than to share fruit with strangers but I was on a busy street and hey, maybe he was just thirsty. Plus, I appreciated his originality and approach (he could have just whistled or hooted, right?), so I rewarded him like a good little puppy with not one, but TWO juicy orange segments. This was actually less a show of generosity and more my not wanting to get juice all over my fingers when peeling a single segment off.

Alas, he did not only want some of my fruity booty.

Scurvy Boy: "SO! What are you doing?"

Me: "I'm just eating an orange."

Scurvy Boy: "And you got all dressed up in this (motioning to my workout gear) to eat an orange?!"

Me: "No, I did other things today, too. Besides eat the orange, I mean."

Blessed pause. Interrupted by...

Scurvy Boy: "So...who ARE you?"

Me (now copping a mild attitude): "I'm just a girl. Just a girl with an orange."

Here, I now realize, would have been the perfect time to insert the words "happily married' between the words "just a" and "girl." But I was more concerned about getting this guy to Vitamin C his way about of my private space.

I remained silent and realized he was beat. There would be no witty banter. I would not be asking him where he was headed, or what he did for a living, or even what he looks for in a good cantaloupe.

Scurvy Boy: "That's all I'm gonna get?"

Me: "Yup. 'Fraid so."

And...scene.

And my work here is done

Last weekend, Dan and I hit up Blockbuster for a hot n' heavy Saturday night date. We assumed our usual positions in the store: Him in the New Release section, hunting down a flick; me by the candy and magazines, reading about The Jonas Brothers and pro/conning Dark Chocolate Raisinets versus Junior Mints.

He emerged from the bowels of the video store with Season One of Californication, the series about a frustrated, sex-addicted writer which we missed because we're too cheap to pay for Showtime we'd rather spend quality time together at night, playing Trivial Pursuit, drinking fine wine and talking about the future.

Anyhow, as you can see from the pic above, David Duchovny appears shirtless, ab muscles rippling. As we checked out at the counter, Dan was clearly checking out Davie D. because he thrust the DVD in front of my face as said, "His abs are totally airbrushed, right? He doesn't really look like that. I just saw him on TV - I know he doesn't look like that."

It was really just so sweet and innocent. Our men don't have Dove commercials and tell-all books on EDs and magazines devoted to body image issues (catty covered or not). The feedback they get on how they're "supposed" to look, ads and billboards aside, basically comes from what their partners tell them. Dan just happened to luck into finding a wife who is constantly pausing the TiVo on, say, The Pussycat Dolls Present: Doll Domination while maniacally screaming, "Look! Look at how they stuffed her into nude Spandex hose to make her butt look totally smooth!" A wife who actually turned to him during the Summer Olympics, just as the U.S. was poised to nab the Gold in gymnastics, and asked, in a very serious tone, "Do you think that these athletes don't have cellulite because they work out so much...or is it that only cellulite-free athletes go on to become Olympic superheroes?" A wife who writes about loving your body for a living and yet still climbs up on the toilet every so often to get an unobstructed checking-out view of her butt in the bathroom mirror.

I assured him that the whole cover, including the bimbo in the bikini lying at David's feet, were so airbrushed, they might as well have been cartoons. "His abs are totally shaded in, and that woman was probably just drawn in as an afterthought," I said. We kissed and went home. And much like the time an issue of Shape Magazine arrived in the mail, prompting Dan to exclaim, "Oh my God - Ali Larter's body is totally airbrushed!", I felt a wave of civic and personal pride sweep over me. My job here is done.

Should insurance cover healthy meals?

Since my reader emails seem to spark lots of great convo and controversy, let's get this week off to a fiesty start with the following letter from reader Amanda:

"I've had an ED for about 3 years now and I'm still struggling...I've read on your blog several times about how insensitive insurance companies are towards eating disorder patients and helping pay for the enormous cost of treatment. So far, my insurance (Anthem) has been fairly helpful... until now.

A few months ago, I started ordering weekly meal delivery from a program called Seattle Sutton's Healthy Eating. It provides complete meals that are balanced with good fats, carbs, and protein. For a girl who has been scared to death of any carb or fat and literally lived on the same 8 foods every day for over a year, this program was a godsend. I actually get to eat muffins and ravioli again. I had not eaten those things in years before this program. I've also gained maybe10 pounds (except I don't weigh myself, just clothes fit better). Needless to say, this program has given me hope of being normal one day....

Here's the kicker: the meals cost $135 a week. Yea, ouch. I am trying to get my insurance company to pay a portion of it, like a co-pay. But I don't have a doctor to show that I am still suffering from an eating disorder. I'm going to submit a claim, but I have a bad feeling that they will poo poo the idea. Maybe it's just me, but wouldn't it be cheaper to pay a little bit for meals now so that I actually eat rather than paying for hospitalization later because I was too scared to eat so I just didn't? Because I AM petrified that I will revert to old habits if I don't have healthy meals that have the fats and carbs I need."

Devoted WG readers, what say you? On one hand, it makes sense to incentivize people - ALL people, eating disordered or not - to eat healthfully, considering how a balanced and functional diet will help ward off future health problems. On the other hand, I can barely get my insurance company to cover my physical therapy sessions as prescribed by my back doctor...let alone ask them to chip in for low-fat meal delivery service. I actually think they would laugh at me if I asked them this. Which is why Amanda and I are asking YOU, people with actual compassion and insider understanding of how disordered eating can throw your whole world upside-down.

Thoughts?

