Sunday, June 7, 2009
Saturday, April 25, 2009
i don't want to pay for web hosting if i am in a position where writing is difficult for me. i don't want to take on more than i can handle.
i created another blogger page at myjuicylittlesecret
i would love for you to follow, but be warned that it may be graphic (body and health-wise, not XXX graphic!) and you may completely disagree with much that you read. i need to be me, and say what i feel, and not worry about pissy comments or lectures. oh, yeah...i love love LOVE comments, but don't need lectures. guess what? i have spent my 20's listening to lectures, and it has gotten me nowhere....well, somewhere worse than i ever have been. so i'm trying to keep this thing positive.
also, it may be boring to some of you...juice fasting? juice diaries? woo-hoo, FUN!!!
anyway...that is where i will be, for the next while at least. even if i get zero followers, i will be updating often, to keep myself accountable.
Sunday, April 19, 2009
(if you don't use tumblr yet, sign up. it is very addictive!)
grace in small things: http://graceinsmallthings.
(i am trying to update more often)
and check back for more blog info soon!!!!
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
I am working on a TON of personal projects right now, so please bear with me and be patient. My new blog will come soon, I promise. I am most likely going to buy a domain of my own, and I know that will take time since if I have to be stuck with a domain name, I need it to be beyond perfect! It will probably have a few ad links (but only good stuff, I promise...no spam, no pop-ups, no random junk that has nothing to do with me or my readers!) and quite a few other fun things as well.
Again, the time-wasting part is going to be me making the final decisions on content/theme and domain name...I need to find something and STICK.
I'm excited to say that right now I am giving my characters some major identities for my novel. I am a firm believer that characters matter most...shallow, flat, or unrealistic characters make me put a book down faster even than bad grammar/editing. Faster than a slow story line, even! I have to at least KNOW, if not like or identify with, these people. The best novels are the ones that make me sad when I finish the last page, because suddenly, all my "new friends" are gone forever.
I have to go actually work now...you know, the stuff that pays the bills. Yikes!
Monday, April 13, 2009
I've been feeling pretty lost, and feeling like this has just turned into a place for me to bitch and whine about the stupid parts of my life (guess what? everyone else has a job, and a family...why would anyone want to read about mine?) so it is time (soon!) to move on. I am planning to start a new blog elsewhere, as soon as I get a central theme set in stone. I'll definitely post the address here, so my (few) readers can follow (if you want!)
In the meantime, I am finally (finally, as in, after more than 10 years) starting in on a novel. As silly as that sounds (doesn't everyone say they are going to write "a novel") it finally feels right. The other day, I was at work, bored and frustrated that I could not come up with an idea that really was original (I could have written a novel years ago with the same plot as that "17 Again" movie that is coming out...why didn't I? Um, laziness, I guess), that wasn't cheesy as all hell (then again, many authors of many cheesy books have enjoyed bestseller status and movie versions), or that didn't bore me after a few chapters (ADD, I guess). I started writing a list of words and the feelings that those things, or even just those words, evoked, and remembered something that happened a few years ago, and suddenly, the entire framework of a story appeared on my sparkly pink notebook.
I'm sure I will probably throw small pieces of it up on http://piecesofnote.blogspot.com (which I will keep up, and hopefully update sometimes...so if you like to read fiction at all, please follow or I will get discouraged and bored and stop posting there) but I will throw them in the mix, so nobody really realizes that they are tiny parts of the novel (for several reasons).
I realized a few things: one, I spent WAY too much time worrying about genre (if I go with psychological suspense/mystery, can I cross over to something else later?) and kind of overlooked the fact that I can combine a few "genres" and come up with something infinitely better than if I tried to stay within boundaries; two, I have to be somewhat organized but let myself write parts as they come to me without worrying about chronology until I get closer to finishing.
So there. Hopefully in the next few weeks, I will have something new up and running, and I will start posting on piecesofnote.blogspot.com again.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
The creepy kind you have at night. The haunting kind that stay with you all day, not because they were nightmares, but because they left some sort of weird impression on you.
I often have dreams that just won't let me wake up-the sort that continue on, even after you have half woken up and hit the snooze button.
I'm not sure why I had the dream I had last night, but it might have something to do with the
picture of Scott Pilgrim and Ramona Flowers doing the Charleston that I am currently using as my desktop. It wasn't even a particularly creepy or special dream, but it stuck in my head as important or significant in some way.
I was some kind of professional dancer, and my partner (who was also my teacher and quite possibly a lover) was some sort of modern-day Fred Astaire. Very, very famous. I was finally going to perform with him in a real show, one that people paid to come see. I was stuck in my old high school building for some reason, and I was running late. When I got there, I put on my costume and looked in the mirror--I looked just like Holly Golightly.
I'm still sitting here trying to figure out why I remembered this dream out of the thousands that I am sure I have, and why it is stuck in my mind. Anybody have any weird dreams they feel like sharing?
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
There are 1,834,283 thoughts running through my head at any given moment, so I like to write things down. I do this on random scraps of paper, Post-Its (more on my Post-It obsession some other time), or in a daily planner on the corresponding day. Then, I continue to write it over and over again on each day (or week) until I take care of it, or decide it really isn't Important anymore.
Usually, however, I think of things (Important Things!) at inopportune times, and have to devise ways to remember said Things until I can get somewhere and write them down. This sometimes entails chanting in my head, or making up a cute song or poem to sing/recite to myself until I get a pen and paper in hand. Sometimes, this involves sending myself an e-mail from my phone. (I am NOT texting and driving! I am e-mailing myself IMPORTANT THINGS! ...Like "go tanning." Er. Anyway.)
Today, I was in yoga. Class was going by pretty slowly, and we were on what is basically the first posture, and I looked down at my toes (I had to; I was preparing to press my face into my shins) and thought "UGH! Someone needs a pedicure!" I spent the rest of class saying "feet, feet, feet, feet, feet, feet" in my head, and falling out of postures because instead of thinking about the muscles I was supposed to use, I was thinking "feet, feet, feet."
I finally got home and wrote "pedicure" on my planner, but I doubt I'll actually do it anytime soon. I tend to ruin pedicures from my constant yoga/working out, and I have given up on trying to grow my toenails out for that elusive French pedicure. Not going to happen. At least not if I ever have to stand, walk, or wear shoes. *sigh*
One look at my planner and you will see that I am somewhat of a procrastinator. At least, on paper. See, I tend to expect waaaaaaaaaaay too much out of one day. Work 7 hours, work out 2.5 hours (plus the extra hour spent waiting for yoga to start and showering off the sweat afterwards), play with puppies, prepare meals, check e-mail, pick up some grapefruit, clean the kitchen, get gas...and this is before I do anything that isn't day-to-day, normal stuff. So really, the fact that little words like "pedicure" and "mend sweaters" and "return shoes" recur on the pages of my planner are not testament to my tendency to procrastinate, but more proof that I am busy and I expect too damn much out of myself (we won't go into the fact that a few short years ago, I was seemingly a cyborg or at the very least, a superhero, and could do all sorts of things on no sleep and never get tired. what happened?)
The word that is constantly written, and constantly bothering me, is "resumes." I have been collecting job ads like a crazy, hoarding, pack-rat bag lady, but I have applied to exactly ONE of those jobs. Lately, I am just not inspired to write cover letters and bug people for recommendations. Not inspired to find a creative way to explain an employment gap due to being so sick I could not even check the mail and not knowing what the hell was wrong. Not inspired to examine a past that is not nearly as impressive as it "should" have been, according to my grades and ACT scores and everyone's expectations. Not inspired to wonder whether that great job description is really just a good writer's exaggeration of a position as a coffee-fetching secretary.
But that has to change. Last night, I found the best job posting. Actually, two job postings. Both deal with publishing, but they are very different. One of them sounds better, but I am not sure if I am really, truly qualified. My saving grace is the fact that they ask for work samples, and you'd better believe they are getting the before-and-afters of my current work's newsletters. The job has been open for months, so maybe they will try something a little different.
Besides, what is the worst that can happen? They won't call me. It's not like someone will take the time to call and say "Ha-ha, loser, you thought you could stand a chance, but you are SO unqualified. YOU SUCK!!!"
Because that is something that I would definitely not have to write down to remember. I just would...forever.
