Or Spring Stinks... Everyone has a different way of greeting Spring. Some people fly to wherever MTV is shooting their Spring break special, strip naked, cover themselves in whipped cream and scream for the camera. Others "Spring" clean their house from top to bottom, covering every single tiny inch (I'm not sure which is more frightening, the MTV or the cleaning.)
My dog likes to greet Spring by seeking out any skunks in the area.
It's at times like these that I am grateful that my dog, Max, was Mr. Savy's brilliant choice. I make HIM clean the dog off. (By the way, if it ever happens to you - a combination of baking soda, hydrogen peroxide, and dawn works wonders. Better than any other remedy out there, and we have tried them all, believe me.) Right now both of our dogs are sitting out front with bewildered expressions, trying to figure out why I won't let them in the house. It's definitely Spring.
Now that I am officially on Spring break myself, I'm working out what to do with myself. I could go running around in my bikini like an idiot, but I'd likely become hypothermic. So, instead I have decided to complete all the papers the teachers assigned (nice of them, eh?) and then lock myself in my studio. Hopefully I make some really decent progress on my paintings. So, I'm not certain how much of me will be around this week. I might post every day... I might forget to eat for three days, not to mention turn on the computer (this drives Mr. Savy nuts, he doesn't understand how someone can forget to eat for days. I can't explain it.)
Either way, I'm very excited. I've been dreaming about the paints and brushes. I have all my canvases just waiting for me.
*blissful sigh*
Saturday, March 31, 2007
Thursday, March 29, 2007
Floss This
I don't know anyone who likes going to the dentist, and I am no exception (if you do, you need to seek out help immediately.) It's not that anything really bad ever happens to me, I have never even had a cavity. But I hate it just the same.
It's the little things that make going to the dentist a miserable experience, like that feeling of chewing on sand after they clean your teeth. Or trying to figure out where exactly you are supposed to put your tongue while they are poking around in your mouth and thinking "oh no, am I moving my tongue more now because I am thinking about it? Is it possible to get my tongue to lie perfectly still out of the way? OMG would they let me rinse or swallow or something?" How about those snarky little things they like to paste to the ceiling (i.e. "you don't have to floss all your teeth, just the ones you want to keep" with little pink flowers around it) for you to look at when you can't figure out if you are supposed to be looking the person who is cleaning your teeth in the eye or not. The paper bib is always stylish, and being yelled at about flossing is always a joy. Yep, doesn't all of that sound like the best time EVER?
Today was my semi-annual trip to the dentist. I figured it would stink as usual, but this time it was even worse. This time I got the slowest dental hygienist (who smelled strongly of cats) on the face of the planet. I kid you not, it took her over an HOUR to clean my teeth. Not because they were bad or anything, but because she kept stopping to tell me the agonizingly detailed story about her hip replacement. I know more about this woman's medical history now than I do my own.
There is nothing quite like having a mouth full of teeth coated with grape flavored sand and having to wait while the hygienist elaborates about the specific surgical procedure they used to put in a new hip. Really, I can't think of a single other experience that compares. She spent a lot of time on her story - during which she was incapable of actually doing her job. As a matter of fact, she spent so much time talking that she actually finished the entire story of the hip and then moved onto...
Wait for it...
Her colonoscopy.
shoot. me. now.
I really tried to tune her out. The more I was able to tune her out, the stronger the cat-box smell became. In retreating from the smell, I tuned back in to her elaborate description of the appearance of her "inner workings" and the fact that they gave her photos to KEEP. Yes, that's what I think a lot of patients want after a colonoscopy - a photo of your colon. You can put it next to the one of you with Mickey Mouse on your mantel. Or, perhaps you can BRING IT TO WORK at the dentist office and offer to show it to patients!
After all this time, I thought that the only way a visit to the dentist's office could be worse was to have them find a cavity or something. Turns out I was wrong. So wrong. So very wrong.
I feel a wee bit traumatized, I have you tell you. I may not be able to sleep tonight.
It's the little things that make going to the dentist a miserable experience, like that feeling of chewing on sand after they clean your teeth. Or trying to figure out where exactly you are supposed to put your tongue while they are poking around in your mouth and thinking "oh no, am I moving my tongue more now because I am thinking about it? Is it possible to get my tongue to lie perfectly still out of the way? OMG would they let me rinse or swallow or something?" How about those snarky little things they like to paste to the ceiling (i.e. "you don't have to floss all your teeth, just the ones you want to keep" with little pink flowers around it) for you to look at when you can't figure out if you are supposed to be looking the person who is cleaning your teeth in the eye or not. The paper bib is always stylish, and being yelled at about flossing is always a joy. Yep, doesn't all of that sound like the best time EVER?
Today was my semi-annual trip to the dentist. I figured it would stink as usual, but this time it was even worse. This time I got the slowest dental hygienist (who smelled strongly of cats) on the face of the planet. I kid you not, it took her over an HOUR to clean my teeth. Not because they were bad or anything, but because she kept stopping to tell me the agonizingly detailed story about her hip replacement. I know more about this woman's medical history now than I do my own.
