Could I be a woman if I didn't hate my weight?

I went dress shopping with my brother's girlfriend recently and had a bad experience.  Dresses that used to be in my size looked......bad.  Very bad.  I had an inkling I might have gained weight this summer, but it still came as a shock.  My job keeps quite active, and it's not like my eating habits have gotten particularly worse.  I've always eaten poorly, and this summer is about my most active one on record.  I went home and cried.  It's not the extra weight--which really isn't much--looked that awful.  I was mourning something else--the possibility of ever being as thin as I wish I was.  I can't imagine myself ever being able to maintain the sort of lifestyle I would need to have the body I long for.  I'm too picky of an eater and too lazy/busy to exercise that intensely or consistently. Still, I'm going to make an effort.  High fructose corn syrup will be reduced.  Less soda!  And I know I love snacking, so I'll eat baked chips instead of fried and try to start invest in apples and peanuts and other healthier, crunchier foods.

It's always been taboo for me to talk about my weight because I am built so thin.  I have ridiculously thin wrists and limbs, but I still have excess stomach fat.  I can tell people worry about me and think I'm anorexic (or, alternately, judge me and think I'm anorexic).  Okay, so I'm not obese and I have super thin limbs!  That does make me in shape, and I don't have to be happy about my weight if I don't want to!  >_<  I don't want to count calories and worry excessively about my food choices, but I do want to make intelligent and healthy eating decisions.  I also want to get my BMI to 22.  I don't know what it is now...last I checked it was 24.5, though.  I was thinner then, so I'm sure it's gone up (though I do have more leg muscle now.  Thank you, summer job).

In which not all that much is said

I really need to drink more water.  It's such a basic, easy way to improve health.  Also, what a boring thing to say!

A little about myself:  I am 20-something college student, majoring in English and minoring in Religion and Film Studies.  I should be graduating this year (hoooooorah and suchlike).  I consider myself a Christian mystic and a nerd of many varieties.  I enjoy sketching with charcoal and pencils, oil painting, braiding hemp, indie music, gaming (WoW in particular), anime, analyzing films, writing and reading poetry, and other little forms of snobbery. Things I don't like include: concerts (boring), talking to strangers (eek!), hot weather (I get sick when it's too warm), people talking to me in public restrooms (really?), and "mommy culture"  (your precious snuggy-woogums is drooling again).

Like most of the human population, I'm trying to figure who I am.  I want to know what defines me, and I want that definition to be interesting and unique and downright irresistible.   I have a problem with needing people to like me, and that's something I want to work.  I want to stop being threatened by other people's popularity, and I want to be less angry and more capable. 

I have a fantastic boyfriend, and I need to go back to work.  >_<

To the Marshall Islands, with love

Over the past couple of weeks, there has been a growing certainty in my mind: the US Postmaster General had a terrible vacation in the Marshall Islands.  I'm guessing the scope of the terribleness of said vacation can only be encompassed by such words as lost luggage, missing martinis, and mother-in-law.  How have I come to the knowledge of this god-awful vacation?  Let me tell you a story.

Once, there was a little mailroom worker named Saasan.  She worked hard everyday, sorting and metering mail, sending letters and packages all over the world.  One day, a flat came in to be sent to the Marshall Islands.  She weighed the flat, and asked the metering machine how much it would cost to send.  No flats could be sent to the Marshall Islands.  What?  asked Saasan.  It's okay, said her boss, sometimes you have to take foreign things to be weighed at the Post Office.  So Saasan set it aside, working instead on a large project of US packages.  The next day, she saw she had many foreign flats.  She started weighing them.  Okay!  said the machine.  Was only the Marshall Islands unloved?  She weighed it again.  Okay!  said the machine.  Saasan shrugged and took care of the flat.

The next week, another flat for the Marshall Islands arrived.  Saasan weighed it.  It's too heavy!  said the machine.  She tried it as a parcel.  No parcels! said the machine.  She tried it as a package.  OMG! said the machine, forcing the computer to reboot.  Saasan set the flat aside, and struggled with the machine for the remainder of the day.

Two days later, she got another flat for the Marshall Islands, but this time she new better.  She is going to take it straight to the Post Office.  Fool me twice, shame on you.

In which we meet the author

People need a place a rant.  Occasionally,  this "place" is me.  During these months of summer employ at my university's mailroom, I have had several opportunities for Story Time with worthy patrons of the mail, attempting to regale me with tales of their missing letter.  I am not interested, but I am paid and professional, so I listen.  They don't have their letter.  Neither do I, I assure them.  Well, the post office didn't have it either, and they called twice.  They called the dorm, and the party responsible for sending the letter.  They have covered all the bases.  A slight silence, then--"I'm very sorry, but we don't have your letter, either."  Whiiich is what I told them several minutes ago.  Fascinating how the details of their plight did not change the fact that I don't have their letter!  Makes me wonder what they were expecting.

On the other hand, I'm sure I'd do the same thing in their position--I would unload to a complete strange my tale of woe and hope my plight would move them into making inquiries with the Correct Persons.  Guess I can't blame for their little tirades, but it's still pretty annoying.

A note to all: if the conversation begins with me not having your letter, it will almost certainly end that way as well.  But what the heck--I'm paid by the hour.  Chat on.