(By the way, whenever there are excessive parentheses?  It means I’m in a good mood.  It’s something I noticed about my writing years ago.  Psych 101 students, analyze away.)

1)    I am dumb in the best way.  After my greed of Tuesday, I started rehashing numbers to plan cat teeth cleaning (boo) and birthday spa/shopping spree (yay).  That’s when I realized that my great savings plan only counted on paychecks until my planned departure week.  You know, the week that I will work and then be paid in the next pay period.  Mo’ money!

2)    I received the renewal policy for my car insurance.  November marked the three-year anniversary of my big accident.  I was eagerly awaiting the drop in my premiums, while pessimistically gearing up for it not being much, especially after Wisconsin’s speeding ticket.  My policy is $150 less this time around.  Whoo for good driving!  Or at least, not getting caught.  Or at least, getting caught in states where the points don’t transfer to my license.

3)     Gmail has now thwarted my romantic life for the second time.  The first time was when it was brand spanking new and it delayed a morning email from the new boy until about 8pm.  The email suggested a little evening something-something, rare for us on weekdays due to the logistics, but of course it was too late by the time I got it.  I let him know toot sweet and it was the closest I ever heard him say a bad word about Google.  Why is this second time a positive thing?  Because it means he wasn’t ignoring me.  (“He” not being the new boy.  “He” just being unnamed in that annoying vagueness habit of mine.  I’d make a joke about the new boy definitely ignoring me, but I think when it’s been a year since your last interaction that falls into an entirely different category.)  (I’m using quotes correctly there, yes?  I can’t stand excessive quotes almost as much as I love excessive parentheses.)

4)     I found my gloves!  Which, Jules, are Harbinger.  I couldn’t tell you before because, well, they were lost.  Where were they?  Umm…on my closet floor?  And no, my closet is not so groody that you can’t see the floor.  I had evidently placed them on top of my exercise/accessory cart at some point and they fell between the cart and luggage.  This is perhaps evidence that I am dumb in not exactly the best way, but they are found so I’m OK with that.

5)    I realized walking home from the gym (in my condo complex) that perhaps I should make a bigger deal about this whole weight-training thing.  I had given it up because of my back.  I bought a handful of dumbbells and did small 10-15 minute toning sessions at home instead.  I haven’t had a need to wear these gloves in over five years.  It’s been a month now and I’m feeling fine.

6)    I seem to be the only woman alive who can move the “Careful, Wet Floors” triangle thingy from the middle of the bathroom floor.  This is positive because it amuses me greatly.  I kind of want to leave it there all day.

7)    Work.  Those who caught my Monday night mope know it has been bugging enough to actually write about, something I never do.  But since Monday, I’ve had a bit of mojo around the office.  Today it culminated in having two work products reviewed with zero deficiencies, fixing a major problem I did not cause, finding a major problem I did not cause and presenting a good strategy to my boss, having my boss’s official response to another test be, “Kick ass!”, and receiving yet another Outback gift certificate for the effort that went into some meetings lately.  (I now have close to $200 in gift certificates to Outback.  I never use them because I’m not a huge Outback fan and there is not one close enough to me for a convenient take-out dinner.  But today I realized that with this much plastic swag, I can live it up a Roy’s with a few guests in the near future.)

And!  Because people have been so fucking funny lately I want to lick them, list of positivity, part II: women who are so fucking funny:

1)     Mimi SmartyParts:  “Fuck you if you don’t know what a Triscuit looks like.”  Amen.
2)     Miss Zoot:  I now aspire to cause a gas leak scare and the fire department to be called.
3)     Heather:   “I return to my apartment and duck inside quickly, paranoid that an early rising neighbor will see me. Without dropping my bags, I hurry into the bathroom, remove the toothbrush from my mouth, rinse and spit.”  If you do not love this woman to bits you are dead to me.

Only a list can me happy this early in the morning

So, I am all chipper now and ready for Phoenix!

(Funny, I am not all chipper because of great sleep.  In fact, I said, “Fuck it” and got up at 5:30am the last two mornings.)

It’s amazing what a little list and organizing can do for my spirits.