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
XXX is looking for a full time medicail records assistant. The applicaint must be comfortable with medicail terms. Degree in health information management would be preffered. The ideal canidate for the job would be a self-motivator, versatile, and flexable person. This job is detailed and fast paced. xxx has great benifits with health insurance, 401k, ESOP, tuition reimbursement and vacation time. Please contact lavern if you would like further information.
- Location: XXX
- Compensation: $16,640-$19,760
- Principals only. Recruiters, please don't contact this job poster.
- Phone calls about this job are ok.
- Please do not contact job poster about other services, products or commercial interests.
I put "XXX" in place of the identifying information, but trust me, this is a real ad that I found online.
First of all, a "degree in health information management" must be worth more than this. That isn't even $10 an hour...at the high end.
According to the pay that is being offered for Bachelor's Degrees these days, you would think that they were handing them out free on the street corner or something...no tuition, no work, no brain required. Right?
I am tempted, however, to send my resume and offer my services as a copy editor. Or, at the very least, become a contract Spell-Check Instructor.
Monday, April 6, 2009
I am not entirely sure who you are since I never really watch TV and have not seen any of the movies you are in, but you and I need to have a little talk.
See, IMDB says you are playing the part of Ramona Flowers in the Scott Pilgrim vs The World movie, and that must be a mistake.
I am supposed to be Ramona Flowers. If she were real, she would be me, so it only makes sense that I play her in the movie.
p.s. I will totally enjoy starring opposite Michael Cera, too.
Saturday, April 4, 2009
I am tired of feeling sick, and sick of feeling gross and big and lumbering around instead of gracefully moving.
I've been back on the raw foods (really, nothing else works, my digestive system has repeatedly told me "HAY-ELL NO!" to anything else) and am trying to do a short course of smoothie-juice feasting until my stupid TMJ drama chills out (food and chewing makes it worse).
At the upper right of my blog is a little link to my "Daily Plate." I have a history of hating online diet diaries, because I don't eat anything that remotely resembles most of the stuff that most people eat, so it is never programmed in to the database. However, The Daily Plate makes it easy to make your own little foods, so I can put the exact amounts of everything I throw into the VitaMix on a regular basis and title it "Grapefruit Smoothie" or whatever. Hooray. Now, let's see if I keep up with the thing. I have written down everything I eat, weighed out no less, for, oh let's see, 10 years. On paper. I'm going to try the online thing now, but I know I won't be able to throw out my paper diary.
I know, this will bore half of you, but come on, I have to make myself do it somehow.
Everything was a BIG DEAL.
And it still is a big deal, except now, I hate drama. At least, I hate the kind that you would find in junior high, high school, the sorority house, etc, etc.
I remember thinking, when I was 12 years old, "wow I can't wait 'til high school when everyone grows up and won't act like this!"
And I remember thinking, when I was 17 years old, "one more month of this shit and I will be going away, moving away, and in college I am sure people have more important things to do than talk shit about my style or my boyfriend or whether or not they think he is cute and whether I do or don't eat."
And I remember, in college, thinking "okay, fuck these idiots...someday soon I will have a real job in the real world and then I won't have to worry about people like this."
Well. John Mayer had it right when he told us that there was no such thing as the "real world." It really is all just a lie you have to rise above. And man, oh man, it is still infuriating.
See, I have to question whether I can call my job a "real job," but for the purpose of this post, I will consider it so. (It helps me earn money while I work on bigger, better, more important things. My job is not the end-all, be-all, just a little help along the way, if you will.)
Now, I work with someone who makes me crazy for several reasons. One of them I really can't expose, as much as I would like to.
The other one, well, I really don't care even if she did ever find this and read it, which I doubt she will.
First of all: she is nearly 20 years older than me, and I'm not a kid. You would think that someone with years of experience would know how to act like an adult in the workplace. The thing is, I know she hates me, and I don't care. Yet, she trash-talks every other employee in the place to me, every single day. Does she think I don't know that she does the same thing to everyone else? Worse, is everyone else so stupid that they don't realize the game she is playing? I am starting to fear the worst, because why hasn't anyone else said anything? She can talk all the trash she wants to and I will continue to change the subject. She will not get any (true)thing to use against me.
Until I quit, and then the game changes immensely.
Anyway. I had to post this, because I loved my job for a short time, and now I hate it for one reason: dealing with this drama. It is just one gossip, condescending remark, insult after another here, and I am trying to find a way to move on gracefully. I can't even really write about it, because the internet is public and I am sure someone would find this and make ME look like the bad person.
Argh. I have to remind myself: It Could Be Worse
Friday, April 3, 2009
Anyway, I posted a very, very, very rough beginning to a story that is 100% fictional, but inspired by a painting I saw in Chicago in 2006. I was on my last $40 at the time, had to wait 3 weeks for the rest of my student loan to kick in, and had nobody to ask for help, or else I would have bought this painting. I think it was $300, but it could have been more or less. I was sick (not terminally ill as the story would have you believe...remember, IT IS ALL FICTION) but was sick enough to not be 100% there, and I regret that to this day. For some reason, I cannot explain how much that damn painting meant to me. I am meant to have it. I am convinced that someday it will find me. Until then, I keep searching online for any reference to it at all. Usually all I get are porn sites and bathtub painting services.
If anyone has even the slightest idea about this painting that was for sale at the Bucktown Beanery in December 2006...let me know. Seriously. This painting and the fact that I passed it up still makes me cry.
Okay...back to cleaning now!!!
Thursday, April 2, 2009
This week: WORDS
(er, well, last week. I got a little bit behind. oops)
I can't remember a time when I was not a writer. Even in second grade, one-page "short story" assignments thrilled me and always resulted in an "A" (or an "S+" as it was known in second grade.)
I can say the same about reading. I was the "nerd" in school for much of my life. Not the nerd who dressed funny, wore huge glasses, or never bathed. The nerd who wanted to read a book when it was assigned. No, scratch that. I was the one who had already read the books that were assigned. The one who carried around thick novels designed for kids (or adults) much older and wiser, and actually understood them. That nerd.
I have an English degree.
So yeah, it would be accurate to say that I am somewhat obsessed with words.
And today I feel like talking about words that I hate.
My husband makes fun of me because I often say "I hate that word" when listening to people talk. It has nothing to do with the meaning of the word, or with the person saying it (I'll go into pronunciation another time) but merely the sound of the word. The way the letters look next to each other. Some words just freak me out.
This is by no means an exhaustive list, but I have to mention a few of the top offenders:
lunch: probably my least favorite word of all
munch: just gross
(oddly, "crunch" does not bother me)
folks: I hate the "olk" sound, ugh
morning: just bothers me
moist: I think everyone hates this word
cell phone: I call it a mobile. Bonus "fuck you" points when people say "celly." Ugh.
relax: the sound of it literally makes me tense up
toggle: sounds like toddler-speak
corn: the food is gross, the word is grosser
feisty: just hate it
I am not sure why the list is so short right now...I will definitely hear many more words I hate later, and remember how much I hate them. That's the problem. I usually can't remember most of them until someone says one of them out loud.
Anybody else out there have any words they hate simply because of the way they sound??
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
PLEASE NOTE: THE BOLD IS MINE.
Company Owner looking for executive assistant.
(These days, a title like that is so vague, applicants have no idea what the hell they will be doing.)
The following requirements apply:
1. Intelligent - a broad knowledge base is preferred
Yet, be stupid enough to send all your personal info to an anonymous address for a vague job ad.
2. Not afraid of hard work - could be long hours sometimes
But spend your time sending me your resume before I even tell you what that means
3. Energetic - willing to get up out your seat when I need you
I will call you at 3a.m. so be ready
4. Good personality - I am looking for an upbeat person
SMILE!!! ALL THE TIME!!!
5. Great sense of humor - need to be able to laugh
I tell dirty jokes. Racist jokes. Sexist jokes. That's what I mean by "sense of humor."
6. Open minded - no demure or easily offended persons need apply
Like I said, dirty jokes. I might be kind of a pervert, so if me looking down your shirt will offend you, don't bother.
7. Efficient - multi tasking a necessity
There is no excuse for not being able to answer my email while picking up my Starbucks. Go buy a BlackBerry and a third arm.