PS Amanda is now my favorite person because in her email she wrote, word-for-word, "Can you use your big, strong, Amazon woman-in-a-brace power to raise a fuss about stingy insurance companies?"

9021-uh 0h

Last month I sat back and played Judge Judy McJudgerson, calling out the cast members of the new 90210 for being too thin.

Apparently, I wasn't the only one. Check out the new cover of US Weekly:

(Might I add, tongue-in-cheek kudos to US for being able to seamlessly transition from a slightly relevant Sarah Palin-themed issue to this possibly doctored cover shot of a would-be anorexic.)

According to the story, 90210 actresses Jessica Stroup (estimated to be 5'8" and 100-105 pounds) and Shenae Grimes (5'3" and 90 pounds) are thisclose to an intervention. Said intervention, according to reports, would be carried out by their male cast members, which I feel (sorry to say) would be about as effective and sensical as having a group of cigarette company execs attempt to persuade a three pack-a-day smoker to just give up her cute lil' habit.

"They want the girls to gain weight," a 90210 source reports in US. "They are trying too hard to be skinny, and it's started to wear on them. It's just not healthy." Added another source, "I've never seen Jessica or Shenae eat."

I found a pic of Stroup in April. She looks much thinner than in the cast photo, likely taken a while back, no? Of course, the group pic could have benefitted from a little reverse airbrushing.

Another pic showing just how incredibly thin these celebutantes are:

Can these girls really be blamed, though? Aren't they just doing what they're "supposed" to in LA LA land? Is this just Ally McBeal all over again? Should parents of young girls ban this show from being watched in their homes?

Things to consider:

1) 90210, shown on The CW, beats every other network on Tuesday nights in females 12-34.

2) According to The National Eating Disorders Association, in the 1990s, 42% of girls in grades 1-3 reported a desire to be thinner and the situation, says NEDA's CEO Lynn S. Grefe, has only "gotten worse."

3) People has called the stars of Gossip Girl "curvy."

"Curvy."

(Thanks to Entertainment Weekly for the factoids above, originally cited in this article.)

When no food is right

From a recent story on orthorexia in the October issue of Teen Vogue.

Many of you watched Charlotte from The Great Fitness Experiment on 20/20 a few weeks ago, as she bravely spoke out about her personal prior experience with orthorexia (but not without sneaking in a fabulously funny squirrel reference. Go girl!)

This subject has long fascinated me...back in October of 2001, I wrote one of my favorite stories ever on the subject. Here's the intro:

Dr. Steven Bratman knew he was on to something when one of his patients blamed his divorce on a raisin.

That raisin provoked allergic cravings, which led to a carbohydrate binge, which in turn altered his brain chemistry, causing him to scream at his wife. Divorce papers arrived soon thereafter. The soon-to-be-ex-husband blamed it on the raisin, but according to Bratman, the true grounds for this divorce are a newfangled eating disorder he calls orthorexia nervosa, an obsession with eating "correct" foods.The Colorado doctor, himself a reformed orthorexic who once refused to eat any carrot plucked from the ground more than 15 minutes earlier, coined the term after seeing countless patients in his alternative health practice who were obsessed by food. His book "Health Food Junkies: Orthorexia Nervosa: Overcoming the Obsession with Healthful Eating--(Broadway Books, $23.95) has struck an international nutritional chord. Throngs of people have identified with his experiences, which include a one-time avocado infatuation on par with heroin addiction...

Oh, and not to brag, but I'm cited by wordspy.com as helping introduce the term to the public. Pat, pat.

I think this would make a tremendous segment idea for the Today Show and so I want to ask you to help me out by taking the quiz below and leaving a comment about any experiences you may have had with systematically eliminating foods, shunning certain food groups, only eating three foods for long stretches at a time, etc.

You helped this happen with the Secret Dieting segment on Monday (remember, you left all these great comments in June? And some of you had your comments blasted across the TV screen as a result!) Let's do it again!

Chop it up, spin it, dress it down, oh nooo

I am but a simple girl with simple tastes, and it does not take much to please me. Hershey's makes me just as happy, if not more so, than a fancy $5 white chocolate liquored truffle. If offered a bowl of humble oatmeal ($5 for a gigantic, trough-sized barrel at CostCo) alongside seafood eggs Benedict, I'll dive for the porridge. Oh, and I put ketchup on my eggs.

Armed with these lowly culinary expectations, I feel it is my duty to introduce you to my new favorite restaurant on earth. I ate there while in NYC for the Today Show. I went there on the strong recommendation of an editor who lives and breathes New York and knows all the hotspots.

It is called Just Salad.

Quite simply, it is just salad. That is all you get. But it is the most glorious salad out there. You pick your base (arugula! spinach! mixed Spring greens!) and then you are presented with a dizzying array of toppings - there must have been 100 of them, I swear. It was like being at a penny candy store in the old days, but with delicious, nutritious vegetation for miles. And yes, despite the fact I am only 32, I do know what being in a penny candy store was like: My Auntie Betsy took me to one as a child in Boston and I was given a single dollar to spend on month's worth of rootbeer barrels and chocolate-covered peanuts and other assorted treasures.

The smell of sweet corn and crisp celery intoxicated me (at Just Salad, I mean - not the candy store) as I dreamily called out vegetable after vegetable to the God-like, plastic-gloved woman behind the counter. Beets! Avocado! Apples! Edamamae! BUTTERNUT SQUASH! Feta...grilled chicken...the list seemed endless. Native businessmen and women snaked around me, numb to the gastronomical orgasm taking place in my belly. I imagine that to them, dining at Just Salad is a bit like working the teacups at Disney World or posing naked for Playboy. Constant exposure sucks the magic and intrigue out of the experience and it becomes just another part of your day.

