Carolina Days: Yesterday's Half Truths Part 2

"How're the wife and kid?" I ask as the bartender turns to get my order.

"Maggie is struggling in school, but Courtney has been amazing with her. It's as if she knows exactly what to say. Christ, you probably don't want to hear this, but Maggie started her period. Eleven years old. Doesn't that sound too young? Courtney handled the whole talk thing but, holy c.r.a.p, I was freaking out."

I shoot him a disgusted glance and reach for my drink as the bartender approaches. After a long, long gulp, I look back over at him.

"Never talk to me about periods again, man."

He just shakes his head. "It means she can get pregnant. Thank G.o.d, she goes to an all-girl school. Pregnant."

He flinches and takes a deep pull from his beer.

"I'm gonna change the subject whether you're cool with it or not." He shrugs. "Can you hook an iPad or tablet up to a flat screen and FaceTime or Skype from it?"

He lifts an eyebrow and one side of his mouth simultaneously. "Need the high def. for some mutual masturbation?"

Giving him a 'are you serious' look I shake my head. "I offered to train a girl over the internet. She's a friend of Sasha's and nervous about going to a gym near her house. So we came up with the idea I could train people virtually."

"How far away is she?"

"Maybe an hour and a half, I think. She lives northwest of here, closer to Greensboro.

"Live session training over the net is a cool idea, man. You can definitely hook your flat screen up for it. You just need some special cables. You could always upgrade to a Smart TV. They have DVD players with Wi-Fi too that might work depending on what you want to do."

Grinning I motion for the bartender to get us another round on me. It rocks having a computer nerd for a friend.

"Who knows? This over the internet thing might open a whole new wave of possibilities. Tons of people out there avoid the gym. I can see if she would be my experiment; and if it works, I might try to take on more clients this way."

"When do you start?"

The bartender returns with our drinks. "I need to email her the training questionnaire. Find out for sure how realistic her goals are. We've only texted back and forth, but she sounded motivated."

What I don't tell him is how I thought it was strange she didn't want to talk, only text. You can't be too safe with the internet; she could be some sixty-year-old dude in real life.

Since we're both driving, we don't order any more drinks after our second. Clay has a website he needs to finish up and I have a questionnaire to email, so after making plans to meet up again next week, we part ways.

The twinge of envy I have, knowing he's heading home to a good woman like Courtney, sucks. I'd love to meet a nice girl and have that myself. For whatever reason, it just doesn't seem as though it's in the cards right now.

I'm a morning person, a no coffee morning person, a crack of dawn, and no coffee morning person. Coffee doesn't get me going, my morning web surfing does. A creature of habit, I have a fine tuned order in which I attack all things fashion related.

Shower, hair, makeup, and then today's look for the blog. I might not take a step outside my door but I don't care. I like to dress up for me. Besides even though no one sees me in person, my virtual followers all do.

My spare bedroom is my photo shoot studio. I have a simple white background and a remote switch for my Cannon. I'm my own model, photographer, and blogger. I usually use three or four look pics for each blog post. I then collage them for my daily Instagram post.

After the pics are edited, I do my daily web surfing.

First stop, all the major designers. Even if we're months away from runway shows in New York and Europe, there are still subtle hints on their sites. Sometimes it's something as simple as a hue change of their font. I track everything. After designer sites, I scope out what style forward celebs are wearing.

There are always current pics of what they are wearing on paparazzi sites. While I don't care who is dating whom, I absolutely must know what purse they were carrying on their date. After that, I check movies under production. I want to know what costume designers they are using and location settings.

It's amazing how movies can point fashion trends. Right now, dystopian trilogies are the rage. However, if I'm not paying attention, I can miss that one of my style icon trendsetters is filming a 50's remake in Monte Carlo, which just screams a vintage resurgence may be imminent.

My last stop before I start a post is Pinterest. Sure, some of the looks are based off designer trends from last year; but if one million people pinned the same lace b.u.t.ton up, I want to know about it.