8. Timely - when I ask for a task to be completed, I mean right now and not a week from now
Yes, I am the person who throws a fit when I show up 5 minutes after a store closes and they won't let me in. I'm...ME! (Wow. Either this guy has had some messed-up employees, or gives bad direction. A week late? Hm.)
9. Not overly emotional - I don't play word games and don't have time to be careful, so if you cry easily, please don't apply
10. Organized - I need someone to help organize me, so I really need an organized person around me
I'm a fucking ADD slob and don't want to do anything to try to remedy that, so I need YOU!!
11. Excellent memory - I need someone that can remember people, places, things, and tasks
because I won't.
12. Computer skills - MS Word, Excel, PowerPoint, Visio, Project, and Adobe Illustrator
13. Able to follow instructions exactly
For the chosen person, this can be a great opportunity. The salary will be commensurate with proven worth. Do not call, but send resume via e-mail.
"Proven worth?" Wow. The whole ad is full of aggressive wording and makes me think whoever works here will be given about 0% respect.
Maybe it really isn't that bad, but it sounds like hell to me.
I will find a better one next week, I promise.
Monday, March 30, 2009
I would like to know how (and WHY) women would wear underwear (I can't possibly call them p-----s, ugh, foul word) under their yoga shorts.
Because they like to feel not one, but two layers of sweaty cotton wedged between their, um, cheeks? (And why cotton? WHY???!?)
Because they think it will hide their cellulite? (It doesn't. It does add a nice layer of padding, though.)
Because they think it will hide the fact that they need to shave/nair/wax/laser? (Again, no. Take care of that. Or wear shorts that COVER IT.)
Because someone taught them that not wearing underwear might possibly be something...dirty? (On behalf of commando girls, I beg to differ.)
Maybe they just don't know better.
And I am here to set them straight.
I see you back there, in the back row, trying to discreetly pull the wedgie out while the teacher looks the other way. I see you, the uncomfortable look on your face, as the waistband from your underwear creeps out above the waistband of your shorts, right before the teacher gives the "no picking no wiping no scratching" lecture and looks right in your direction. I see you, and you can't concentrate on your asanas because you, my friends, are concentrating too much on what is creeping up your ass.
I particularly want to shake some sense into those of you who wear granny pants under your yoga shorts. They bunch up. They look bad. They can't be comfortable in any way, and when you get a wedgie, my dears, I can't imagine how incredibly disgusting sweat-soaked cotton feels in that position. Oh, no. Not to mention the fact that you aren't old enough to be my granny, or even my mother. Ugh, just ugh.
And the thong. What is the point? You are wearing what amounts to a boy-cut swimsuit bottom. Do you wear a thong to the pool, under your swimsuit? (Oh my god, do you???) Are you trying to revive the visible thong trend, in Bikram yoga class? Surely it might feel better to put on a nice clean pair of yoga shorts, sans underwear, than throw those lycra babies on over the pair you have been wearing all day.
Whatever your reasons, please reconsider. It is hard enough for me not to pull my yoga shorts wedgie; it is painful for me to have to watch you deal with you and your underwear.
...she had dumps like a truck, truck, truck...
(I confess, I have NO IDEA what the hell the "Thong Song" even means, and yes, I did have to google the lyrics. Stupid, stupid song.)
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Unsent Letter Thursdays: A letter to anybody or anything that I can't, won't, or just didn't send.
Sunday Confession: You know how you think everyone else is normal? They aren't. Read why I'm not right here, and be challenged to comment with your own confessions.
Crap Jobs Tuesday: Hooray! The worst of the worst help-wanted ads.
Random Recipes: Inserted on random days, some fun and tasty raw-food recipes. (You don't have to be a total raw-foodist like me to enjoy them.) Maybe when I get more time (and money) I will make some really fun things, like raw cupcakes!!!
There is a bit of backstory due here. Very recently, I was coerced into joining Facebook. (I say coerced like someone pulled my hair and twisted my arm, but really, I found out my junior high friends were all on it, and I had missed a get-together, so I joined.)
And yes. There, in all their glory, was my eighth-grade class of 1993. Careers! Kids! Travel! Oh, my!
And then there is me. Somehow, "went to college, moved out-of-state, went back to college, got sick, worked some crap jobs, went back to college again and finally got a degree, got married, got really sick, and then got another crap job" does not sound like something I would want to tell my old friends. Neither does "I work in retail." Or, "I shopped away my savings, and now I am trying to figure out how to learn something that evil HR harridans consider important or else go to yoga teacher training...BUT I HAVE A GREAT WARDROBE DAMMIT!!!"
Yeah. None of that. So while my old classmates have families (I'm not jealous...I have decided to remain child-free...but still) real careers, full passports, and great homes, I have...well...a part-time job that allows me to sit and blog. (Not really. Interesting, though, how years ago, all anybody wanted was a job that allowed ample time to read, write, call your friends...hmm, I guess that is "growing up.")
I'm not discounting what I do have. It's just that, when you are a "class brain" and you are 13 years old, the world seems wide open. 15 years later, you realize that somehow, life happened, and you have been passed on the career/life highway by everyone else, no matter if they got straight A's or sat in the back and scribbled all day (I'm not saying anyone did this. I'm making a point.)
So. Facebook. Old friends. Feeling of complete and utter loser-dom, with no way out.
And then I realized, I never really feel like a loser when reading novels penned by 20- or 30-somethings...novels that tell stories about people just like me...too much education, not enough time or money, too much "stuff" that got in the way. How do these writers know exactly what I am going through?
Oh. Yeah. That explains it. They must have had somewhat similar experiences.
Which is why I am back to thinking that maybe I should just be a writer after all. (Supplemented, of course, by something else. At least until I can go to yoga teacher training. Then, I will stay away from stores and restaurants and offices.)
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
I am not talking about clients or customers...I could deal with complaints all day. Because while there will always be people who will never be happy, usually I can at least resolve the problem.
I'm talking about dealing with people I actually have to work with, every day. Maybe I just can't stand it because I'm not doing what I really want to be doing. Which is another problem altogether. I said I would give myself until the beginning of next year to just decide what it is that I want to do. However, I am not going to sit around on my butt being unhappy until then. I have a few ideas so far, but my problem is actually making the decision, and being happy with it (says the girl with about 6 majors in college).
Even when I was finishing my degree, I considered paralegal work. Actually, I considered law school, but knew that with loans and other things, that would not happen, at least not immediately. So I thought about being a paralegal. When I worked insurance claims, I did a lot of the things that a paralegal does, even though that went way above and beyond my job description (what I was paid for, etc). I often wonder why I quit, but then I remember: I tend to be impatient. If after 18 months, I don't even get a real review (other than a review of my "team"), any kind of recognition for what I do (besides from one person), or even a simple "thank you" once in a while, I get discouraged. I know I jumped the gun, but something about saving someone else's ass every week while they got paid twice as much as me made me very angry. Oh well. It was good experience, and I actually liked the work itself...just maybe not the "team" (essentially led by me) that took credit for everything and did...very little. So yeah. Paralegal work. I know I could do it, would like doing it for the right firm, and would be proud to say "paralegal" if anyone asked what I did. It could even lead to bigger things...people go to law school in their 30's...right? However...it is desk work, a lot of indoor work, basic paper-pushing sometimes...and I always wanted to try to avoid that. Well. It's still in the mix for a possibility. I am preparing my resume to send to quite a few firms. It can't hurt to try.
And then there is teaching yoga. I know I should have spent all the damn money I spent this past year going to teacher training, but I never would have made it. I would still be scared, if I got a chance to go in the future, that I wouldn't make it. Autoimmune diseases are no joke. It might sound pretty harmless on webmd.com or whatever, but they really simplify everything. Really. Now, I know that many, many yoga teachers have other jobs. Which is fine. I have always wanted to bartend...maybe not in 20 years...and the smoking thing would make it harder to find a job (I quit smoking 2 years ago, and don't ever want to work where smoking is allowed). There is nothing wrong with waitressing(well, besides that I hate touching food). My grandma raised four of her daughters waitressing. That kicks ass. Back to yoga...I have seriously considered selling all the rest of my stuff (all those expensive purses and shoes I "needed") to try to go to teacher training. Like, next year. Because I would have to get a lot of other shit in order first. Teach some yoga, write a little, tend bar or check coats or whatever. First up: confidence. Need it for both. No way will I apply to work in a club feeling/looking like I do now. Same with yoga. Half naked, sweaty, and teaching? Yeah, gotta work on things first. .
