light as a cloud ☁
28 years | 5' 4" | HW: 133 | LW: 102
SW: 124 on Jan.03.2012 and again Apr.09.2013 at 119.5
CW: 102 as of Jan.24.2014
GW1: 115 reached on May.16.2013
GW2: 110 reached on Jun.27.2013
GW3: 105 reached on Nov.02.2013
GW4: 100 doesn't matter anymore.
✰UGW: Until I see ab definition, six pack please :)

fitblrholics:

Anti pasta salad (x)

I do believe in the kindness of people. Sometimes we forget to express it. The act of caring, loving, and being genuine. It’s the little things people do that remind you, you are not forgotten. Right now, I want to jot down the acts of kindness I received just yesterday alone.

BF bought me the Fujifilm SP-1 and told me to refund the one I bought online since he gets employee discount. The perks of working at a computer store. Win. He refused to take my money and said it was a gift. I’ve been trying to ease up his small expenses by helping him save as much as possible for the upcoming surgery. Everything costs money when you’re not a citizen. Last night, he kind of destroyed my intention, which was to make him spend less money. It’s not my birthday or anything. I didn’t want him to buy me that. I was already super happy that he got me the discount but I became really sad after when he said it was a gift. Like, if that’s the case, I don’t want it. It’s not even a necessity. I bought it without your knowledge because I didn’t want you to get it for me.

A few months back, I bailed on a bachelorette party that required 4 days in Chicago. I paid for my deposit which was $200 and I wished her a great time. The bride-to-be never messaged me back or anything. I mean, we really don’t hang out as much as we used to anymore. Yesterday, she drove over to my house with her hubby-to-be to return a bridal shower gift I left in her car a month ago but she surprised me with lemon cupcakes and movie tickets for two. 

Thank you for being thoughtful. Small gestures of kindness goes a long way… for me anyway. Thank you.

My Parents are Dead and My Sister is Disabled

itsraininbritishmen:

congalineofdurin:

cockismybusiness:

team—wolverine:

therealbarbielifts:

eisforedna:

On May 28th, my sister, Edna, turned 31.

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Her mental age is about three years old. She loves Winnie the Pooh, Beauty & the Beast, and Sesame Street. Even though the below picture is unconvincing. 

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Edna and “Cookie.” I think she was trying to play it cool. 

My name is Jeanie. I’m Edna’s younger sister. I’m also her guardian and caregiver. 

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That’s me on the left. (Hey, you never know. After a year of writing a blog about online dating - Jeanie Does the Internet - I’ve come to learn that there are A LOT of fools on the internet.) 

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ANYWAY, I’m not “doing the internet” anymore. I’m taking care of Edna full-time, after completing my MFA in Writing for Screen & Television at USC.

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May 16, 2014. I wanted a picture. Edna wanted breakfast.

In case you’re wondering where our parents are, they’re dead. Our mom died of breast cancer when she was just 33. 

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Us with mom before she died. (Obviously.)

As for our dad, he peaced-out around the time my mom got sick. His loss - we’re awesome. 

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Here we are being awesome at the beach. Pushing a wheelchair in the sand? Not so awesome. 

In case you’re wondering “What’s wrong?” with my sister - as a stranger once asked me on the street  -  NOTHING. Yes, Edna has a rare form of epilepsy - Lennox-Gastaut syndrome - but I don’t know if that’s anymore “wrong” than people who don’t have manners. 

Basically, Edna was born “normal,” and started having seizures as a baby. They eventually got so bad that they cut off the oxygen to her brain, causing her to be mentally disabled. Or impaired. Or intellectually disabled. Or whatever you want to call it - except “retarded,” because in 2010, President Obama signed Rosa’s Law into effect, replacing that word with “intellectually impaired.” 

Which is cool and all, but services for the disabled and the people who care for them are SEVERELY LACKING. Also, there’s a bunch of people working in taxpayer-funded positions who are supposed to help families like us, but don’t. (Big surprise, I know.) They just fill out paperwork (whenever they feel like it) with asinine statements like this: 

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YUP. I transport my sister down the stairs in her wheelchair, because that is not only safe, but TOTALLY PRACTICAL. Why doesn’t everyone in a wheelchair just take the stairs, for God’s sake? Stop being so lazy, PEOPLE WITHOUT WORKING LEGS! 

But, as it says above, Edna’s legs do work. Whether or not she wants them to, is another story. 

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Edna refusing to go inside. 

These are the stairs that I have to carry her up - by myself - on a daily basis. That is, until one of my legs break and both of us are just sitting at the bottom of the stairs, helpless. 

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For six months, I have begged - BEGGED - the State of California to help my sister, which they are required by law - The Lanterman Act specifically - to do so. But they’ve told me “these things take time” and that I “need to amend my expectations.” (That was said to me when I refused to place Edna at AN ALL-MALE CARE FACILITY. Because yes, that was an “option” that was offered to me.) 

Prior to Edna moving in with me in my one-bedroom apartment, she was living with her amazing caregiver, Gaby, back in Tucson, where we went to high school and I did my undergrad. Edna’s reppin’ the Wildcats below. 