Most likely that b.u.t.ton up can now only be found in limited sizes for way more than what it originally cost on a resale site like eBay. What my readers love is I have a knack for finding alternatives, which are still available for purchase by their seller and may have something different enough about them to keep them from seeming dated.

I categorize and subcategorize everything I search. My saved link database is definitely bigger than yours, and size does matter. Once a week, I also feature up and coming designers. Given the number of unique page hits I have on a monthly basis, I have a waiting list for that feature a mile long.

Every single day, I post what I'm wearing along with one additional feature type article. Mondays are makeup; Tuesdays are hair; Wednesdays are for bags; Thursdays are for accessories; Fridays are my designer feature day; Sat.u.r.days are lifestyle, which includes advice type articles; and Sundays are my weekly wrap up and any interesting news, which may have hit over the week.

I do not even glance at email until I've completed my daily blog post. It can be distracting; and my cat Coco, as in Chanel, jealously weaving her way back and forth through my legs as I type, is distracting enough.

"You have food in your dish," I remind her.

If she's taken a bite or two, she refuses to touch her bowl until I either shake the bowl to disguise any evidence of food consumption or top it off. She has a water dish but that's only in case of emergency. I have to leave the kitchen faucet with a gentle drip on for her actually to drink. I keep a bowl in the sink and use the water she misses to water my houseplants.

Otherwise, I'd feel like I was killing the earth. I might not go outside much but I do still love the planet. After I check all my sites, I check notifications. I can get up to a thousand comments on any given post. Most are as simple as someone saying they loved a look or a tutorial, but there are also questions and some comments needing follow up.

My main site has an email address. My Facebook page can receive private messages. In addition, if I follow the person messaging me, my twitter account can as well. Otherwise, all of the comments and posts made on or to my pages are public. I try to respond to every message, except for the creeper ones.

There is a web phenomenon of creepy dudes private messaging popular sites in the hope of...I'm honestly not sure what. I guess it would make sense if I were being hit on by local people. That way there'd at least be the opportunity for them to meet me in real life. Sadly, or maybe thankfully, the majority of these creepy messages come from men overseas.

There should be a handbook on how to hit on a woman over the internet. Someone needs to let these guys know sending a picture of their p.e.n.i.s is not going to inspire me to come visit them. Seriously, who does that? I jot a note down on a sticky pad next to my mouse, possible blog post, how not to virtually hit on women. That could make a funny article.

While I'm checking my email, I see one from Luke. Silly how something as innocent as a fitness questionnaire from a cute man can give me b.u.t.terflies.

I glance over at Coco. "Don't judge."

She just rolls over so I'm now looking at her a.s.s. Thanks, cat. The questionnaire is straightforward enough, though still anxiety inducing. Whatever fantasy I have been nursing with Luke will evaporate the moment he sees my thigh measurements. There's no point in lying; only that's what I do when it comes to my appearance every single day on my blog.

The world sees a size 2. It'd all be fine and good if what they saw, what they all loved, wasn't a lie. Maybe if I actually looked like the girl in those images, I wouldn't feel like throwing up every five minutes. It would be funnier if I hadn't actually considered bulimia as a solution to the problem I had created.

Sad, there are girls out there with legitimate eating disorders and the fat girl in me wished I could be one of them. Anorexia, tried and failed. Bulimia, tried and failed. Diet pills, tried and failed.

Problem is, even though the world's seeing me in the pictures I post, they've never really seen me. When I started the blog, I meant for it to be a daily inspiration of what I'd love to look like.

With the help of Photoshop, I made it happen. I turned my size eighteen self into a size two. Now, I have seven months to make that happen in real life, too. If only I didn't eat my feelings. Didn't matter what they were, happy or sad, my feelings went best with some mint chocolate chip ice cream and Twinkies.

I could use a whole box of Twinkies to get me through Luke's email.

Question # 1. What is your weight?

203 lbs.

Question # 2. What is your height?

5'8.

Question # 3. What is your goal weight?

115 lbs.

Question # 4. Describe your current level of activity.

Desk job, not extremely active.