Thus ends my ramble..just throwing some ideas out there...
Sunday, March 22, 2009
2. Fashion. (okay. I do "love fashion" especially in terms of self-expression. However, this is definitely an Alice-down-the-tunnel thing for me. I tend to shy away from self-expression if I see someone more successful, more happy, more fill-in-the-blank than myself. I immediately decide that I must imitate their style, in order to fill my emptiness. Fashion, then, is a dangerous area for me, and I should probably just stick to exploring it on my own time rather than using it as a way to explore careers and make contacts. )
5. Nutrition--specifically holistic nutrition and raw foods (again, though...the "fanatic factor" and recent market-ization of raw foods pisses me off, and if I think about it too much, I tend to feel like my head will explode.)
8. Natural grocery stores (I could spend hours in one. Every single day.)
10. Oh, no. I am sure I will think of a lot more. My sort-of-bad mood could be contributing to this pathetically short list.
THINGS I DON'T LIKE...
1. Working FOR somebody. I never do well if I am not in charge, or at least working WITH somebody. If I have no real responsibility, don't expect me to perform as if I am doing something of utmost importance.
2. Touching people, for the most part. Many people are fine for touching, they pass the personal space test. But the reason I discontinued cosmetology/esthetician school, and nixed the idea of massage school, is that I will never be comfortable touching 100% of people, and in that line of work, you can't pass up even one person for that reason. There is no real criteria that decides whether someone is touch/don't touch. Maybe I am just weird.
3. Food. My husband is awesome at restaurant work. I can't/won't eat most things, and therefore can't/won't work around it. "Nope, sorry, can't tell you how the pasta is, I have Celiac disease..." Er. Won't. Fly.
4. Selling. Trust me, I know that businesses would die if nobody could sell, but if I am hired to be a personal trainer, I want to be a personal trainer. Not the person that has to pull out a script and a sales book and tell people that I can help them if they commit to $1500 (about a tenth of which I will ever personally see) all while wearing a fake smile and a stupid navy blue polo shirt that is stiff with starch and 11 sizes too large. No. Thanks.
5. Being judged all day. Reason number 2 that I would not be the best hairstylist. 19 clients could sing my praise, but the one that seemed unhappy would throw my day off track. I realize that I can't possibly make everyone happy and I just need to get over it, but that one negative judgment would make me mess up the rest of the day. This is a pattern in my life. I need to either get over this (which seems unlikely) or find a career that would minimize this kind of situation.
6. Being cold and/or doing things that cause physical harm. I understand the need to save money and energy, but if a place is cold enough to make my nose run all day long, there's a problem.
7. Having to dress up, yet dealing with things that ruin what you are wearing. Enough said.
8. Sitting. All. Day.
9. Making phone calls. You know how I suck at dealing with people who insult me or my work? It gets much worse if it is on the phone. I will never do telesales. I will become a topless dancer first.
10. The fact that this list basically says "I HATE WORKING!!!!" and really says nothing about general paths I should avoid. Damn. Does this mean I am destined to be a lazy loser who does nothing?
Eh. No. I know that I am not the only person out there who feels like I do...and I know that the ones who are ambitious and creative are successful. All it takes is a little time and creativity...right?
p.s. I know people out there will start ranting about how I need to "get my foot in the door" and "stop complaining and pay my dues." And to that I say this: I have worked at just about every job imaginable. I have tried to climb a corporate ladder, by basically doing monkey's work and following the "career path" outlined on their website for godsakes, going back to school under their direction and taking company sponsored classes that would make prison seem fun. Doing this, I have not made any great contacts, paid any "dues", gotten any great experience, or even made a move upwards. Sure, there is a lot to say about just "having a job and being able to pay your bills," but for anyone to say that that simple fact should make me content and complete is just facile and demeaning.
Wait, you say. You thought you whole-heartedly believed that? Can you be any more flimsy?
Er, no. Probably not. And I have recently vocalized (to myself, at least) exactly why I have been such a jellyfish.
I can't really blame anyone else. I should have seen it coming. I was a precocious child, kicked everyone's ass when it came to grades, passed for 5 years younger until I opened my mouth. (My dad was always saying to me, "Keep your mouth shut and you can order off the children's menu.") However, I also trusted others' authority 100%. (Until later. Trust me, that is a disaster best saved for another story.) Sure, those of you who know me now know that I question "experts" all the time, especially those who like to tell me what is "best" for me. Growing up, though, I thought that my family was just like the perfect television family (until my parents split when I was nine years old, I was practically the only kid I knew with two biological parents, still married, at home) and that what they told me was 100% accurate. It may have been. But if you know even basic facts about psychology, you know that kids often learn more from observing than direct instruction. And somehow, I learned that making people happy would ensure that they liked me and therefore make me happy, no matter what I had to do to earn that. So through years of high school, college, my early 20's...that is what I did. When I felt like just being me wasn't good enough, I tried very hard to be "different" (you know, that elusive "different" that is really just another misguided youth trying to one-up her friends to "win" for the week, or the night, or eventually, forever. So hooray, now I have an ugly tattoo on my back, among other things.) Not once did I stop to wonder if everything I was doing really made me happy. And this continued, for years and years, until a guy (I will be nice and not say "an asshole." Oops.) I was dating broke up with me and I spent about two weeks in bed. I finally realized that I was nothing but a dying fish, flopping aimlessly, trying to hold on and let go at the same time, able to see the much-needed ocean but just unable to reach it. So I moved on. I did a lot of things that got me the eye-rolls, the lectures (still from my mother, and in trying to figure out why, I am sure it has to do with her own mental state, but forgive me if I have more to do now than analyze her actions), the sighs. I went back to school, supposedly to teach, but changed my mind in the end. Did I really, honestly think I would get a great job with my degree? Probably not. I should have gone back for Nutrition and Dietetics, but someone talked me out of that (see? jellyfish) and I ended up studying literature and writing for those 2 years. I figured I would be able to do that elusive "something" with my degree, but the truth was, I just really like going to school. I wish I could have a penny from each person who complained about it. I could be a student for life with that money.
Back to the point. Here I am, nearly 30 years old, and lost. I know only a few things for sure: one, I am unhappy and two, I am not meant to be where I am. So I am trying to make three lists: things I like/love, things I can do well, and things I want to learn more about.
I know many people out there advocate specialization (you know, don't spread yourself too thin...to which I usually stick out my tongue) and that's all well and good. Maybe I resist the idea of sticking to one thing because so far, I feel like the only thing I have been able to specialize in, is being a jellyfish (spineless, yet stinging). And that is just about the last thing I want to specialize in, above only a few things, such as flipping burgers (no offense, but I'm vegetarian) and allopathic medicine. Yikes.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
First, I need to explain the state of myself right now. Out of shape, hair about 3 MONTHS overdue and therefore very rat-brown, red eyes from constantly being around cat hair in the store.
And today. Gym hair, due to me choosing the gym over a blow-out. Bad make-up, due to almost being late for work. Split lip and red spots on face, due to dropping a bag of cat food on my face yesterday (don't ask). Hole in sweater, thanks to job hazards. Gross, too-big, old pants from Forever 21, due to non-laundry-doing husband. The list goes on.
So this (admittedly adorable) guy comes in, dressed in a 3-piece suit, carrying a briefcase.
"Wow, this is a store just for pets, huh?"
Nope, dude...it's really a fetish store in disguise. See? Fooled ya, haha!!
*Guy walks over to a rack of dog shirts, browses.*
"Anyway. I'm blahblahblah with blahblahblah company. Is your office manager or manager around?"
Yeah, right. I have learned well from my boss. Deny, deny, deny!!!
"Actually, not today. Sorry. "
*Hoping he picks Friday to come back and bug someone else.*
"Oh. Okay. I'll have to come back, then."
*Walks toward exit.*
*Without turning around, shouts:*
"You're beautiful, by the way!"
Yeah. Ha, hahaha, hahahahahaha. Seriously. If the fat, the bad outfit, the messy hair and makeup, and the cat-food-attacked face didn't stop him, why did the ring on my finger not?
I will never understand men.