Specifically, I have:

1)   Determined which books I’m going to bring: L’Affaire, Waiting for Snow in Havana, and Old Man’s War.  The first two are from my grandmother’s book club; I always stock up on books when I see them.  And yes, my grandmother’s book club read L’Affaire, which I would not have thought was a book club type book but at least it means I get to read it without buying it myself.  I’m going to count Waiting for Snow in Cuba towards my non-fiction resolution even though it is technically a memoir and we all know how much fiction can go into thoseOld Man’s War is what TG read last time he flew and he really enjoyed it.  I think I’ve picked a good range of material and insured I will not get bored.

2)   Asked TG to watch the animals.  He is a kick ass pet sitter, and unfortunately for him he also lives the closest to my house of any possible pet sitters so he gets tapped a lot.  (I make up for it in payment methods, I swear.)  TG’s schedule is usually very up in the air, so I often don’t ask him until the last minute.  But this week he asked the skinny on the trip early and gave me the perfect opportunity to pop the question.  It takes a load off my mind to have that squared away.

3)   Determined which shoes I’m going to bring.  I am a light packer.  I could not tell you the last time I went on a trip and I was not the one with the least amount of luggage.  (Enough negatives in that sentence for you?)  But my one weakness is shoes.  I tend to over-do shoe packing for two reasons.  A) More shoes = more outfits.  I pack light in part by choosing clothes that I can dress up or down depending on footwear.  B) More shoes = happy body.  It’s an orthotic/shin/pain thing that just reads incredibly boring, trust me.  But this time I’ve settled on a mere two pairs – my sneakers and my most favorite sixteen dollar black sandals that have now lasted two years even though I wear them constantly.

4)   Decided to bring sleep aids for the flight back.  I know it doesn’t make sense to many people.  But it does for me.  First, there is no way I can get through a five-hour flight without some sort of downer.  I am just wound that tight and the consequences of making me sit still for five hours are not pretty.  (The flight there will probably be OK because it will be happy excitement and not stressed oh-shit-I-have-so-much-to-do-when-I-get-home)  Second, most people nap on flights.  I am not a napper.  I wish I was.  Many an afternoon I know that if I could just re-juice my evening would go so much better.  Chemically aiding the process is the only way I will get some shuteye.  And I will need some at least, because oh-shit-I-have-so-much-to-do-when-I-get-home.  T is afraid I will be too groggy afterwards to get shit done.  I seriously doubt it but that is not the worse thing to ever happen.

Besides having some girl time, the thing I am looking forward to the most is food.

I’ve been hitting the diet pretty religiously during these last few weeks, although I let myself relax a little on the weekends.

When my family was in town that meant having some great dinners at a couple of my favorite restaurants.  But this last weekend between hurrying to the concert and having two weirdly timed non-food-eating dates, I ended up using the term “relax a little” to mean, “eat something quick and fattening.”

I’m all about the fattening and the quick.  But you’ll notice the word “good” wasn’t in there.  Not once did I eat something I truly was looking forward to.  And when I’m in major weight loss mode?  That doesn’t cut it.  I’ll gladly take a smaller creep on the scale for chocolate bread pudding.  For Domino’s cheesy bread?  Not so much.

But!  Yoga Girl will be in Phoenix.  In general, YG has this awesome way approaching every little thing to get the most out of it.  YG will not eat a bad meal ever.  If I were heading to Phoenix without her?  I’d assume I was at the mercy of whatever was closest and cheapest.  But she and I have already had an entire IM conversation full of nothing but Phoenix restaurants.

We’re not sure how close they are to things.  We’re not sure exactly where we’ll be at lunchtime or how many will be at the Saturday bash.  But this weekend is not about the quick.  It is all about the good.

And the fattening of course.  Can’t forget the fattening.

Not Nice

Today has been…not good.

Not that yesterday was any prize.

It’s just one of those weeks where I’m trying really hard to be productive and the world has other plans for me.

Exercise after work? How about a headache instead? And by the way, don’t you enjoy a little surprise with the way items decide to leave your body?

“You were told you’d get a call back yesterday? Hmm…there is no indication of anything in your chart…did you know you’re supposed to be here for an appointment right now? You canceled it when you called yesterday? Hmm…”

“Why yes, we will only pay for the vaccinations and not any blood work that proves whether you need them. You don’t like superfluous shots and the over-drugging of America? Why not?”