There is nothing quite like having a mouth full of teeth coated with grape flavored sand and having to wait while the hygienist elaborates about the specific surgical procedure they used to put in a new hip. Really, I can't think of a single other experience that compares. She spent a lot of time on her story - during which she was incapable of actually doing her job. As a matter of fact, she spent so much time talking that she actually finished the entire story of the hip and then moved onto...
Wait for it...
Her colonoscopy.
shoot. me. now.
I really tried to tune her out. The more I was able to tune her out, the stronger the cat-box smell became. In retreating from the smell, I tuned back in to her elaborate description of the appearance of her "inner workings" and the fact that they gave her photos to KEEP. Yes, that's what I think a lot of patients want after a colonoscopy - a photo of your colon. You can put it next to the one of you with Mickey Mouse on your mantel. Or, perhaps you can BRING IT TO WORK at the dentist office and offer to show it to patients!
After all this time, I thought that the only way a visit to the dentist's office could be worse was to have them find a cavity or something. Turns out I was wrong. So wrong. So very wrong.
I feel a wee bit traumatized, I have you tell you. I may not be able to sleep tonight.
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
In Secret
I like being married. No, really I do. There are a lot of things I don't stress over, like dating for example. I never really got asked out much, so it was always a big stressor. I felt very lonely. Now, I can barely find time to shower alone, and sometimes even that doesn't happen. You know you have been married a long time when you end up showering together and contemplating the cost savings on utilities.
The upside is that I always know WHO I'm going to be spending my time with. My date is always a "sure thing." I have stores and stores of blackmail to utilize should we remember that we forgot to turn on the dishwasher downstairs after we have tucked ourselves into bed. We have no secrets, and can tell each other anything (of which I will remember his for future reference until the end of time, and he tends to forget mine in between breaths.)
Yep, we can tell each other anything. Well, OK, I thought we could anyway. After an interesting discussion, I have found a few things I cannot share with Prince Charming. All this started as a simple conversation on the novel I am writing right now. It ended with me realizing that no matter what I write, Mr. Savy is going to take it personally. I could be writing about unicorns, fairies, trolls, and a guy getting squashed by an ogre, and Mr. Savy would think he was one of the characters or I was writing symbolically about something in my life and somehow be bothered by it.
So, with that in mind, try including any of the following in my writing: adultery, abuse, murder, divorce, dissension in the marriage, and so on. I now have a laundry list of items that Mr. Savy cannot seem to tolerate without getting touchy. Better yet, it turns out that some of my paintings (not on my gallery site, I am having technically difficulties - i.e. I'm about to lose my freakin' mind and toss my computer out the window) disturb Mr. Savy, because they're very dark. My only guess is that he's worried that he either inspired the darkness, IS the darkness, or is just scared of me in general. Actually, I think it may come down to the fact that sometimes I paint about my own pain, and he sees it as a failing that he hasn't "fixed me." (yeecht, that term makes my skin crawl... "fix me" *shudder*)
So, if I paint how I feel when I am feeling angst (which tends to filter into my paintings a lot), he feels like a failure. If I write about adultery, he's worried I'm off having an affair (OK, and with WHO out here? Seriously? If we lived in a convent he couldn't feel more secure.) If I write about divorce, he thinks our marriage might be in trouble. Maybe I should start painting and writing about diamonds and chocolate? Do you think I could get this to work in reverse?
So, now I've taken to writing in secret, and questioning my painting subjects. I'm facing Spring break next week (WOOHOO!!!) during which I am the only one home. This means studio time. REAL studio time. I have six paintings physically stacked up, and about 20 in my mind waiting to come out (I'm going on a painting binge. I've even worked out the logistics so I can paint all night, as is my preferred behavior.) But worrying about my husband while I paint or write is really distracting.
Of course, maybe it'll end up motivating. Sort of like, nothing tastes as good as a stolen lick of icing off a cake while you're on a diet? Maybe these will be my masterpieces? I used to sneak Reese's, and now I'm sneaking paintings and chapters. Now THERE is a book premise for you.
The upside is that I always know WHO I'm going to be spending my time with. My date is always a "sure thing." I have stores and stores of blackmail to utilize should we remember that we forgot to turn on the dishwasher downstairs after we have tucked ourselves into bed. We have no secrets, and can tell each other anything (of which I will remember his for future reference until the end of time, and he tends to forget mine in between breaths.)
Yep, we can tell each other anything. Well, OK, I thought we could anyway. After an interesting discussion, I have found a few things I cannot share with Prince Charming. All this started as a simple conversation on the novel I am writing right now. It ended with me realizing that no matter what I write, Mr. Savy is going to take it personally. I could be writing about unicorns, fairies, trolls, and a guy getting squashed by an ogre, and Mr. Savy would think he was one of the characters or I was writing symbolically about something in my life and somehow be bothered by it.