Then, in a stunning move, my Salad Artiste (my title, not hers) whipped out a genius semi-circular, triple-bladed knife-like took, dumping out my salad and toppings on a board and just going to town...sawing, chopping, I don't know her exact technique. It was like the salad equivalent of Cold Stone Creamery. My greens got shredded to bite-sized bits, mixed with dressing and returned to my bowl; the multicolored gem was handed over the sneeze-guard counter to me and I paid the most well-spent $10.19 I have ever paid for a salad. My most perfect salad ever.

Quite sadly, we don't have anything like this in Chicago, with the exception of Chop It Up in the suburbs, which I was lucky enough to visit with Grandpa Morty last month. I smell a franchising opportunity...could I be the woman to bring Just Salad to the midwest? Chef Laura, Goddess creator of this phenomenon - call me!!!

Anyone else experience this culinary sensation? Are you as in love as I am? Or have all the antioxidants gone to my head, rendering me delusional?

PS Kudos to all who recognized the thinly-veiled and none-too-clever Bell Biv DeVoe blog post reference. It is late and I am tired.

Me, today on TODAY - Secret Dieting

Good morning from sunny NYC!

I'm writing to you with a full face of makeup and a sassy little hunter green top from Forever 21 - just finished the Today Show segment with fellow iVillage contributor Madelyn Fernstrom. Ann Curry interviewed us and I think the segment went really well!

Watch the segment from TODAY

Alas, no Matt Lauer but I DID get my makeup done right next to Christopher Knight, of Brady Bunch/My Fair Brady fame (depending on your age/maturity level.) Ricky Gervais (The Office) was in the waiting room with me; Martha Stewart whizzed by; I overheard Kathie Lee Gifford ask someone their opinion on her earrings; and Al Roker was extremely-but-pleasantly loud and jolly, yelling "Hup! Hup! Hup!" over and over again at the top of his voice as he walked through the halls and out onto the plaza. The. Man. Is. Always. On.

The topic of today's Today, BTW, was "Secret Dieting" and they even used a few quotes from Weighting Game readers on-screen!

I liked Marilyn's point about "food frenemies" - As she writes on her blog, "When you announce that you're trying to lose weight, your friends automatically feel they should be doing the same, even though this may not true at all, and they feel guilty about it. Often, this is translated into diet sabotage for you and an effort to try to get you to eat more!" Comments that often spew forth from a Food Frenemy's mouth:

C'mon, you've been working so hard on your diet, you should reward yourself right now!

Oh, you don't need to lose any weight; you're perfect the way you are. Don't go on a diet!

A salad isn't enough for you. Get something else, too.

I've said it before in one of my favorite blog postings and I'll say it again: People need to keep their mouths closed. Zip it. Zip. Zippy Longstocking. When a problem comes along you must zip it.

Be sure to check out this iVillage slideshow, Undercover Dieting: Women Discuss Their Secret Diets, as many of you (hey, tokaiangel. gemfit, renae, avi, sagan, valerie, dana, jen, rachel!) will see your quotes highlighted!

x,
Leslie

Hey, you! Email me…

Laura (sparklytospouse)
Katie (you love Pumpkin Pie Spice)
Erin (Chai Tea Latte)
Amanda (who invented the Café con Leche concoction)
Brittany (eatingbirdfood)
Valerie (dietbook.wordpress.com)

Send me your snail mail addresses at leslie@lrdiaries.com Yay! Thanks to everyone for their enthusiasm and refusal to stop loving me even though I came off a little Starbucks saleswoman-y.

PS For those of you with access to TV, a TiVo, DVR, VHS recorder, or this newfangled thing they call the “Inter-net,” check me out on Monday on the Today Show! I’ll be on some time in the 9 o’clock hour (all time zones, probably between 9 and 9:30), discussing the Undercover Dieting topic you all helped me sort through back in June. I’ll be co-starring with iVillage contributor, nutritionist Madelyn Fernstrom.

Need to pick an outfit, do my nails and cultivate some sweet soundbites this weekend.
xxoo

Food blogging: The newest eating disorder?

This picture is giving me, to quote WG reader Kelly L., a mouthgasm. But could it give me an eating disorder, too?

One of the first food-documenting blogs I ever read was For the Love of Oats. I remember thinking, “How on earth does this woman manage to make PB&J on an English muffin look so outrageously delicious? How is it that her pictures make me crave oatmeal, even though I just downed an entire bowl 10 minutes ago?”

Then I stumbled upon tastespotting.com and uncovered the world of food porn, which I blogged a little about here. Mostly these sites make me feel a) culinarily inadequate and b) hungry. But it doesn’t go much farther than that. Then I got this fascinating letter from reader Rebecca of I Wanna Be a Domestic Goddess that made me rethink the sitch in a whole new way. Read on (reprinted with her permission):

“…Anyway, I was writing with a question that I have been pondering and you popped in my mind as the person who might provide me with some insight. In fact, you may have addressed it at some point but I cannot remember. It's about food blogs. I grew obsessed with them over the summer. As in I had (and still have) about twenty of them bookmarked in my favorites.