“Click here to apply online as a new student.” Click. “Student ID please.” Bang head on table.

My best friend T has been in a pissy mood for a few days, and he got increasingly MORE pissy on the phone with me. Which is fine and all, that’s what best friends are for, but it is a rare occasion when he isn’t better or same after a good phone call. It was sad and irritating.

1099s went out last Friday. It is the last piece of information standing between me and a nice refund. It doesn’t help that I wasn’t aware they waited until the last fuck of a minute to send them and I had been searching my mailbox for two weeks in vain. But I was so sure after all the crap I dealt with, SURELY it would be in my hands today and my evening would be redemption with a calculator. (I love doing taxes. Shut up.)

My mail today consisted of the February issue of Autoway Toyota Magazine (the fuck?) and a postcard from work reminding me to plan a healthy financial future. Is that ironic? Or just EVER FUCKING ANNOYING?

And then I’m baking lemon squares. And I’m mad at myself about that. Because if I am not exercising I should not be eating. Yet I know myself and realize if I do not take evasive baking action I will end up trolling the QuickieMart for much worse food items.

I believe a cat is going to throw up now. I may join him.

Update – There has been no throwing up so far. By anyone! And I am no longer mad re: lemon squares as they seem to be the only food my body is accepting with grace. Yay for homemade treats. (Although? Bite me headache. Have a lemon square and some shut-the-fuck-up.)

Not Safe For Work

Dinner with Jessica In Progress – more fun than dusting!

At least that was what I convinced NG yesterday afternoon. Couldn ‘t the house stay dirty one more night for some Thai and moi?

While his career advice was a little sketchy (“Become a stripper! Then you could have a stripper name! Cheyenne! Madison!”), the rest of the evening was just what the doctor ordered. And for some reason the fact that my site is banned in Shanghai (where he was last) tickled me.

I got my first mammogram results back. Normal! (Yes, I am younger than when most start mammograms. My maternal grandmother died of breast cancer and my paternal grandmother has had a lump removed. My doctor suggested if the health insurance pays, go for it.) My results were just mailed to me. I am kind of interested to see the actual test. Are my breasts as fantastic inside as out?

On that topic, I wore a fancy bra to work yesterday because I was unable to locate any unfancy bras. I looked down once and was a little freaked out by the cleavage. I am not used to such cleavage in the work environment.

Food Confessions

I was out shopping at lunch longer than I planned and I was really hungry and really started craving sugar. So I stuffed my face with Chiclets from the gumball machine while my lunch warmed up.

Seriously. This was my idea. To make myself sick on gum so that I wouldn’t be snacking all afternoon.

Why oh why do people let me out of the house?

(It worked, however. Not sure how much sugar/calories I ingested with the gum, but definitely less than had the snack-attack continued.)

Note: This was originally in an email to TG where I mentioned I saw the 100 Mexicanos Dijeron board game. (Don’t ask.) But I took it out because it seemed that admitting such behavior one-on-one is not the way to sex up a relationship. So much better to share it on a blog.

Now that the nacho craving has been sated (they were even better last night – I think the beef needed to marinate…I feel so dirty writing that), I am on to another.

Which, as a side note, bugs the crap out of me in general. Cravings, that is. I would much rather rule my body like a communist nation and have the same thing, day-in day-out. Soilent Green is not entirely bad concept in my mind.

But noooo. I can’t just view food as kilojoules; I have to enjoy the TASTE and SMELL and FEEL and LOOK. And therefore, I crave it.

And right now? I crave Indian food.

This is problematic because 1) D & P are on house-arrest until their baby learns to not scream every hour on the hour 2) TG left town Saturday 3) NG is not, to my knowledge, back in town. And that leaves me out of Indian food companions.

I need to recruit some more culinary-adventure-seeking playmates. (And no, I am not scared to eat alone. But this particular restaurant has incredibly slow service and it would be a bit boring by myself.)

I actually judge people quite a bit by food. For one, I do not appreciate when people cannot admit that they eat/like junk food. Like, it’s so beneath them and all they chew on is organic bulgar wheat when the back of their car is littered with Cheetos bags.