So, with that in mind, try including any of the following in my writing: adultery, abuse, murder, divorce, dissension in the marriage, and so on. I now have a laundry list of items that Mr. Savy cannot seem to tolerate without getting touchy. Better yet, it turns out that some of my paintings (not on my gallery site, I am having technically difficulties - i.e. I'm about to lose my freakin' mind and toss my computer out the window) disturb Mr. Savy, because they're very dark. My only guess is that he's worried that he either inspired the darkness, IS the darkness, or is just scared of me in general. Actually, I think it may come down to the fact that sometimes I paint about my own pain, and he sees it as a failing that he hasn't "fixed me." (yeecht, that term makes my skin crawl... "fix me" *shudder*)
So, if I paint how I feel when I am feeling angst (which tends to filter into my paintings a lot), he feels like a failure. If I write about adultery, he's worried I'm off having an affair (OK, and with WHO out here? Seriously? If we lived in a convent he couldn't feel more secure.) If I write about divorce, he thinks our marriage might be in trouble. Maybe I should start painting and writing about diamonds and chocolate? Do you think I could get this to work in reverse?
So, now I've taken to writing in secret, and questioning my painting subjects. I'm facing Spring break next week (WOOHOO!!!) during which I am the only one home. This means studio time. REAL studio time. I have six paintings physically stacked up, and about 20 in my mind waiting to come out (I'm going on a painting binge. I've even worked out the logistics so I can paint all night, as is my preferred behavior.) But worrying about my husband while I paint or write is really distracting.
Of course, maybe it'll end up motivating. Sort of like, nothing tastes as good as a stolen lick of icing off a cake while you're on a diet? Maybe these will be my masterpieces? I used to sneak Reese's, and now I'm sneaking paintings and chapters. Now THERE is a book premise for you.
Monday, March 26, 2007
Just BECAUSE!
Yesterday, my son (six years old) was in my driveway digging. He was very intent on his project and hated to be disturbed, but considering he was creating the pothole from hell right in the middle of the drive, I figured a little intervention was necessary. At least to get a better grasp of the situation.
Me : "Hey... Whatcha doin'?"
Son : "DIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIGING." (come on mom, are you that stupid you can't tell when a person is digging?)
Me: "Um, what exactly are you digging for?"
Son : "To dig." (DUH, mom.)
Me : "Just to dig? Are you looking for something? Are there diamonds down there? Will you come out the other side of the earth?"
Son : "No... Just digging. Just... because."
Just because. When was the last time you did anything "just because"? I can't even remember for myself. Everything I do has a reason now. Even the television shows I watch have a motivational factor behind them for me, they serve a purpose.
Is that what happens as adults? Every action that was once free now becomes scripted with purpose and motivation? Seriously, think about it. We all know why we brush our teeth, get dressed, do laundry, go to work, cook meals, eat specific things, blog. Seriously, what doesn't have a defined motivation now?
I can't say I have anything that would occupy me for FOUR hours like digging a hole for no reason did my son. I'm a little bit jealous, I think. Maybe "just because" only happens when you simply stumble into it, kind of like me stepping into that very same pothole this morning because I didn't remember it was there (is your foot supposed to go all the way around like that?)
Or, am I "just because" handicapped? Does everyone else have lots of "just because's" and I am the only one? I'm "Just Because" deficient? Are the medications or therapies for this?
*sigh*
I wanna be a kid again.
Me : "Hey... Whatcha doin'?"
Son : "DIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIGING." (come on mom, are you that stupid you can't tell when a person is digging?)
Me: "Um, what exactly are you digging for?"
Son : "To dig." (DUH, mom.)
Me : "Just to dig? Are you looking for something? Are there diamonds down there? Will you come out the other side of the earth?"
Son : "No... Just digging. Just... because."
Just because. When was the last time you did anything "just because"? I can't even remember for myself. Everything I do has a reason now. Even the television shows I watch have a motivational factor behind them for me, they serve a purpose.
Is that what happens as adults? Every action that was once free now becomes scripted with purpose and motivation? Seriously, think about it. We all know why we brush our teeth, get dressed, do laundry, go to work, cook meals, eat specific things, blog. Seriously, what doesn't have a defined motivation now?
I can't say I have anything that would occupy me for FOUR hours like digging a hole for no reason did my son. I'm a little bit jealous, I think. Maybe "just because" only happens when you simply stumble into it, kind of like me stepping into that very same pothole this morning because I didn't remember it was there (is your foot supposed to go all the way around like that?)
Or, am I "just because" handicapped? Does everyone else have lots of "just because's" and I am the only one? I'm "Just Because" deficient? Are the medications or therapies for this?
*sigh*
I wanna be a kid again.
Sunday, March 25, 2007
The Laws Of Procrastination
In the interest of procrastination, I am checking in on my blog. It seems that the more things I absolutely MUST do, the better I am at procrastinating. It's fascinating really. I'm sure that there is a law of physics that somehow states that the proportion of success in procrastinating directly depends upon the amount and type of tasks assigned, multiplied by the degree of stress implied, squared by how much time is left to actually accomplish said tasks.
I'm really a great procrastinator, and because of that I have to play games with myself to get anything done. For example, people ask how I manage to exercise six days a week religiously. I found that because I am a Night-owl/Insomniac, if I wake up before the day gets going (before the crack of insanity...er dawn) my brain isn't functioning sufficiently to allow for procrastination or even rational argumentative thought. If I wait even an hour, I find a million things I can do instead and my chance is shot. If I do get around to it later, I am miserable and complaining about all the other things I could be doing in my little internal voice. So, while it's hard to wake up and run three miles, or lift weights - it's a hell of a lot harder to do it when I am fully functional.