And then I had this brilliant idea to start one. Worst. Idea. Ever. My entire day became focused on food. What would I eat? What would others (blog readers) think of what I ate? Would others say, "Well that's why she's overweight" when they read/saw what I ate? There were times when I would actually "hide" what I was eating from my blog. How insane is that?!? I hid my food from the Internet! It was the most obsessive I have ever been about food and I have been pretty obsessive about food at various points in my life.

So I had to shut down my food blog. But that whole experience had me reading other food blog with brand new, enlightened eyes. I am going to make a generalization here about body image. But I have never seen a food blog written by someone who was overweight. In fact, some of the food blog writers are so skinny that it kind of scares me. In many of their "about me" sections, they write about how they lost so much weight and how the food blog helps them lead a healthy life. But is it really "healthy" to be detailing every stomach grumble, every Goldfish cracker consumed, every thought about food, every guilty pleasure and putting it all out there for others to comment on? To me, it has grown to be the opposite of healthy. It seems obsessive. Comments like "I was not hungry but I ate six chocolate chips even though I should not have" scare me!!!!

In fact, I have almost grown to loathe some of the food bloggers who I am sure are the sweetest people on Earth. When I read their daily entries, all I can think is God, I hate this girl. Who lives their life like this?!?!? LOL! So ridiculous, right?

I know that I could just stop reading them but I have very few guilty pleasures (except Gossip Girl…and the new 90210…and Greek on ABC Family) and food blogs seem to be one of them.

So I guess my question is, is food blogging an eating disorder in disguise? You have blogged and I have certainly read many places about the value of food journaling in weight loss. (I know, through my own weight struggles, that food journaling is the WORST thing I can do. It actually makes me overeat. Weird, right? The less I pay attention to the details of what I eat, the more likely I am to eat better. It seems counterintuitive.) But it almost seems like food blogging is taking it to an unhealthy extreme.

Does this make any sense? I promise I am not writing this as a bitter, failed food blogger. Rather, just someone who tried it out (like, you know, how Katie Holmes tried wearing Tom's jeans recently) and realized that it was seriously messed up.”

OK, first – excellent Katie/Tom analogy, Rebecca.

Second, how interesting is this point she raises? Now that I think about it, many food bloggers (when I see their pics) do tend to be thin. And I can absolutely see how it would get addictive - taking pics of everything you eat, feeling like you have to tell the world about any morsel to pass your lips. I stop by a few food blogs occasionally and the pics always leave me drooling, so I can't imagine the preoccupation it would induce in the person actually doing the writing and eating.

I am really excited to hear what Weighting Game readers think about this. I don't think food blogging would be considered a diagnosable eating disorder (and good luck ever getting an insurance company to cover it!) but I think it could cause a preoccupation with food and weight, which is an unhealthy and unhappy way to live and totally predisposes you to a future ED.

Any food bloggers out there? Has documenting your daily meals caused any sort of obsessive thinking? How about food blog devotees?

Starbucks totally stole my oatmeal idea but I love them anyways

I am totally wearing this for Halloween. Or to temple for the Jewish New Year. Latte, green tea, or...me?

I may not be a barista, but I play one on TV. OK, it's an imaginary TV that only plays inside my head and on the 7and1/2 floor of select John Malkovich movies, but nonetheless, Starbucks must be very impressed with my faux celeb status because they asked me to moderate this Better Breakfast Hour at a 24-hour (!!) Chicago location this morning.

Now, before you start wetting your pants with caffeine-drenched excitement, I should tell you the event was small - only a few bloggers showed up, plus some people from corporate. Everyone was lovely and I learned a lot about how massively involved some bloggers get with their work - the two women, MJ Tam of momviews.net and Jen of function & space actually Twittered from the event, which is one of those Facebook-y words like "poke" and "friended" that I just totally do not understand.

Anyway.

Starbucia, that devilish green medusa-mermaid monster, has launched a new line of healthy breakfast items, just in time to save me from the Fall fat bomb that is the Top Pot Chocolate Old Fashioned Doughnut. Their thinking is that, considering a whopping 70% of Americans skip breakfast on any given day, why not ply us with fiber-rich/calorie-controlled/protein-enhanced products to keep us from embarking on an office-wide M&M scavenger hunt come 3pm.. Which is very thoughtful of them.

Here's what I sampled in my Official Starbucks Flight o' Foods, along with pertinent nutritional points and my honest-to-blog (ew - I just managed to gross myself out with that Juno ref) reactions to each. I am trying to remain impartial, even though Dan has accused me of changing my website address to www.starbucksgavemefreefoodsoIwillwritewhatevertheywant.com :

1) Multigrain Roll with Spreads
Honestly, I thought this would be just totally eh. I'm not a big roll person. But the thing is dense, sweetened with honey, and comes with a single serve packet of almond butter which I have never tried and now wear as perfume, I love it so much. One of the mombloggers pointed out that for kids with tree nut allergies, like her boys have, this is a great choice. Who knew almonds didn't grow on trees? Not I, said the Nutritional Sciences major.

2) Apple Bran Muffin
Sure, the giant blueberry monsters in the pastry case look delish but with these, you know you're only getting 330 calories plus 7 grams each of fiber and protein. It also has chunks of baked apples, tart cherries and is enriched with Omega-3s. And no, it doesn't taste like fish. Boo on fishy muffins.

3) Baked Berry Stella
This snack reminds me of Stella B. Zotis, the leather-obsessed designer who just got kicked off of Project Runway. The muffin/cake thing is star-shaped, which makes my inner 6-year-old all giggly and happy, and contains 15% of your recommended daily needs for Omega-3s. Whole grains, 10 grams of fiber (which is HUGE) and made with cage-free eggs for those of you who take your chicken birthing seriously.