Too bad, though. If I had been single, and he had actually had the balls to say it to me, and not the entire store, I might have given him my number. But I'm not, and maybe if I see him again I should set him straight so he doesn't miss his chance with a girl who actually is single.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Bad idea, I guess. I have been so sick for the past few days. I woke up at about 4:00 this morning feeling like somebody had filled my stomach and intestines with knives and then placed them in a vise.
I still can't say no to the occasional sushi, but for the most part, it looks like I'm to be a vegan girl for life.
I guess I will start posting smoothie and fruit pictures again, too:)
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Today's item comes from one of my favorite categories: SHOES!!!
Lela Rose for Payless Elsby Brocade Pump
Now, at $38.00, these would not have broken the bank account. However, I chose not to buy them. Even though I love peep-toes, I love brocade, I love the silver-y color, and I love the little bow, I said "no."
First of all...faux wood. I do own a pair of wedges with faux wood, and I only wear them occasionally (as in, to an outdoor concert where there may be mud that destroys my shoes.) Faux wood on shoes is more obvious than faux leather (which is fine for vegans...I mean faux leather that tries to look like leather). Maybe nobody else ever pays attention to that kind of thing, but I do, and I don't like faux wood on shoes.
But the silver brocade still called my name...and then I remembered another reason why I should not buy them...my past with Payless shoes.
When I was 20 and had just moved back to this hellhole from Colorado, I worked at a music store, bought all my clothes at Forever 21, and thought that having 100 pairs of cheap shoes meant I was the shiznit. (Not really, but whatever.) I really wanted this pair of grey pumps from a catalog, but they were $300 (which, unbelieveably, was almost my entire rent back then!) and I didn't buy them. But hey! I walked into Payless, and there was a dead ringer (in the way that those plastic surgery people who want to look like celebrities are dead ringers for whatever celebrity they are trying to look like--meaning FAKE and OBVIOUSLY FAKE!)
I paid $12.99 for them and wore them out that night. To a club.
And 30 minutes into it, my friend Michael waved his hand at me, and said "Look up at the camera!" and took a photo. Of me crouching down, drunkenly putting wet napkins under the straps of the shoes. He captioned it "This is a new dance move called 'Ouch my fucking shoes hurt'" and I never lived that story down.
I have dancer's feet. They are destroyed, they have very high arches that require support, they swell from overuse. Even expensive, well-made shoes hurt my feet. So the $12.99 Payless shoes were donated to the Salvation Army the next day. I hope some (lucky bitch) woman with narrow, cute feet found them and is still enjoying them in all their yummy fake-leatherness.
Finally...for $38.00, I can go to DSW and score some real leather shoes that won't give me a blister the size of a silver dollar.
And, where would I wear silver brocade shoes? It's like my dress collection...I have nowhere to wear any of those things, anyway.
Why? Well, I think my blog sucks because it doesn't have a theme or a purpose, and it is just not interesting to read about a nearly-30's girl who doesn't craft or sew or knit (but that may be changing!) and who can no longer afford to spend her entire paycheck on clothes. And I won't be actually buying new things nearly every day for a while, but I sure do still see things that I would consider buying, and don't, for whatever reason.
So I guess I can throw in some other themed days, and definitely post things I do buy, if and when I do, but I figured "Stuff I Didn't Buy" would be funnier.
And we shall see how long this lasts.
With only thirteen minutes before closing time, I made a beeline for the wheatgrass I so desperately needed and headed to the checkout. Of course, there was the inevitable poky person in front of me, so I had to wait as she complained, counted coins, and cursed the cashier. To waste time, I looked up at the magazine rack. And nearly died.
I saw this:
Now. I am not really sure if I have ever mentioned it, but I have the world's biggest crush on Seth Rogen. No, really. I'm not even sure if Kevin Griffin (from Better Than Ezra) would win over Seth if it came to a "Battle of the Crushes." I mean it. Maybe that is a good thing. I mean, Seth Rogen does kind of remind me of my husband, so that's a good thing...right?
(But...curly hair...*chases after Ben with a home perm kit*)
(Really...notice that both Kevin and Seth have curly hair, while Ben's hair is about as far from curly as it gets.)
You might also not know about my MAGAZINE BUYING BAN. At the beginning of December, I put myself on an until-further-notice magazine buying ban. For two reasons. Well, three.
One: I filled the paper media recycling bin every week, and I don't read the daily newspaper. Ugh, waste of trees.
Two: I was buying, at that point, about 40 magazines a month. 40! Fashion, fitness, yoga, spa, news...you name it, I read it all. Yeah, go ahead, do the math. How sad.
Three: Magazines serve
So, I said NO MORE MAGAZINES. I did fill out some survey for a free year of Self and Shape, which kind of suck as far as magazines go, but are nice for treadmill reading. I had a few slip-ups, and one time Ben bought me BARK, but come on...
The grand total of magazines that have actually been paid for by this household since December 2?
That is, er, ten percent of what I used to buy in one month. In over three months. So I consider that a triumph.
However. Back to Seth. I seriously considered buying that Vanity Fair last night. But I didn't. See, at the moment, $4.95 for a magazine seems like a lot to me. I have a lot of stuff I need to pay in order to put myself in a better position for the future. And maybe I haven't been perfect, but I have been improving.
And chihuahuas. If you don't know of my "I must own 10 chihuahuas someday" goal and my love for the breed, you haven't been paying attention. I wanted my first chi when I was about 6 and the neighbor girl had them. My parents said "no, they are mean...and we have the Labs."
Humph. How boring, for a little 6-year old girl who could not decide if she wanted to be a tomboy or a ballerina princess. Labs were great for the tomboy part, but ballerina princesses do NOT have drooling, doggy-smelling, duck-retrieving dogs.
So the stars of Beverly Hills Chihuahua (which I loved, by the way) on the cover increased my interest...probably more than Seth did, to be honest.
But still, I told myself "no."
Besides...I don't even read Vanity Fair.
So...if any of you out there are offended by Seth's cute little jiggly belly, or by the bow-tie/barrel ensemble, and you would like to get rid of your copy (or even just your cover!) of this month's Vanity Fair, please let me know. It would be much appreciated.
Because nothing in the world is sexier than a man with a little beer belly, wearing glasses, a bow tie, and a barrel, holding a chihuahua and gazing at the camera. Nothing.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
I don't know what it is, since I loved my Chip'n'Dale cartoons as a kid, but lately, Disney stuff just makes me feel kind of...horky.
Anyway. I wanted to see Beverly Hills Chihuahua ever since I first saw the poster. That was something like last January. For some reason, we never made it to the theatre, and I had been (not-so-) patiently awaiting its arrival on DVD. Yesterday I logged on to redbox.com and scored a copy for the night for the bargain price of $1.08.
My husband had his reservations. Sure, he loves our girls, but a movie about talking chihuahuas? A Disney movie about talking chihuahuas? Um..."I'll watch it for you" was his take on the whole thing.
Yes, it was cheesy and Disney and silly, but I cried. At about 4 parts. My husband told me that someday he would buy it for me just to see my face when the pack of chihuahuas comes out into the desert and scares off the mountain lions. And even though I hate sequels, I am secretly hoping there will be one.
This all might have something to do with the fact that Chloe, the chihuahua in the movie, looks almost exactly like my Marley. Marley was a chihuahua I had in 2004. We found her a new home before she was a year old because I got too sick and messed up to take care of her. I had to leave for a month and I am still upset that my mom or my dad would not care for her for that month. I miss her so much! I hope she is happy still.
I am hoping that I can find a used copy of the movie for less than retail...until then...no mas!
Sunday, March 1, 2009
There are already so many things I can't or won't eat due to Hashimoto's, severe digestive dysfunction, wheat intolerance etc.
Add to that the fact that through experience, I KNOW that I feel better eating an entirely raw vegan diet (well, "beegan" since I do use the bee pollen...) and it seems like I have a clear answer.