I suppose the most interesting side of procrastination is that I CARE about the stuff I am procrastinating about. It'd be so much easier if I didn't care, wouldn't it? *sigh* I suppose I best get to it then. (And how many of you are procrastinating by reading blogs right now?)
I'm really a great procrastinator, and because of that I have to play games with myself to get anything done. For example, people ask how I manage to exercise six days a week religiously. I found that because I am a Night-owl/Insomniac, if I wake up before the day gets going (before the crack of insanity...er dawn) my brain isn't functioning sufficiently to allow for procrastination or even rational argumentative thought. If I wait even an hour, I find a million things I can do instead and my chance is shot. If I do get around to it later, I am miserable and complaining about all the other things I could be doing in my little internal voice. So, while it's hard to wake up and run three miles, or lift weights - it's a hell of a lot harder to do it when I am fully functional.
I suppose the most interesting side of procrastination is that I CARE about the stuff I am procrastinating about. It'd be so much easier if I didn't care, wouldn't it? *sigh* I suppose I best get to it then. (And how many of you are procrastinating by reading blogs right now?)
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
Moonbaby
Do any of you ever wake up shaking? Kind of like you have way too much adrenalin running around in your body or something? It doesn't happen very often, and usually only when I am not waking on my own (meaning the alarm goes off, the dog starts barking, a child jumps on top of me, the cat decides to bite my toes... etc.) I'm not talking about the nightmare type shaking, I have those moments too... it's more like you are stuck within some silly over-dramatic soap opera and finally... after three long television seasons, are opening your eyes *insert dramatic instrumental here* and reaching out to your lying, faithless, hunk of muscle who was supposed to be mooning over your fragile prostrate form, but was instead sleeping with the entire nursing staff.
That sort of shaking.
Well, I hate it. I dozed off while reading the most BORING piece of literature ever. No, really - my assignment was to read the PAY policies and structure for Texas A&M. I kid you not. See, now, who wouldn't go into a coma while reading that. My guess is that even the original author hasn't come out of his or her stupor yet. So, when the dogs started going nuts because... well who the heck knows why, maybe a squirrel gave them the finger through the front door or something, but the point was they went nuts barking and growling, and I came awake with such a start, I felt as though I was caught in an earthquake. Except it was me quaking. It took me a couple of minutes to get it to go away completely.
OK, now to abandon that random thought and move onto something else. I don't remember which blog I stole this from, but it was too cool not to do. I find it very interesting that I turned out to be "the Moon", when I am so obsessed with the moon and always have been (hence a lot of my paintings), and my stone is the moonstone. Coincidence? I think not!
That sort of shaking.
Well, I hate it. I dozed off while reading the most BORING piece of literature ever. No, really - my assignment was to read the PAY policies and structure for Texas A&M. I kid you not. See, now, who wouldn't go into a coma while reading that. My guess is that even the original author hasn't come out of his or her stupor yet. So, when the dogs started going nuts because... well who the heck knows why, maybe a squirrel gave them the finger through the front door or something, but the point was they went nuts barking and growling, and I came awake with such a start, I felt as though I was caught in an earthquake. Except it was me quaking. It took me a couple of minutes to get it to go away completely.
OK, now to abandon that random thought and move onto something else. I don't remember which blog I stole this from, but it was too cool not to do. I find it very interesting that I turned out to be "the Moon", when I am so obsessed with the moon and always have been (hence a lot of my paintings), and my stone is the moonstone. Coincidence? I think not!
You are The Moon
Hope, expectation, Bright promises.
The Moon is a card of magic and mystery - when prominent you know that nothing is as it seems, particularly when it concerns relationships. All logic is thrown out the window.
The Moon is all about visions and illusions, madness, genius and poetry. This is a card that has to do with sleep, and so with both dreams and nightmares. It is a scary card in that it warns that there might be hidden enemies, tricks and falsehoods. But it should also be remembered that this is a card of great creativity, of powerful magic, primal feelings and intuition. You may be going through a time of emotional and mental trial; if you have any past mental problems, you must be vigilant in taking your medication but avoid drugs or alcohol, as abuse of either will cause them irreparable damage. This time however, can also result in great creativity, psychic powers, visions and insight. You can and should trust your intuition.
What Tarot Card are You?
Take the Test to Find Out.
Monday, March 19, 2007
Monday Madness
Someone remind me why I bother to get out of bed on Mondays? Oh wait, wait... I remember. Because Mondays are so bad, that if I stayed in bed the chances of a meteor crashing through my roof and killing me as I huddled under the covers are so high that the government encourages my leaving the house so as to maintain thew status quo and avoid people running about thinking that the sky is falling. Right then, never mind.
Tis better to be run over by bureaucrats than a bus, isn't it? Actually, I think that's debatable at this point. I won't go into details, but suffice it to say that I probably should have taken my chances with the meteor and stayed in bed this morning. It's amazing the type of rules people will institute so they can lord them over people, isn't it?
Well, this is a disjointed post because I can't really share what is going on, but suffice it to say that I know where a whole bunch of jackals work. Moving on...
I got en email that said, in summary, "You have an exercise weightloss blog, act like it." You wanna talk about weightloss? OK, we'll talk about weightloss. Actually, lets push that a bit further.