4) Chewy Fruit & Nut Bar
Meh. The other bloggers loved this because you can really see all the ingredients - dried apricots, pecans, pumpkin seeds - but I wasn't doing jumping jacks over it. Just a bar, IMO. I like these better.

5) Protein Plate
The Miz will love this, methinks. You get a hard-boiled egg, cheese, mini whole grain bagel, PB and fruit. With 16 grams of protein, it's like eating a chicken breast except more complicated but tastier. And better for vegetarians who think eating a chicken breast is akin to throwing yourself into a lake of morally corrupt evil. Jen The Blogger did point out that for kids with allergies, this would be a nightmare - wheat, eggs, dairy, nuts. It would be like forcefeeding Tyra a pill that sucks away the ability to smile with your eyes. Or somesuch.

6) "Perfect" Oatmeal
OK, let's get serious. Starbucks totally stole my idea. As you know, I have perfected the art of making oatmeal on the go, bringing Ziplock baggies full of the stuff wherever my travels may take me. My local Starbucks baristas are so familiar with it, they have a Grande cup of boiling water and spoon at the ready when I blow through the front door. So I'm bitter about this oatmeal corporate takeover. That said, I do like how you can customize your oats, with pre-portioned 100-cal packs of dried fruit and nuts or 50-cal packs of brown sugar, plus milk from the bar. But I'll be sticking with my patented baggie o' oats.

Now, for those of you who stuck with me through this smacks-of-Starbucks-payroll-but-I-didn't-get-paid blog, I have a little treat. Leave a comment telling me, oh, I don't know, what your favorite coffee shop treat is or how you take your coffee or who your favorite Gossip Girl character is (*coughBlakeLivelycough*) and in a day or so I'll instruct a select six of you to email me your addresses for an exchange of items which I can't talk about because of legal technicalities but will be emotionally and gastronomically satisfying to you nonetheless.

Love,
Your favorite corporate slut

Barista for a day

I'm at Starbucks (shocker) but I'm not just writing...recognizing my freakish devotion to their brand and my Perez Hiltonesque ability to spend hours in a corner, laughing to myself as I type, Starbucks has tapped me to moderate this morning's Better Breakfast Hour in Chicago. A handful of bloggers will be joining me soon to talk shop and sample all the new products.

More to come...hit me up later on today for all the over-caffeinated deets and, if you're lucky, you might just be eating some new 'bux grub on the house. I'm always looking out for you, my lovelies.

xo,
Leslie "Tall Iced Sugar-Free Coffee" Goldman

It's made from corn!

I'm not a big HFCS crusader, mostly because, despite having a BS in Nutritional Sciences and writing about this sort of thing for a living, I never really retained all that much info on this devilish nutritional ingredient. I think I also play dumb because it's listed high up in about everything I eat besides spinach.

Anyhow, FitSugar recently highlighted this sassy little commercial, put out by The Corn Refiners Association to educate consumers on the totally and completely benign nature of high fructose corn syrup. Just watch....

See? It's natural! It's made from corn! It has the same amount of calories as regular sugar! Suck my popsicle!! (PS Did they have to make the food in question a suckable item-on-a-stick?)

Tell me, has this commercial converted you all into HFCS-loving popsicle devotees?

NHBNVW strikes again!

There I was, minding my own business as I changed into a cute lil outfit for dinner (including these fabulously long yet ridiculously overpriced jeans, courtesy of my famous Grandpa, Morty, - thanks again, G-pa!!) with my family to celebrate Mom’s 59th, when I heard a quasi-familiar voice groan in my ear.

“I tried some of that green stuff on my face but it didn’t make me look as good as you.”

Um…WHAT?

I turned around and it was No Holds Barred Naked Vagina Woman (NHBNVW)!! She was, indeed, still buck naked. If you’ll recall from a previous post, she is the woman who asked me in the locker room, "Are you enjoying being young and beautiful?" I didn't have an answer for her then, and I was similarly dumbstruck this time.

"What green stuff?" I asked.

"Oh, you know, that green stuff that's supposed to make me young and pretty." I should note that she was actually drying her pubic area with a towel as she said this to me. Why do I mention it? Because it happened and by sharing it, I feel it takes some of the mental onus off of my poor little PTSD'd brain.

"Don't say that!" I retorted. "Actually, I was watching you on the Stairmaster earlier and thought you could totally pull off a cuter workout outfit." Instantly, I realized this came out as an insult and not the compliment I intended it as. But she works out in an old, ratty leotard and baggy shorts and she really could do a cute Lucy outfit some justice.

She poo-pooed away my backhanded compie and went about her routine of sitting on the floor, spread eagled, using a Ped-Egg-type device on her feet while reading a novel. And I threw on some mascara and got the H-E-double hockey sticks out of there.

PS Fabulous feminist move of the weekend: Dan and I are shopping for a new car and stopped at the Honda dealership first. A man in a suit approached up and reached out to shake Dan's hand, introducing himself. Me? It was like I didn't exist. Totally invisible. It took about 10 seconds for my blood to boil over and then I just thrust my arm out in front of the salesman and, grinning wildly, practically screamed, "Hi! I know I'm just a girl and all but there's a strong possibility I could be buying this car from you and not my husband so use some freaking manners and don't ignore me My name is Leslie!" He acted like he was all discombobulated and stuttered something about how sorry he was and they've been so busy yada yada. Whatevs - you're a D-bag, Steven from Honda Toyota in Chicago's Gold Coast.