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But back in November, Gaby also died from breast cancer. (FUCK YOU, BREAST CANCER!) This picture was taken a month before she died. She never even told me she was sick because she didn’t want me to worry. 

By the way, we were raised by our grandma. Edna and her were very close.

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She’s dead, too. Surprise.

She died when I was 20 and Edna was 21. That’s when I became Edna’s legal guardian and Gaby stepped into the picture to help me out with Edna. 

So, six months ago, after Gaby died, I moved Edna to California, where I tried to get the folks over at The Frank D. Lanterman Regional Center to help me. I’ve told them I’m worried about our safety - that one of us could get hurt on the stairs -  I’ve told them I can’t afford to pay the private babysitters $15/hour because the ones social services sent me who make $9/hour were unreliable (they didn’t show up on time or at all so I could get to school and work), untrustworthy (one of them let Edna go to the bathroom in the kitchen and then took her into the bathroom because “that what I thought I was supposed to do.”) 

But the people over at the FLRC don’t return my calls, they don’t file the paperwork on time - and the first caseworker that was assigned to us actually LAUGHED AT my sister when he came to our home to evaluate her. When I reported him to his supervisor, she told me, “That’s just [insert name of said jackass].” 

He was one of the two caseworkers that contributed to the report I mentioned above, which also included this: 

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So let me get this straight - I have to feed, bathe, dress and help Edna in the bathroom and you can’t deduce whether or not she is able to vote? What in the fuck?!

Now I realize I seem angry. And you can bet your balls I am. I’m also sad. Sad for those who don’t have family to stick up from them and who waste away God knows where, monitored by no one. Or monitored by people who physically and sexually assault them

I’m also sad for the caregivers who are SO EXHAUSTED - trying to take care of their loved ones - while also trying to take care of themselves and battling a system that is supposed to help, but does nothing of the sort. And I know a lot of people give up. They let their dreams, their marriages, their friendships slide. All while trying not to resent the very person you’re doing it all for.

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Edna wanted to sit next to me the other day while I was writing. Clearly, she’s not impressed. 

Here’s the thing: I REFUSE TO GIVE UP. I’M NOT GIVING UP ON HER OR MYSELF. I’m going to pursue my dreams while taking care of her, AND while ensuring that the people paid to do their jobs ACTUALLY do them.

That’s where you come in. I need you to help me get my story out there. Because I know I’m not alone in this. I want to connect with families who are in similar situations and also show people who have no idea what it’s like to care for someone with a disability (or even a loved one who is sick) that it can be rewarding. Super fucking hard. Exhausting. Painful. Isolating. But, rewarding. 

I’m going to get help for my sister - and others. My hope is that by sharing our story, I can bring awareness to the lack of services and help for the disabled. 

Thank you, 

Jeanie 

Facebook:  facebook.com/eisforedna

Twitter: @EisforEdna 

This made me cry

SIGNAL BOOST

STOP SCROLLING. THIS PERSON ISN’T ASKING FOR MONEY AND THIS POST WON’T MAKE YOU SAD.

This is a really uplifting and inspirational story of a family sticking by each other and making things work despite a whole lot of shit

They just want to find other people in the same position they are, for a sense of community and to feel like they aren’t alone.

I know out of all of you, some of you have followers who are living with and taking care of intellectually or emotionally disabled family members, and this lovely and unbreakable pair of sisters need to find them.

SIGNAL BOOOOOOOOOST

your love for your sister is such a beautiful thing, your story will be heard, dear. we will make sure of it.

(Source: , via tinyteacvps)

1. Your skin may never be perfect, and that’s okay.

2. Life is too short not to have the underwear, the coffee, and the haircut you want.

3. Everyone (including your family, your coworkers, and your best friend) will talk about you behind your back, and you’ll talk about them too. It doesn’t mean you don’t love each other.

4. It’s okay to spend money on things that make you happy.

5. Sometimes without fault or reason, relationships deteriorate. It will happen when you’re six, it will happen when you’re sixty. That’s life.

— Five things I am trying very hard to accept (via aumoe)

(via being-a-fitter-me)


So I keep asking myself, “Is it worth it?” I end up laughing… bitterly… I did this to myself.

natandmac:

Salad inspiration!

After the pep talk last night, he wants me to stop giving him additional pressure. This is probably the third time I’ve lectured him in a year and a half. I promised I won’t anymore. I’ll give him all the space he needs to get over his own obstacles.

I don’t recall ever being this tired before. I woke up this morning to hit the snooze button for an extra 9 minutes of sleep. The second I put my head down, the alarm went off again, it was already 9 minutes later. 

I haven’t eaten anything the first half of the day. I’m still not hungry. That pep talk affected me too.

Then I asked myself the following questions:

  1. Do you love him? Yes.
  2. But is it enough that you are willing to give up your dreams and ambitions so he can follow through with his? Not to that extent.
  3. Are you okay with not being able to wed until you’re well past 35? Crying already. I’ll probably despise him by the time I reach that age.
  4. Are we even on the same page in life? I don’t think we are. Age difference really shows. He says he’ll get there eventually, I just don’t know how much longer I can wait for him. I’m going to let time be my witness and judgement. I’ll go with the flow, until I simply cannot anymore.