See, I'm a calorie counter. And before you go off telling me how I should not do this, blahblahblah, just save it. It is what I know, what I do, and it isn't like it prevents me from working, going to yoga, playing with my dogs, etc. You get the picture. I have been a counter for 10+ years. I know by heart the calories per ounce of all fruits and vegetables, calories per ounce of fresh-squeezed juices, calories per serving of most foods (even packaged foods I have not touched in over 5 years)--by weight. Yes, by the gram. You could say I have a thing for numbers (which is also why I am working out a plan to--don't shoot me--take some programming classes at the local college. The economy!! Must give self job security!! Nitpicky copyediting skills plus math aptitude=awesome programmer. Right? But that's another story. Promise). If I can't measure it, I probably won't eat it (with the odd exception of sushi, because while I was crazy enough to bring a food scale to a restaurant at 20, I just can't do that anymore. Take-out sushi? You bet it goes on the scale. I have it down to a science I won't even go into, allowing for the fish, the rice...I don't eat the sushi with other crap, so that doesn't matter).
So. I'm a calorie counter. And on raw foods, I must eat a LOT of calories to stay as active as I am and not feel like I am starving. Like, 2800 a day, maintenance level for someone like me who works on their feet all day and hates elevators and goes to 90 minute Bikram yoga classes followed by an hour at the gym every day.
Which would be fine, if "maintenance" were acceptable.
(Note to self: It's time to get serious about this. You have only liked your body a total of one year since you were 20. This is not some age-related metabolism thing. You have your health figured out. Do something. Just because an XS at almost every store is too big DOES NOT mean you are thin. In your case it means you have a tiny frame and the weight you are carrying looks 5 times as bad on you as it would on a taller and/or larger boned person. Stop pigging it!!)
So. The level I need to be at is next to impossible, with my "need" for giant 600- calorie smoothies (juice and plain fruit only, too--nothing added, I just need a LOT) and 310-calorie Organic Food Bars (the only really portable thing I can eat--don't say fruit or carrots--remember I can't really chew or digest any vegetables or most whole fruit--sucks). I mean, NOBODY would be satisfied this way. Trust me. Oh, if I could just eat until I felt full (which is what I fully intend to do when I am in better shape--it works for maintenance, at least for me) then 100% raw vegan would be so, so easy.
But right now the focus is weight loss, so I am adding in a few more foods here and there--things that are easy to take to work, things that help my crappy (no pun intended) digestive system, things that make me feel more satisfied.
I can't help but feel like some sort of icky failure. I mean, eggs? Really? Sure, they are organic, and I do like them, but...gross. And fish? I like it, but if I had to catch it and clean it myself, I would say "no freaking way!"
I'm sure I'll get 1000 comments about "doing this all the wrong way" but sorry, I don't have the faith in "just eat what you want now, sometime in the next 5 years 20 pounds will come off." Yeah, I would like to feel good sooner than 5 years from now, kthanksbye.
See, I have NEVER eaten anything close to the SAD (standard American diet). Red meat? Quit when I was 15. Fried stuff? Not since high school. Packaged food? A thing of the past. So my calorie counting is completely different than, say, a Weight Watchers calorie counting plan (oops, sorry, POINTS) where you can factor in a McDonald's meal and a fudge brownie. Nope. I'm talking about eating my mostly-fruit diet with some lentils, oats, eggs, maybe a little goat dairy.
WHOOOOO HOOOOOOOOOOOO, I am LIVING ON THE EDGE NOW!!!!!!!
Sorry, I had to do that.
Anyway. Boring, long post, I know, but I had to let that out. I'll update you all on my guilt about being a crappy vegan (or non-vegan, if you will).
Friday, February 27, 2009
fresh squeezed orange juice
fresh-made wheatgrass juice
and the VitaMix in the background!!! Hooray!!
I might post a new one tonight if I get inspired. My husband is working late so I will be bored.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
So I am in the kitchen trying to entertain two hyper puppies and he calls me in, and says:
(wait. are you ready for this?)
"Hey, can you bring your yoga clothes here, I'll wash them for you."
Yes, my husband offered to do the gross job of rinsing out my soaking, sweaty yoga clothes and towel while he was in the bathroom (usually I wash them out in the tub at about 2am when I go to bed).
Wow. Just wow.
Monday, February 23, 2009
You really can't tell, but it's a gorgeous mauve-y lavender.
Too bad I downed the wheatgrass juice Ben made for me before taking the photo...it was a beautiful emerald green (sometimes it has more yellow in it; today, it was pure green!)
fresh squeezed pink grapefruit juice
E3Live blue-green algae
The only thing not organic was the papaya...it is IMPOSSIBLE to find organic papaya, and even though I hate that, I love papaya and I love what it does for me, so it stays.
And yes, I do like to drink my smoothies from a wine glass. Classy, eh?
Sunday, February 22, 2009
As I approach 30, I realize that I've been through things that would cause many people to give up, shut down, or freak out (not that I haven't freaked out a little bit, but I'm still here!)
I also realize that, as much as I loved going away to college, moving away on a whim, and pulling all-nighters several times a week, I feel more and more like me as I get older. When I was younger, I had no personal style, didn't like myself very much, and just latched on to someone else's mannerisms and styles for a while before tiring of them and moving on. (That sounds worse than it is. I promise.) I see people in their early 20's now, people who seem so much more...together...than I ever thought I did, and I wonder how they do it. And then I see photos of myself and think "Okay, I looked like I had it together, but inside, I knew what was really going on, and it certainly wasn't poised."
That's my word for this year-"poised." Ever since someone used it to my face, I have seen that "poised" is exactly what I have been aiming for all my life. People try to compliment you, call you "cute" or "hot" or "attractive" or any number of things, but somewhere deep inside, you freak out, thinking, "How long does 'hot' last? Aging is scarier than death...will 'cute' still be around when I'm 50? Will it matter?" Maybe it will. Maybe I'll still be "hot" when I'm 50...60...90? (Who knows, with the raw food and the Bikram yoga, har har har). But one thing I know. "Poised" defies age, income, education level, job status, social class, and trends. It's just timeless. My teeth aren't perfect (in fact, they suck) and my hair may be falling out again, but poise doesn't require a set of veneers and new extensions every three weeks.
At least not in my estimation.
Back to the whole "being a grown-up sucks" theme...I have to go clean now. I am so sick of having a messy, messy apartment. Hooray for cleaning!!!
In November, I really, really wanted a Jet Setter Jr. but could not find one that did not have (barf, gag) gold hardware. Sorry, girls, I know you love it, but with my coloring and my jewelry, it just looks tacky. Like orange. Looks great on some people, but on me? EEECCH.
Anyway. I settled for a different cream-colored F&C bag, called ... the City Clutch... maybe? I can't remember. I just remember immediately sending it back because it was UGLY. Just gross.
And then I was sad. Especially since I am now supposed to be doing a lot of NOT shopping and instead paying rent and bills and all those fun grown-up things. I would NEVER own a F&C. (Not that it matters. I know.)
Well, all that changed the other day. See, months ago, I ordered a dress from Gilt and had to return it (stupid vanity sizing; what, am I supposed to shop in the children's store now? ugh) and since they don't actually return things, I had a big ol' store credit. So I scored one of these:
Bonus if it is big enough to carry all my work crap. That would be sweet!!
So...FREE (well, like free, since I really just used an old credit that I never would have gotten a refund for) spring bag. Hooray for me!!
And yet somehow I still feel guilty. Go figure.
Friday, February 20, 2009
Now pick your chins up off the floor.
I've been doing a lot of yoga. As much as my body can handle. I've also been taking some shitty phone pictures of my girls, because my husband broke the camera.
So enjoy. Soon I might actually try to ... you know, WRITE something...
Oh, and I changed my profile photo. Please ignore the background of piles of clothing on top of all FOUR dressers that I own. Yes, those are full as well. Yes, I know I have a problem.
Finally, puppy pictures
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Monday, February 16, 2009
I did disappear for a while, and I'm not sure if I will be posting every single day. I'm sure I won't be posting about the same kind of stuff anymore, and if reading about yoga and refinishing furniture found in the alley won't thrill you, I apologize, but my life is changing and so is my blog.
And damn it, I'm HAPPY about it. Sometime last August, I "took a break" from yoga, and (not blaming this on not doing yoga, but it is interesting to think about) somehow became this horrible materialistic monster. Okay, maybe it wasn't SO bad, but really, I remember getting ready to leave for our destination wedding in December 2007 and going to H+M to buy myself a "trip wardrobe." I was SO DAMN HAPPY over my $200 bag of clothes. And somehow, mere months later, I became convinced that a bra must cost $200 or it was a cheap piece of shit. (Okay, again I exaggerate, but still. My point has been made.) I was happier before. A LOT happier. And I'm working my way back to being happy like that again.