Apparently, boys DO make passes at girls in Ace bandage-wrapped asses

Remember when, back in May, I padded up my booty and strutted around NYC? Ah, those were the days - so carefree, so uninhibited, so bootylicious.

Well, Bubbles Bodywear was kind enough to respond to my, you know, purely hypothetical inquiry about their Veronica slimming shorts...with a complementary pair!...and you KNOW I had to try them out.

First let me tell you a little bit about these shorts. Mine are a size Large and yet, upon removing them from the packaging, they looked nearly identical in size to two of my fingers. We're talking 4 cm X 3 in. Um, and this was supposed to fit over my entire trunk? Doubtful.

But The Veronica has two features that I just couldn't pass up. One: Open crotch. Yes. Technically it's called an "overlapping open gusset [which] allows for convenient bathroom visits." I call it Librarian Hot.

Second, despite the shorts' ability to suck in and smooth down cellulite, they let your butt burst out and show its true colors via reduced amounts of Spandex covering each cheek. It's like a fabulous, mentoring teacher - supportive when and where it needs to be, but encouraging of showing your creativity and strength.

Eat your heart out, Victoria's Secret Biofit!

I had originally planned to shove myself into these puppies upon donning my new pair of long Editor shorts from Express - a gift from Dan (xo!). But two weekends ago, in the mountains of Colorado, my father-in-law took Dan and I into Breckenridge for the day and upon exiting the car, my eyes honed in with radar-like focus on a purpley-fuschia maxidress flowing in the sundrenched breeze, on a mannequin in front of a store called Valley Girl. Like, oh my God!, that dress was made for me. I tried it on, it looked hot, and thus, present number two from a male Alter boy was purchased (thanks, Dad!)

That night, I excused myself from the boudoir where Dan was suiting up and brought my Veronica into the bathroom, crumpled up in my hands as I attempted to hide it from my husband. Why, I don't know. All I did know was that wrangling myself into this bad boy was not something he needed to see. I imagine I looked something like a drag queen squeezing into pantyhose, all bowed-legs and stomping feet and awkward pulling and tugging. Once in place, however, my dress glided down like French Silk on pie.

About five hours and one exhausting Hora later, my neck was bothering me so Dan and I retreated upstairs (the wedding as in a log cabin-like lodge.) People fo shiz thought we were up to no good. But instead I just lied down on the patchwork quilt, a gigantic antler protruding from the wall over my head, and Dan arranged himself so my legs were draped over his lap. He rubbed my calves and then, in a non-sexual way (I swear!), started moving up my thighs.

Then he stopped.

"What's that?" he asked with the most fashion-innocent eyes ever. He had rubbed the banded bottoms of my Veronicas.

"Oh, that? Heh heh." And then I got defensive. "Um, those are like Spanx. EVERYONE WEARS THEM!! EVEN LINDSAY LOHAN!"

"I know what Spanx are," he said. "I just don't know why you're wearing them." Then he attempted to take a peek at which point I slammed his hand away with Barry Bonds-like strength.

"NO!" I screamed. "They're not very sexy. Although...they do have a split crotch. For easy peeing." I thought the peeing reference would shore up my prior assertion that the split crotch somehow made them passably hot.

Of course, I never once peed with them on. I can barely make it through a Labor Day BBQ without dropping cocktail sauce-drenched shrimp on my right boob (yes, that happened Monday - hooray for Tide stain sticks!), let alone attempt a martini-fueled squat-and-hover while wearing heavy duty underwear.

Then his step-mother came upstairs, found us lying in bed like a couple of teenagers caught red-handed in the closet at a junior high sleepover, and that was that.

So, that's my story. I have no funny ending - I hobbled back downstairs in my stilettos and ate a piece of the peanut butter and jelly wedding cake (the PB side as better - Reese's and buttercream were involved). Then we took a bus back to our cabin and I washed my face, brushed my teeth, stripped off Veronica...and peed freely.

The end.

Have a delicious weekend, everyone! Share your stories of bondage-like undergarments below.

Bring in da noise, bring in da fierce: Liveblogging ANTM

What, you thought I was kidding? Oh, no, my lovelies. I am blogging this shiz as it goes down. Even if there’s just one other reality TV freak out there online with me as I type away, I don’t care. Each new season of America’s Next Top Model is cause for smiling-with-your-eyes celebration…let’s do this.

7am: Cycle 11..Los Angeles! Ty-Ty’s home town! There’s a girl from Alaska – what a fabulous Sarah Palin tie-in! Oh, and some girl just called an Asian finalist “Oriental.” I believe the saying goes, "People are Asian, rugs are Oriental," no? Mr and Miss Jay are decked out in white wigs and silver futurama gear. Mr Jay looks like Meryl Streep in Devil Wears Prada.

7:05 The future stuff is annoying. The models need to step into something called "The Glaminator." Which just exploded and Tyra is in it looking CRAZY!

7:06 Mr and Miss Jay are now to be referred to as Alpha Jay and Beta Jay. Barf. Tyra does a mean robot impersonation. Um...I M UR Top Moduhl, Doin D Robot? (Gratuitous LOLCat reference.) Can't wait to see the individual talks with the contestant wannabes coming up. My internet connection is slow so don't hold your breath...

7:11 Brittney B. from Chicago has her favorite undies scrunched up in her hand. That's classy.