I also do not appreciate when dinner companions assume no dessert. I don’t. I usually don’t order it, but I hate the assumption and I make a point to order it on a first date. I carry a few extra pounds, and I think a man’s reaction to my eating sweets is very telling. I refuse to feel (more) insecure about what I eat or don’t eat in front of someone.

(BTW, TG thinks it’s cool he’s dating someone with whom there is potential for a rib-eating contest.)

I was once wooed by a man who didn’t have a sweet tooth and couldn’t stand spices. I thought he meant spicy foods, which in itself turned me off. But he meant anything more exotic than salt or pepper. Like, oregano. Who the hell has an issue with oregano?

He made sausage balls* once to try and lure me to breakfast, but I said no. He brought some to me to try later. They were very, very bland. I mentioned that cheese or oregano would help and that’s when I found out that he would eat nothing tasty. I didn’t trust him after that. I tend to not trust anyone who doesn’t enjoy food and have fun with it to a certain degree.

*I was reminded of this story when writing about the dirtiness of my marinated beef. I had never heard of sausage balls before this guy, but it automatically leapt to first place on my cringe list, leaving pussy in the dust. If you ever wish to mug me, simply chant, “sausage balls”. I will be on the floor in the fetal position within a minute.



Work. It’s big. It’s bad. It’s taking my lunch money.

Actually, since my company pays exempt employees overtime in some circumstances, it just might give me more lunch (or sangria) money.

I’m very proud of myself for not diving into a bag of Oreos or Funyuns. Impossible schedules always seemed to look cuter with a junk food haze in front of my eyes. But so far, I’ve managed to eat healthy (except for when I forget to eat because I’m too busy) and workout in the evenings.

TG and I did manage to see each other Monday. It was fun and cute and nothing at all like I’m used to when someone in a relationship takes an extended vacation. When I got home last night, dragging ass and wondering how many brain cells I had left to make until bedtime, I found a new TG-smelling shirt lying on the comforter. I inhaled deeply and felt this weird sensation in my face. I was smiling.

Hmm…I believe I just had that brain cell question answered. I attempted to post this to a defunct weight-loss blog I had a year ago. This does not bode well for SLOC today.

Ugly Is As Ugly Does

Today was rather momentous.

I mentioned my weight to someone who has known me for almost two years. Before today, we had never discussed one single physical attribute of mine.

“You want to lose weight?”

“Well, yeah. I weigh 30 lbs more than when you met me!”

“I know.”


“I didn’t know it was 30 lbs. But I know. What can I say? You’re beautiful. But you were more beautiful 30 lbs ago. It’s a guy thing.”

More beautiful. This is the concept I wrestle with daily. I do not allow myself to fit “More beautiful” into the drop down box of possibilities. I only have room for beautiful and ugly.

And every day, I try to not feel ugly that I want to change my body. I try to love it for what it is while desperately wanting it to be something else.

One Button

I had to run errands yesterday afternoon (a feat I’m proud of myself for – I was exhausted from keeping up with T, my last physics friend, at MOSI. Really, why can’t you put grown men on leashes?) and there was a Target in the complex so I stopped in.

I’ve mentioned the notorious 10 lbs hanging around. A lot of people have it. But for me it represents roughly ¼ of the weight I struggled with for two years. I really hit a wall with the exercise versus back pain and eating right versus a schedule with less than 23 free hours a week. That didn’t count time to shower.

I finally got sick of it, learned some new tricks and got myself in shape. I lost the weight between Easter and Thanksgiving of 2002 and kept it off almost a year.

Then, the move. The new schedule. The new pain. The new 10 lbs.

I can still fit into the few new clothes I had purchased. But I put off buying anymore. Like everyone else in the world, I just wanted to get “back there” before I scrutinized the dressing room mirror.

However, I was facing facts that no matter what the scale says, the closet was screaming in agony. Everything is too big and too old. Today I am wearing a lovely dress with a button missing fourth from the top. I covered it up with my ID badge.

Anyway, I found myself in Target with a pair of linen pants and a button down shirt. I promised myself I would just try on this one outfit, take it or leave it.

The pants, a medium, fit perfectly. I was ecstatic.

The shirt, a large…well…this is when having a boyfriend would come in handy. Because he would definitely be ecstatic. I managed to get one button buttoned.

I really don’t know where to go with this, except to the gym.