Let's see. Yes, we has the drama right now. And as much as it does suck, at least I am not stuck in a "Groundhog Day" existence. When I die, I might have a list of drama longer than Route 66, but nobody can ever say my life has EVER been boring!! And that's fine. I'm also finally getting my shit together. Once upon a time I was happy because I was totally self-sufficient. What happened to that? I want that back! I do!
Hmm. Yoga. I went back. And it was like I took a few days off, not six whole months. It's amazing. And I wonder why I ever stopped going (being sick, yes, but there was something else...?)
And stuff. I am starting to clean out the "stuff" in this place. Amazing what accumulates in a year. The good news? I'm not moving. NOPE. I have looked and looked and looked and there is no way we will save money by moving. Either the utilities will cost more, the car insurance will cost more, the gas will cost more....or the place is the size of our living room. So we stay. And that's that. I'm happy about that.
And as for all the people who think they know the whole story, and hold it against me...my husband is my best friend. I "married late" according to many people (hah, I was 28) and prior to dating my husband, I dated a LOT. A LOT A LOT. And I know what is out there. And I have seen friends' marriages, my parent's marriage, strangers' marriages...and while my husband may have been being a complete and utter stupid idiot the past few years, he loves me, he is my best friend, and I love him. And I think a lot of people never even find that. So say what you will, but I believe in marriage, and not in divorcing at the first sign of imperfection.
And that's it. Sorry if this is boring, and that I haven't been writing as much. I'll be around.
Until then, I will share with you an amusing story.
The highway right by our apartment is completely closed--they are tearing it up and re-doing the entire thing. We live right by the bridge, and I walk over it to get to yoga every day. Today there was a guy standing there at the bridge, yelling down at the construction workers: "YOU HAVE THE BEST JOB EVER!! YOU GET TO FUCKING DESTROY SHIT!!! YEAH!!!"
Gotta love the enthusiasm.
p.s. ANONYMOUS...(i know who you are)...that is creepy. I was writing this post when your comment e-mail came through...it's like we're telepathic...I'm still here, just busy at work, and if this goes private, you'll be invited, of course!!!
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
i have to set my blog to private as soon as possible, so by the end of this week it will be un-readable unless I have invited you (at least according to what I understand from blogger).
if you are by chance not on my "followers" list, please let me know who you are by giving a link to your blog, or telling me a little about yourself...just trying to make sure you are not anyone that I don't want to invite (trust me...if you were, you would know. but still).
thanks for understanding! it will make me feel a LOT better...
Monday, January 26, 2009
The other day I created a window display.
(I would love to include a photo but due to the drama mentioned above, details about my place of work must be kept secret.)
I was so excited that my creation will be seen by everyone that walks by! Remember...I have felt in the past that I was underused at jobs, overqualified for the things I have done...so some real responsibility is very, very exciting!
Anyway. I had to dress dog mannequins as part of my display. They are like stuffed animals, but not floppy, with wire in the legs and tail to pose them. They come in XS, S, M, L, and XL to fit different sizes of dog clothes. They have no features, like the human mannequins with a head but no face; they have nondescript ears, no noses, no eyes, no mouth, no toenails, nothing. It's weird but in some way they are kind of cute.
I caught myself talking to them under my breath (I do work alone for the most part so it's not like anyone was there to hear me.) "Don't you look cute?" I would say after putting a hoodie sweater on one of them. And immediately I would shake my head and roll my eyes at myself.
Then five minutes later, I would catch myself doing it again. Ugh, am I really that stressed out that I am reduced to conversing with eyeless plush dogs?
Oh, well. I am guessing that it would only be a problem if they started talking back.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Tomorrow (later today??!) I will prove to myself that I finally have a job that I can still do while suffering from intense stress and anxiety.
Which may not sound like much, but trust me, in the past I have been paralyzed by lesser situations.
I guess this is a good thing. I have to grasp on to it.
That is saying a lot, since I have nearly died twice in my life, and was assaulted at 14.
I'm not a kid anymore, but today I saw things that nobody should ever, ever have to see, no matter what their age. I'm so done pointing fingers and/or having them pointed at me.
I should know by now that things are never really easy, but it is beyond me why it seems like everything I touch turns to shit. As much as I am trying to stay positive (this from me, the type-a world-class cynic) I find it hard to do anything right now but be very pissed off.
I feel powerless...and that was done completely on purpose.
I apologize for the cryptic blog and the fact that none of it will ever be explained. I just need to bitch at someone and it is 2a.m. and I have nobody to bitch to...just the computer.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Seriously. I bought a few pairs of Target pumps a couple of months ago--patent ones--because I wasn't sure I would wear patent shoes often enough since I love my patent bags and didn't want to go overboard.
Monday was my first day at work, and I wanted shoes that looked dressy but wouldn't be a huge loss if a Great Dane decided to pee on my foot. Meaning, not any of the beloved Choos or Loubies. So I grabbed a pair of dark grey patent pumps I had purchased at Target and ran off to work.
Nine hours later, I did not have aching feet. I went to the gym and took off my Target shoes; I did not rip them off my feet and throw them at the wall (like I was tempted to do with a certain $325 pair of Theory platforms on Christmas eve. Four hours at a family function and I thought I was ready to cut off my feet. Humph.) My unusually wide toe box was not squished, and my high arches did not ache.
So, my "special" shoes are reserved for shorter periods of wear, when there is less danger of puppy pee and constant running back and forth. For work, I will stick with Target cheapies. You can't beat $29.99 for a pair of shoes that don't look cheap with your nice pants. Thanks again, Target.
Now, if only the Thakoon for Target line weren't so disappointing...
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
I feel like telling a random story that makes me laugh all the time.
The first thing I thought when I saw my husband was "Oh my God that adorable guy is smiling at me!! I bet he is very young and very taken." The second thing I thought was that he reminded me of Clay Aiken when he was on American Idol...with the glasses and the spiky hair...when I had a crush on him (shut up!).
See, we met at work. He had been working there for a while, and was behind the front desk when I came down the stairs. He looked up at me and gave me the biggest smile EVER, and right then I developed a huge crush on him. I think every single person besides him knew about that crush the entire time I worked there. That's how those things work.
So yeah. I always tease him about "looking like Clay Aiken." Which he really doesn't...I mean, there are some scary pictures of Clay Aiken out there, which look NOTHING like Ben. Still, that's what I thought of when I first saw him, and it has stuck in my head.
Back in October, when I went to Omaha, there was a picture of Clay Aiken and his baby on the cover of some magazine. To be funny, I bought it. The picture scarily reminded me of Ben.
I mean, it just...looks like him in some way. As in, if Clay Aiken robbed a gas station and they put out a police artist sketch, someone would see Ben and call the cops. Not identical, but damn close.
I kept the magazine. I couldn't help it. Long after everything else got thrown in the recycling bin, I kept Aiken's face. Finally, I handed it to Ben to put on the pile. I went into the other room to do some cleaning, and a few minutes later he came in with the cover torn off and said, "I don't know why I am doing this, but I saved the cover for you since you like it so much." He constantly denies any kind of resemblance, but I tease him anyway.
It ended up in a box of stuff on the bedroom floor (lately the bedroom has become a junk storage room, and even though I try to limit myself to one "random junk" box, I always have several).
Again I was in there cleaning, and Ben walked in. He did some kind of double-take jump back thing, and kind of laughed. And then he said:
"I can't believe I am telling you this but when I walked in, I looked down and thought 'why is there a picture of me with a baby in that box?'"
I nearly died laughing.
So yeah, I used to think Clay Aiken was cute. So what? And yeah, I do think that he and Ben have some physical similarities. And yeah, Ben will give me a lot of shit for posting this.
And here are some silly photos of Ben.
Hey, at least I don't say he looks like Harry Potter, which is what my mom and a couple of my aunts say...
So...whoever he looks like, he is 100% my Benji and I love him immensely.
If you are reading this...I LOVE YOU, BENJI!!!!
I found myself at Whole Foods a couple of hours ago.
That isn't unusual; we used to go there almost every single day. I get food there, sure, but also shaving cream, toothpaste, etc.