I have found that a lot of people surfing for blogs about weight are actually looking for one or more of the following things:
* The magical answer to losing weight without effort.
* The excuses they need to NOT do the work to lose weight.
* A really unhealthy but extreme way to lose weight at light speed.
* The key to unlocking positive body image, without making your weight a part of the equation.
Well, here at Shaping My Way, I am going to give you the answer to all those questions!
* The magical answer to losing weight without effort is to wake up. Stop dreaming, and get with it. What you eat matters. When you eat matters. Exercise matters. Pills do NOT matter. Special drinks do NOT matter. Fads do NOT matter. It really IS that simple. EFFORT IS THE KEY INGREDIENT.
* Excuses to not do the work to lose weight: You like feeling this way. You cherish food more than anyone or anything in your life, and it's not really worth it to you. A heart attack sounds like a lot of fun. You pride yourself on consuming mass amounts of chemicals and preservatives, because you are doing your part for science by examining the long term effects of these on your body.
* A really unhealthy and extreme way to lose weight at light speed: Go volunteer for a shuttle mission, you'll weigh less on the moon.
* The key to unlocking positive body image without weight being a part of the equation. Now, this one I see as a legitimate thing to be looking for, fantasy or not. I will not snipe about this. The reason is, I don't know if it's possible or not. My thoughts on the matter is that it's not possible. Your visual appearance, your body image plays a direct role in who you are. Even if YOU could get past it, other people can't. How other people see, judge, and treat you create a direct impact to your world.
I also believe that how you treat your body reflects how much you respect yourself as a person. In truth, this is all you are given - and what you do with it is pivotal. I know that when I was at my highest weight, I hated myself so much that I contemplated suicide on a daily basis. NOT because of the weight, but because everything was bad, and I hated everything about myself. Weight was just one MORE thing I had on a long list of failures. I hated myself, and it showed - it was THAT simple.
Does that mean that fit people love themselves? No, not necessarily. But, they certainly give a damn one way or the other. The have realized that their body is a tool to improve and utilize in their lives as a pathway to other destinations of interest.
I think a big part of the whole self value struggle (for women, at least - men, feel free to chime in) is that so many people don't care what you have to say at all. They only care what you look like first and everything else is secondary. That being said, the better looking a woman is the more she is able to immediately impact those she needs to. It's sort of a sliding scale, and those who know a person well tend to put less emphasis on it, but it's there. Because it's there, it makes those who are not on the upper reaches of the scale feel like less of a person. And that ties directly into our self value and body image.
I don't know what the magical answer to not caring what others think, and viewing yourself as fantastic from the inside out no matter what is. If anyone finds that one, let me know.
As far as blogging about my own weightloss, I haven't, because I haven't. I've been maintaining. Still working hard, and I still want to be about 30 lbs less than I am now... but technically I am not over weight (by either BMI or body fat%) and I think I am trying to find the real reasons for pushing myself. I know I feel better about myself when I am thinner - but I think that the reasons behind that piss me off. This can get in the way. So, I'm swimming in my own confusion, and figuring it out. I will say that I embarked on a new plan, and it's going well. Yes, I am seeing some results. When I have something more to report, I will - but truly, it's only about sticking with it. Everything I have ever done was successful, if only I put my whole heart into it.
Well, hopefully I make it home in one piece. Hope everyone else is having a better Monday than I am.
Tis better to be run over by bureaucrats than a bus, isn't it? Actually, I think that's debatable at this point. I won't go into details, but suffice it to say that I probably should have taken my chances with the meteor and stayed in bed this morning. It's amazing the type of rules people will institute so they can lord them over people, isn't it?
Well, this is a disjointed post because I can't really share what is going on, but suffice it to say that I know where a whole bunch of jackals work. Moving on...
I got en email that said, in summary, "You have an exercise weightloss blog, act like it." You wanna talk about weightloss? OK, we'll talk about weightloss. Actually, lets push that a bit further.
I have found that a lot of people surfing for blogs about weight are actually looking for one or more of the following things:
* The magical answer to losing weight without effort.
* The excuses they need to NOT do the work to lose weight.
* A really unhealthy but extreme way to lose weight at light speed.
* The key to unlocking positive body image, without making your weight a part of the equation.
Well, here at Shaping My Way, I am going to give you the answer to all those questions!
* The magical answer to losing weight without effort is to wake up. Stop dreaming, and get with it. What you eat matters. When you eat matters. Exercise matters. Pills do NOT matter. Special drinks do NOT matter. Fads do NOT matter. It really IS that simple. EFFORT IS THE KEY INGREDIENT.
* Excuses to not do the work to lose weight: You like feeling this way. You cherish food more than anyone or anything in your life, and it's not really worth it to you. A heart attack sounds like a lot of fun. You pride yourself on consuming mass amounts of chemicals and preservatives, because you are doing your part for science by examining the long term effects of these on your body.
* A really unhealthy and extreme way to lose weight at light speed: Go volunteer for a shuttle mission, you'll weigh less on the moon.
* The key to unlocking positive body image without weight being a part of the equation. Now, this one I see as a legitimate thing to be looking for, fantasy or not. I will not snipe about this. The reason is, I don't know if it's possible or not. My thoughts on the matter is that it's not possible. Your visual appearance, your body image plays a direct role in who you are. Even if YOU could get past it, other people can't. How other people see, judge, and treat you create a direct impact to your world.