7:12 Oh no, please don't tell me they're going to call Annaleigh "plus-sized."

7:15 Clark ("without an '-e'") doesn’t have any body insecurities! Her body is slammin’, I’ll tell you that. I bet she makes it.
Oh, and Kacey just said she lost all of her "white friends" because she couldn’t go swimming. WTF??

7:20 The Mormon contestant got sent to a “lockdown” facility when her parents found out she was having sex. Girlfriend, that isn't just a Mormon thing - my father took me aside before one of my very first dates, handed me an aspirin and instructed me to hold it between my knees and not let it drop until I returned home.

Oh - here's Isis, the one that’s been all hyped-up because she was born physically male. She was discovered during a photo shoot last season at a freaking homeless shelter- she was living in the facility at the time. Whoa.

The other girls just convened an impromptu meeting of the "Itty Bitty Titty Committee" (I'm not only the President, I'm also a member) and called her out on her small boobs. Which are small because she is a pre-op transgendered person. Yay for Sheena's positive, inclusive reaction. Boo for bitchy Clark.

7:25 Sheena is the new Jade.

7:26 The plus-sized model, Lindsey, is "too thin" and has no cellulite, Tyra observes. (Remember this?) She calls for extra padding.

7:28 Moose chase scene re-enactiment with the Alaskan contestant! Tyra is teaching the art of "running fiercely."

7:30 Miss - I mean Alpha - Jay just let out the most amazing screech in reaction to a girl's admission that she has tried out 30 times. I SO wish I had an audio clip for y'all.

7:33 This liveblogging thing is freaking exhausting. I'm breaking for the next half hour. Sue me.

8:01 I'm back. That was too funny when Brittney S. cried into her lucky undies. And when Jay referred to Tyra as TyraBot. We are about to cut to the omnipresent "Oh My God The House Is A-MAZING!" scene. Hannah from Alaska grew up without heat or water. Now she lives in a purple sparkly mansion.

8:04 McKey just said, "I'm an Ultimate Fighter and Isis is, like, 10 times braver than I am." *swoon* Shocker: Clark and the other girl who looks like Denise Richards are anti-Isis.

8:12 The Eye of the Tiger is playing as McKey beats up a pillow! Cool! My brother walked into his Bar Mitzvah with that song blasting (I walked in to Legs by ZZ Top.)

8:13 I want to have Nigel Barker's baby.

8:18 After delivering that baby, I want to learn how to smile with my eyes.

8:19 How sad is it that I think Samantha, the sporty girl, isn't going to fare so well because she's got muscle and tone...I can see her in the pages of Self. Back at the house...skinny jeans! Black heels! Sheena eating cereal in a green terry cloth strapless romper! And a clue...something about making a statement. Is this a subtle product placement for old school ex'cla-ma'tion! perfume?!?!?

8:22 Uh, no. They have to pose in a way to make voting sexy. Good luck, Marjorie – you’re a bit of a kook. And yet, you pose like Agyness Deyn! Clark is representing bureaucracy but doesn’t know what it is. Hahahaha!

8:29 No, Sheena, you don't need a mirror to know that pointing a gas nozzle towards your butt is "doubel hooch."

Off to eat din din... back in a bit.

8:49 Methinks Samantha's getting her hair chopped in the makeover edition!

8:52 Congratulations Isis, Joselyn, Elina...you're still in the running to be America's Next Top Model.

8:55 Ohhh...Brittney changed her name to Sharaun and wore that yellow dress and everything and she got the ax.

OK, well, that was exhausting and mojo-sucking and just generally distracted from my usual ANTM viewing pleasure. Maybe a 2-hour special was not the best entree into liveblogging. At least I got to practice smiling with my eyes while the comments updated.

Did you watch? What did you think? Can you believe next week's episode will feature hot-tub girl-on-girl action? Because that's never been done before on reality televison. This is some breakthrough stuff here.

Have a great night!

Maia, I want to eat you for a snack.

My brand new delicious niece, Maia Elizabeth. Born August 30, 7 lb., 7 oz., with a Leslie-shaped birthmark on her tush (covered here to avoid eBay bidding crashes.)

Maia, I want to eat you for a snack.

Your cheeks are silver dollar pancakes, fluffy and sweet.
I'm gonna drizzle maple syrup over them and just EAT.

Your noggin is a caramel-covered apple and I'm rarin'
to nibble on that noggin - I don't care who be starin'.

If your cheeks are cherry snow cones and the weather's kinda hot,
watch out, 'cuz Auntie Lolly's 'bout to slurp them on the spot.

I need to nibble on those cheeks like a walnut-munching squirrel...
that's right, both cheeks - I can't help it that they're plural.

If your cheeks are navel oranges, then baby, I have scurvy.
Your Vitamin C is the only thing'll cure me.

I love you little Maia, you cheesecake-brownie-sundae blend,
and I'll love you more and more until the very, very end.

PS Tonight, I am liveblogging America's Next Top Model. If you're tuning in, join me online and we "OMG" our hearts out together!

In which I enter the political fray

I rarely, if ever, write about politics -here, or anywhere. You are far more likely to read a story of mine in Redbook about the first successful U.S. ovary transplant or an article in Women’s Health about some wacky sexperimentation my husband and I undertook in the name of science, or a blog about the difference between men’s and women’s “ideal” body image. But when Alaska Governor Sarah Palin was recently announced as the likely VP-candidate to accompany John McCain, I found myself seething for a number of reasons, the least of which is she doesn’t believe women should have the rights to control our own bodies or that a man or woman should be able to marry his or her loved one if that marriage doesn’t jive with her (Palin’s) own personal philosophy.