Lately, though, I have been working out a food budget. You all know the story about my husband; he can and will eat anything, so he is happy that I am no longer forcing organic whole wheat pasta and all-natural soda into his adorable face.
"Working out" a food budget means trying to see how much we spend on what we need (in my world, wheatgrass to make juice is a need, but I can do without expensive dried berries and raw nuts...the things make me sick anyway...anyway, it's all relative) each week and figuring from there. I way overshot my gas budget, I guess preparing for the worst in terms of $5 per gallon gas. Really, though, when I get into my routine of yoga, work, gym, I will drive a total of something stupid like 400 miles a month if I don't go a bunch of extra places (where will I go? Shopping??!? Um, no...) and don't waste gas. So I guess we have a little wiggle room for food.
Most people balk at the amount of money we spend on groceries. However, most people don't seem to account for the soda they buy on their way to work, the lunches out, the delivery for dinner, the free things they eat at work or wherever (I don't eat fast food, can't eat food even if it is offered at work unless for some odd reason they have something I can actually eat, and I don't eat at restaurants except the occasional sushi, and that is usually when someone wants to take us out for a birthday or whatever.) So yeah. For a while, we didn't make a food budget, because we didn't need one. We just bought what we wanted, and that was that.
Now, we do need one.
So I set us up for a whopping $360 a month.
HAHAHAHAHAHAHA YEAHHHHHHH RIGHT!
Never in a million years. It takes me $400 just to feed my little self with things that don't make me sick or cause some reaction. So I am trying to keep us at $500 a month. Ben gets free food at work. We like Ben getting free food. Free food is good. (And if you want to tell me about my "ridiculous" food budget, add every last Starbucks, fast food, restaurant, and bar receipt to your grocery receipts for a week. If it is really under $125 a week, you are lucky, and I can imagine you don't have any dietary restrictions at all.)
Most people, if you have read this blog at all, know that I try to stick to a raw foods diet. This is mainly because I can't eat anything from a package, because I can't eat soy, wheat, colorings, MSG, many spices, and a whole bunch of other things. (Well, I can, if I want to become ill enough to miss 2-3 days of work and working out, and/or see the doctor.) However, it is very expensive to eat raw (I won't even start to think of how much!) and that is a problem. So, I am making do with a diet that is about 60% raw and eating lentils, plain potatoes, and/or rice for dinner. (These are the only two things that don't disagree with me right now. I have tried oatmeal, oat bran, brown rice pasta, quinoa, teff, handmade granola, soy and wheat free vegan burgers, wheat free bread, etc, etc, etc...and my body liked NONE of them. The burgers were good, but all the onions and garlic and stuff made me sick. Damn.)
Some day I would LOVE to replace my cooked food choices with inexpensive raw foods (so many people eat 100% raw for pretty much free--if you live in the right area, you can basically forage and have all the fresh fruit you want. This makes me want to give up my mountain dream and move to Bali.) Bananas, apples, a whole pineapple for dinner, a bag of grapefruit. I have done this before, with a lot of success, but one, I do eat totally organic now (to me the organic part is more important than 100% raw right now, so if the choice is organic rice or conventional apples, you bet I'm going to eat the rice) and two, my TMJ and teeth are so bad that I cannot chew most things. Yeah. That's the bigger reason why I eat smoothies, mashed up Organic Food Bars, and baked potatoes and lentils. I can't chew a damn apple. I can try, and end up swallowing huge chunks of food that my body cannot handle. All the teeth on the left side of my mouth don't meet, and therefore cannot grind...every tooth is either broken or chipped...and I had a big one extracted last May, so I have a big hole. Thanks to TMJ. God, I sound like your 95-year-old grandmother, don't I?
So yeah, there is my stupid, pathetic food story. Let's hope I can make our new budget work. (Ben gets excited to think of a future filled with dinners consisting entirely of instant mashed potatoes and cheap macaroni and cheese. No, really, he has eaten that for dinner every single night for the past month. Even when I have offered to make mashed potatoes from scratch, or bake a fish filet I found in the back of the freezer. Nope. I call it "ghetto pie" and he loves it. I must say, though, that it is a step up from his obsession in 2007--when we first started dating, it was instant mashed potatoes squashed together with a cheap chicken pot pie. I kid you not.)
Unfortunately, I was unable to resist the siren song of Yoga Journal at the Whole Foods checkout. It has been a relatively long time since I have purchased a magazine. I used to buy about 20 a month (no, really) so this is a huge improvement. I saw it and had to have it. First of all, I will be returning to Bikram yoga at the start of February (and I am not ashamed to say it: my momma is paying for it for a while, to help us out...she knows how much it has helped me) and I want to get back in to doing yoga every day. I liked myself a lot better when I did.
Second of all, I saw the Lululemon ad on the back cover before I even saw the front cover, and just this one ad makes it $4.99 well spent:
That's just...the greatest thing ever. It actually made me get teary-eyed.
Just...wow. I love it!!!
Sunday, January 18, 2009
1. A new French press
2. a cheap hairstylist (well. not cheap, as in "dresses for work as if she is the star of the Moulin Rouge and goes home with scary men who have scary facial hair," but cheap as in, "does not cost $100 every 4 weeks just to make me look not-Goth and not-creepy)
3. someone to fix my stupid camera
Disaster. Pure disaster. On the day before I start my new job, I break my freaking French press, making it impossible for me to make my beloved organic espresso. Since I swore off stevia-sweetened energy drinks (natural, but VERY EXPENSIVE) and Starbucks (er...coffee not organic, water not distilled but municipal water, various unfounded rumors about business practices, 3-day stint as barista FAILED) one thing is certain: I NEED MY FRENCH PRESS!!
Okay, maybe I will hit a coffee shop occasionally, or grab a nice frosty GURU energy drink. But for my daily caffeine fix, I need that French press.
Seriously. I have a nice fancy Thermos (shut up, it is very pink and chic...maybe impossible to drink out of, but pink and chic. Or I could just go steal a bunch of paper cups from the coffeehouse down the street. I have experimented. You can use one about 8 times before it starts to fall apart. Coffee from a paper cup just tastes better. And you can recycle it, too!) and some nice organic espresso, but no more French press.
I guess I could haul my butt to Target to find one. Because even though I'm broke, I know myself, and all week at work, I'll be right down the street from a few coffee places, and $3 x 4 days is $12, which is all the stupid little thing would cost...plus, I would be drinking the BAD COFFEE.
Ugh. Just UGH.
And hair disaster. As much as I would LOVE to darken my hair and just be done with it, I can't. Why? Because I look scary with dark hair. Seriously scary. Just dead. Or not there. Or like I have laser eyes. I want to go back to being Kate-Hudson-totally-blonde. (Er. I guess I think our coloring is similar. And I like her shade of blonde. When mine was that color, I looked best. At least I thought so. Yeah.) Which I can actually do myself for the bargain price of about $18, or less than $5 a week, which would work, especially when I get a French press, because really even just 2 coffees a week would cost more than $5 a week! However. Right now I still have a lot of residual dark brown-ness from my last stint of "let's see if dark hair looks good now even though it hasn't the last 4587 times I have tried it!" And I might be good, but I am not good enough to ensure an even blonding with minimum drama, when my hair has about 4 shades of brown and 3 of red and some blonde streaks in there somewhere. And when it is this long. AND NO I AM NOT CUTTING IT!!! Someone bleach me. Please. I feel like I look about 50.
And camera disaster. I don't know why it doesn't work. It just quit. I guess I could dig out the mini video camera that I bought when I told my dad that I NEEDED it because I had 2 puppies. I guess he figured that was as close to grandkids as he would get and forked over the money (not a lot...I ordered it "refurbished" but when it came all it was, was one that had been returned to the store. Nobody had even opened it. Hooray for me!!) Anyway. I think it takes still shots. But I need to take pictures of my growing babies, and I need to take pictures of my work outfits. Not yet. But when I get a free-standing mirror that doesn't stretch my body into ridiculous proportions. But someday.
Hmm. I hate Wal Mart but someone gave me a gift card and I think I can get a free-standing mirror there. Hmm. Wal Mart? Ugly fat mirror? Which is the worse evil? Wal Mart is bad, but I can drive to the one that is slightly less shitty. A fat mirror is probably the worst evil of all. Worse than Wal Mart.
And that's bad.