I also believe that how you treat your body reflects how much you respect yourself as a person. In truth, this is all you are given - and what you do with it is pivotal. I know that when I was at my highest weight, I hated myself so much that I contemplated suicide on a daily basis. NOT because of the weight, but because everything was bad, and I hated everything about myself. Weight was just one MORE thing I had on a long list of failures. I hated myself, and it showed - it was THAT simple.
Does that mean that fit people love themselves? No, not necessarily. But, they certainly give a damn one way or the other. The have realized that their body is a tool to improve and utilize in their lives as a pathway to other destinations of interest.
I think a big part of the whole self value struggle (for women, at least - men, feel free to chime in) is that so many people don't care what you have to say at all. They only care what you look like first and everything else is secondary. That being said, the better looking a woman is the more she is able to immediately impact those she needs to. It's sort of a sliding scale, and those who know a person well tend to put less emphasis on it, but it's there. Because it's there, it makes those who are not on the upper reaches of the scale feel like less of a person. And that ties directly into our self value and body image.
I don't know what the magical answer to not caring what others think, and viewing yourself as fantastic from the inside out no matter what is. If anyone finds that one, let me know.
As far as blogging about my own weightloss, I haven't, because I haven't. I've been maintaining. Still working hard, and I still want to be about 30 lbs less than I am now... but technically I am not over weight (by either BMI or body fat%) and I think I am trying to find the real reasons for pushing myself. I know I feel better about myself when I am thinner - but I think that the reasons behind that piss me off. This can get in the way. So, I'm swimming in my own confusion, and figuring it out. I will say that I embarked on a new plan, and it's going well. Yes, I am seeing some results. When I have something more to report, I will - but truly, it's only about sticking with it. Everything I have ever done was successful, if only I put my whole heart into it.
Well, hopefully I make it home in one piece. Hope everyone else is having a better Monday than I am.
Sunday, March 18, 2007
Reflecting
I'd like to say that I have been reflecting on something important, but instead I only have to report that I have been reflecting on reflecting. As in ALL the light around me. People, I am one pale woman. If ever there could be a human equivalent of a bike reflector, I am it.
Last night, I fair blinded myself with the light coming from the nightlight, bouncing off my skin, and beaming into my corneas at 3 a.m. I imagine I looked like a bodily apparition of what cat eyes look like in the dark. Actually, that's really creepy. Never mind. My point was, I have gone beyond the threshold of fair, breezed by pale, and am quickly approaching phosphorescent.
I am starting to notice that all the people on commercials and television shows are looking more and more tanned as Spring is creeping nearer. All around me, women everywhere are fighting over the sparse tanning bed population (I believe there are two for a 37 mile radius, and at least 2,000 college aged barbie dolls. You do the math.) I'm letting them fight it out on their own. The idea of locking myself in a coffin of office lights that age my skin and give you more in common with a slice of toast than healthy skin is out for me.
In the grocery aisles, all the self tanner cremes are sold out. But even if they weren't, I can't use those things. I can't ever seem to get the application right, and then it tends to rub off in peculiar areas. I finally traced it back to my running bra. Apparently those lotions aren't intended for speeds over two miles per hour. They really ought to carry a warning label, something to the effect of "Warning; use only if you plan on not moving for the next two weeks straight. Not following this advice can lead to racing stripes, and being mistaken for a barcode."
All that leaves me with is real outside tanning (did I mention we just got 10 inches of snow this weekend?) This is also, alas, out for me. I read too much, and I know what it does to you. And lets face it - I cannot sit still long enough to actually engage in real "sun-bathing." I tried when I was 16, and the boredom STILL lingers from the experience.
So, what is left to me? Are there Pale and Proud support groups? Is there anyone left on earth that really DOES appreciate a woman "as pale as the driven snow?" Oh, wait... that was PURE as the driven snow, wasn't it? Eh, semantics, right? Tomato, tooomatou. Whatever. Maybe NASA will hire me to help guide in the shuttle for landing or something.
*sigh*
Last night, I fair blinded myself with the light coming from the nightlight, bouncing off my skin, and beaming into my corneas at 3 a.m. I imagine I looked like a bodily apparition of what cat eyes look like in the dark. Actually, that's really creepy. Never mind. My point was, I have gone beyond the threshold of fair, breezed by pale, and am quickly approaching phosphorescent.
I am starting to notice that all the people on commercials and television shows are looking more and more tanned as Spring is creeping nearer. All around me, women everywhere are fighting over the sparse tanning bed population (I believe there are two for a 37 mile radius, and at least 2,000 college aged barbie dolls. You do the math.) I'm letting them fight it out on their own. The idea of locking myself in a coffin of office lights that age my skin and give you more in common with a slice of toast than healthy skin is out for me.
In the grocery aisles, all the self tanner cremes are sold out. But even if they weren't, I can't use those things. I can't ever seem to get the application right, and then it tends to rub off in peculiar areas. I finally traced it back to my running bra. Apparently those lotions aren't intended for speeds over two miles per hour. They really ought to carry a warning label, something to the effect of "Warning; use only if you plan on not moving for the next two weeks straight. Not following this advice can lead to racing stripes, and being mistaken for a barcode."