Now news has emerged about Palin’s 17-year-old daughter being pregnant and has “decided” to keep the baby and marry the father. (A boy who, BTW, proudly refers to himself as a “f---in’ redneck who likes to snowboard and ride dirt bikes” on his MySpace page and lists himself as “in a relationship," but doesn't want kids. That should work out well.)

So I asked myself, what do I as a body image blogger have to add to the frenzy over Palin’s daughter’s pregnancy?

It turns out, I have a lot.

First, let me lay out a bit of my background: I have a Master’s degree in Public Health – a field which deals with the physical, emotional, and psychosocial repercussions of sex education (or lack thereof), of abortion (or what happens when women are denied access) and all other sorts of crucial women-centric issues. While enrolled in my program, I conducted my thesis at a Chicago-area Planned Parenthood. I worked in the abortion clinic, where women entrusted me to speak with them and guide them through one of – if not the - most difficult decision of their lives. Quite often, I held their hand while they underwent the procedure. Am I a doctor? No. Am I a politician? Certainly not. But I am a woman with ample experience in and dedication to this arena and a staunch advocate for reproductive rights. Oh, and I believe women should have control over their bodies. Call me crazy.

It is with this background that I am about to embark into unknown territory – politics – while trying to tie it into something I am considered a nationwide expert on: Body image. Here goes.

The government defines body image as “The way a person thinks about his or her body and how it looks to others.” If you read Weighting Game or were drawn to my book, Locker Room Diaries, I would assume you are someone who has either struggled with the way you feel about your body or grown tired of the media’s ceaseless emphasis on looks or are, I dunno, sick of pornography, soft or hardcore, and its wayward infiltration into the minds of little girls who now think having a triple-D augmented chest and shaved vagina are necessary to being popular, happy and successful in life.

What, you might be asking, could possibly be the link between a shamelessly looks-based society which messes with our perception of our bodies, promotes a fertile environment for eating disorders, and makes millions of women feel like crap because they have cellulite or a “muffin top” or aren’t blonde/tall/thin/bog-lipped/Botoxed…and our right to choose to keep or end a pregnancy?

Here it is: If women are taught by an anti-choice government that we cannot trust our bodies, that we are in no condition to be in control of what goes into or comes out of our vaginas, that it is not up to us whether they carry a child to term and then must face the repercussions of a baby we are ill-equipped to care for, then how on earth can we ever learn to LOVE our bodies? To accept them the way they are? To be proud of our strength or ability to run and dance and work? If I, as a young girl, am raised in a culture where I am taught from day one that my reproductive rights are not mine to control, that my uterus and what it bears is a decisions best left to a 72-year-old man who has opposed proposals to spend federal money on teen-pregnancy prevention programs and voted to require poor teen mothers to stay in school or lose their benefits, then how am I can I be expected to mature into a woman who is sure of myself, who trusts myself to make my own decisions and chose my destiny and tell the Establishment to screw themselves, I don’t need to mold or starve my body in order to conform to what you tell me is best? If I, as Palin purports, don't know enough about my own body and mind and needs to make a decision as serious as whether or not I am ready to be a mother, how do I trust myself to look in the mirror and love what I see? Or feel pride and ownership over the image staring back at me?

Isn’t there a strong parallel between other people dictating my right to reproduce and other people dictating what I should look like? Both involve power being taken away from us, being undermined and treated like infants, being dis-emboldened to live the lives we want. A happy life. A life in which we decide on our own what we should look like (thin, curvy, chubby, strong, pregnant) – not our government. Not to mention both lines of thinking – the anti-choice movement and the societal movement towards an unattainable physical ideal – involve hiding bumps or physical flaws of any kind. (Anyone seen the picture of Bristol holding her mom’s youngest child, Trig? It’s a politically-reconnoitered version of, say, Halle Berry disguising her baby bump with a stack of magazines.

I am not the only one to make this link. In 2002, Brown University made it a point to include pro-choice messaging in its campus-wide Love you Body Day Event. Love Your Body Day is a campaign organized by the National Organization for Women in response to the unhealthy and exploitive images of women in the media. The goal: To promote positive, healthy images of women and girls, protest harmful and offensive advertisements, and raise awareness about women's health issues. Brown University’s then- Feminist Majority Leadership Alliances Katie Del Guercio explained, “We will be talking about the right, politically, to respect your body.” Campus orgs like the Domestic Abuse Advocacy Project, Students for Choice, Planned Parenthood, women’s athletic teams, sororities and representatives from Campus Health Services all came together to promote this joint mission.

As Jessica from the inimitable and stellar jezebel.com points out, Palin’s daughter should not be shamed because of the decision she made to have sex or judged for her decision to keep the baby. But I have to wonder…was it her decision? And what will happen when the days comes where, as Bristol’s mother would have it, that decision doesn’t belong to girls anymore? Forget the angering and humiliating “J. Love has a lumpy butt!!” tabloid spreads and media extravaganzas over how Nicole Kidman lost all of her baby weight in 14 days and impossible-to-live-up-to reports of Jennifer Lopez competing in a triathlon while simultaneously breast-feeding her newborn twins. That kind of news won’t even warrant angry blogging anymore. We’ll have far bigger fish to fry…and the ubiquitous phrase, “I hate my body” will take on a whole new meaning.