Question # 5. Describe your current diet. (Normal breakfast, lunch, dinner) Breakfast = Eggo, mini m.u.f.fins, breakfast sandwich Lunch = Mac & Cheese, BLT, corndogs, burritos Dinner = see lunch Snacks = pistachios, chips, ice cream, chocolate Drinks = Soda, milkshakes Why does he need my address? Ugh, and just looking at my responses makes me cringe. I've tried diets and fad exercises before. It's just hard to stay motivated. Every time I fail, I put on even more weight than I was working with before I started. I wouldn't even be trying now if it weren't for this reunion.

I send the email before I have time to overthink it. Once I press send, the little whoosh sound of my computer lets me know my greatest insecurities are now zooming through cybers.p.a.ce to his email; and I can't do anything. It's out there, whether I want it to exist or not.

Compartmentalizing my c.r.a.p is what I do best. Weight? With a few clicks of my mouse, I can be model perfect in no time. I've been virtually modifying myself for so long I'm still surprised when I look in the mirror and I don't see the image of myself that exists in my head. I don't have time to think about it now.

Even though my ad revenue has been increasing on my blog site, I still have a day job. I make websites pretty. I know basic web design but my focus is graphic design not site building. I let the tech geniuses handle that stuff.

It's close to lunchtime when my cell startles me with an incoming text. I suck in a breath when I see it's Luke.

Morning. I got your questionnaire. Do you have time to discuss it?"

I save the web banner I was working on and push away from my desk.

Ah, sure.

I'm willing to train you on a trial basis but...

I drop my chin into my hand; here it comes.

Yes?

Your weight goal is unrealistic. Based on your height and increasing your activity to a moderate level your goal weight should be closer to 135 to 145 lbs. For your height 115 lbs. is underweight.

I try to argue.

But isn't that what models and actresses weigh?

My goal as your trainer would be your health. In my personal opinion, that weight is unhealthy.

I'll take any help at this point. Maybe if I can learn his techniques and set up a routine, I can improve on his results. When I don't reply he sends another text.

Still there?

I lift my head, shaking it.

Sorry, I zoned out. I'm here.

I'd like to get started on your diet first. It's okay to indulge here and there, but we need to incorporate more fruits and vegetables into your diet. Based on what you emailed, it appears you are currently eating none.

Cringing I can't argue with that.

I'm not much of a cook so I stick to mainly packaged foods.

I'm not asking you to become a chef or anything, but I can email you a couple of simple recipes that are low calorie high nutrient content.

Okay.

Where do you grocery shop?

I use a delivery service from Hanover Foods.

Delivery? So you order online and they deliver?"

Coco jumps into my lap and I absentmindedly stroke her.

Yes.

That sounds like a great way to avoid impulse purchases. Email me the link to your ordering system. I want to look at what your options are; and the next time you order, I'll walk you through what your weekly order should be going forward.

But?

Your diet is a mess, Lindsay. Even if you work your a.s.s off training wise, you won't see the results you should if you're still eating all this garbage.

Don't many nutritionists recommend some cheat options?

I'll look over their list and find something you will still love; and I promise you, it will be healthier for you in the long run.

Fine.

I contemplate adding a frowny face but restrain myself.

I want you to throw away the c.r.a.p you currently have.

Excuse me?!?!?

I won't charge you anything for our training sessions this week if you're worried about wasting money.

It's not that. What will I eat if I throw everything away?

Email me the link to your grocery store and we can order you a replacement delivery for today.

Coco jumps out of my lap and onto the back of my chair as I push forward, back up to my laptop. Her gentle breath in my ear as I copy the link to Hanover's ordering system and email it to Luke.

Sent Ready to order some healthy food?

I groan but text back my agreement. Can't b.i.t.c.h too much about something you ask for yourself, can you?

Are you on the home screen?

I am Okay, let's start in the produce section.

I can't help but wonder how busy he is to spend an hour with me on the phone; virtually walking me, section by section through my grocery store's online ordering system. He approves some sweets for me, dark chocolate instead of milk and a sherbet instead of ice cream.