All that leaves me with is real outside tanning (did I mention we just got 10 inches of snow this weekend?) This is also, alas, out for me. I read too much, and I know what it does to you. And lets face it - I cannot sit still long enough to actually engage in real "sun-bathing." I tried when I was 16, and the boredom STILL lingers from the experience.
So, what is left to me? Are there Pale and Proud support groups? Is there anyone left on earth that really DOES appreciate a woman "as pale as the driven snow?" Oh, wait... that was PURE as the driven snow, wasn't it? Eh, semantics, right? Tomato, tooomatou. Whatever. Maybe NASA will hire me to help guide in the shuttle for landing or something.
*sigh*
Saturday, March 17, 2007
Newsflash
This just in... We just watched Babel, and I hated it. I feel rather disturbed at this point (children being shot, in a drunk idiot's car, or unconscious/scared, being left alone in the desert doesn't sit well with me - no matter HOW it turns out. Call me provincial.)
And from our alcoholic beverage sponsor; Smirnoff's Twisted Arctic Berry tastes like Fruity Pebbles.
Thank you.
And from our alcoholic beverage sponsor; Smirnoff's Twisted Arctic Berry tastes like Fruity Pebbles.
Thank you.
Green Beer and Eggs
G'Day to all you handsome Laddies and Lasses! A Happy St. Patrick's Day t'ya!
I thought we'd start off today's post with a picture of some of my body parts.
It's a interesting holiday this year, to say the least. St. Patrick's seems to have stirred more fervor than Valentines day. The kids have been going on about Leprechauns (my son declared that his friend told him they exist, because last year they turned everything they could green in his friend's house over night,) and I have been holding my tongue thus-far in disabusing them of the notion. I'm undecided about whether to say one way or another. If you want your children to believe in some things, should they believe in everything? I love that my children believe in Santa and the Easter Bunny, so I don't know why I have hesitation about leprechauns. Maybe I have a leprechaun prejudice? Personally, I think it may be the buckle shoes. I have never been a fan of shoes with buckles.
So, disregarding my leprechaun misgivings and in keeping with the high spirits, I made green shamrock pancakes and green eggs, served with green milk.
The good pancakes were all eaten before I took a photo, but I figured out that if you trace an outline (using a spoon) with batter and then fill it in, you can make a pancake look like ANYTHING! I made a very disreputable one for Mr. Savy before the kids made it to the table... just to test my technique. It's all in the name of science, you know.
The downside to making green eggs is that all morning I have had Dr. Seuss quoting "I Do Not Like Green Eggs & Ham" in my head. I also have to add that I was just simply not able to sit down to a meal of green pancakes, green eggs, and green milk. I can make it for the troops, but I am afraid I just can't take it to the point of the fork.
Mr. Savy is just as giddy about St. Patrick's day as the children. He made sure to take advantage of the big Guinness sale at the grocery store, and pulled out the mint green Oreo's before anything else this morning.
Apparently, his plan for this afternoon is to have the mint green Oreo's along with the mint chocolate Irish cream, and then settle with an Irish beer later on. He feels very satisfied in his decided celebrations, and emits low growls if anyone goes near the Oreo's. (He may need to be smacked before the day is through.)
I haven't decided what my plans are. Mostly, I am working on arguing that having green eyes is an automatic "get out of being pinched" free card. So far the jury is out on that, but I believe I have a strong case. However, as evidenced by my earlier photo, I took the precaution of donning my St. Patrick's day socks.
I hope everyone has a lovely St. Patrick's Day!
I thought we'd start off today's post with a picture of some of my body parts.
So here is a picture of none other than...
My feet! (What were YOU thinking?)
It's a interesting holiday this year, to say the least. St. Patrick's seems to have stirred more fervor than Valentines day. The kids have been going on about Leprechauns (my son declared that his friend told him they exist, because last year they turned everything they could green in his friend's house over night,) and I have been holding my tongue thus-far in disabusing them of the notion. I'm undecided about whether to say one way or another. If you want your children to believe in some things, should they believe in everything? I love that my children believe in Santa and the Easter Bunny, so I don't know why I have hesitation about leprechauns. Maybe I have a leprechaun prejudice? Personally, I think it may be the buckle shoes. I have never been a fan of shoes with buckles.
So, disregarding my leprechaun misgivings and in keeping with the high spirits, I made green shamrock pancakes and green eggs, served with green milk.
The good pancakes were all eaten before I took a photo, but I figured out that if you trace an outline (using a spoon) with batter and then fill it in, you can make a pancake look like ANYTHING! I made a very disreputable one for Mr. Savy before the kids made it to the table... just to test my technique. It's all in the name of science, you know.
The downside to making green eggs is that all morning I have had Dr. Seuss quoting "I Do Not Like Green Eggs & Ham" in my head. I also have to add that I was just simply not able to sit down to a meal of green pancakes, green eggs, and green milk. I can make it for the troops, but I am afraid I just can't take it to the point of the fork.
Mr. Savy is just as giddy about St. Patrick's day as the children. He made sure to take advantage of the big Guinness sale at the grocery store, and pulled out the mint green Oreo's before anything else this morning.
Apparently, his plan for this afternoon is to have the mint green Oreo's along with the mint chocolate Irish cream, and then settle with an Irish beer later on. He feels very satisfied in his decided celebrations, and emits low growls if anyone goes near the Oreo's. (He may need to be smacked before the day is through.)I haven't decided what my plans are. Mostly, I am working on arguing that having green eyes is an automatic "get out of being pinched" free card. So far the jury is out on that, but I believe I have a strong case. However, as evidenced by my earlier photo, I took the precaution of donning my St. Patrick's day socks.
I hope everyone has a lovely St. Patrick's Day!
Friday, March 16, 2007
Having A Lie In
Today, I am not where I am supposed to be... Shhhhh. ;)
I wasn't feeling quite right, and well... I slept in. *stretch* *yawn*
What?
Hey, it improved my mood immensely. As did Netflics which sent me all the movies I actually WANTED this week. Since I don't get out to theaters but for children's movies I have Babel and The Holiday waiting to be watched. OK, I also have You, Me and Dupree because DH wanted to watch it, but I tend to watch slapsticky-icky types of comedy with a pillow over my face. I can't stand to watch someone in embarrassing situations (this is why I don't watch sitcoms or American Idol, people. I feel SO bad for those people who can't sing but think they can, I literally start feeling ill.)
Mr. Savy is also at home. He's had a rough week. I can't believe I didn't even fill everyone in on all the excitement. Mr. Savy was driving my two kids to soccer practice (I was on my way home about 50 miles away) and was on a steep hill in his truck going about 50 MPH (that's the speed limit.) Suddenly, realizing he was speeding up on the hill, he tried to slow down a bit and discovered he didn't have any breaks! He started doing anything he could to slow down, like down shifting and applying the emergency break when he could, and suddenly there was a loud bang and the front tire suddenly CAME OFF. It wasn't a flat or anything, the whole damn thing BROKE off the truck. They went careening across the road towards the five foot deep ditch on the side of the road, but Mr. Savy - cool as always, because I would have been screaming bloody murder - managed to regain control and stop the vehicle before an accident could occur.
When I arrived home, I knew nothing about it and went to open the door only to be startled when Mr. Savy opened it for me. He did NOT look well. Anyway, between that and his final paper being due (Yes, Mr. Savy is in college too - getting his masters from a university, but his school works on quarters so we can alternately torment the other person with being on vacation while they're losing their mind with homework... I cannot wait until summer, he's been unbearable this time around) Mr. Savy needed a break.
So, I'm home, and so is he. And so are the kids because it's a school inservice. And we're expecting 20 inches of snow according to the weather service. *sigh*
So, I'm going to put myself back together and head to the grocery store (which will be packed with storm-freaks, the people who think the world is ending when a big storm is heading in and are buying all the canned goods and bottled whatevers the store has, bragging about their generators.) My concern isn't that we won't have food for the storm. My concern is that we won't have PARTY food for St. Patrick's Day! Guinness is on sale! Irish cream! Work with me here! I may be mostly Scottish, but I have a heavy dose of Irish on my mother's side. I'm a fairly mixed up Celt, I suppose.
Oh, and did I tell you? The kids are growing 4-leaf clovers in my windowsill! I may need them.
I wasn't feeling quite right, and well... I slept in. *stretch* *yawn*
What?
Hey, it improved my mood immensely. As did Netflics which sent me all the movies I actually WANTED this week. Since I don't get out to theaters but for children's movies I have Babel and The Holiday waiting to be watched. OK, I also have You, Me and Dupree because DH wanted to watch it, but I tend to watch slapsticky-icky types of comedy with a pillow over my face. I can't stand to watch someone in embarrassing situations (this is why I don't watch sitcoms or American Idol, people. I feel SO bad for those people who can't sing but think they can, I literally start feeling ill.)
Mr. Savy is also at home. He's had a rough week. I can't believe I didn't even fill everyone in on all the excitement. Mr. Savy was driving my two kids to soccer practice (I was on my way home about 50 miles away) and was on a steep hill in his truck going about 50 MPH (that's the speed limit.) Suddenly, realizing he was speeding up on the hill, he tried to slow down a bit and discovered he didn't have any breaks! He started doing anything he could to slow down, like down shifting and applying the emergency break when he could, and suddenly there was a loud bang and the front tire suddenly CAME OFF. It wasn't a flat or anything, the whole damn thing BROKE off the truck. They went careening across the road towards the five foot deep ditch on the side of the road, but Mr. Savy - cool as always, because I would have been screaming bloody murder - managed to regain control and stop the vehicle before an accident could occur.
When I arrived home, I knew nothing about it and went to open the door only to be startled when Mr. Savy opened it for me. He did NOT look well. Anyway, between that and his final paper being due (Yes, Mr. Savy is in college too - getting his masters from a university, but his school works on quarters so we can alternately torment the other person with being on vacation while they're losing their mind with homework... I cannot wait until summer, he's been unbearable this time around) Mr. Savy needed a break.
So, I'm home, and so is he. And so are the kids because it's a school inservice. And we're expecting 20 inches of snow according to the weather service. *sigh*
So, I'm going to put myself back together and head to the grocery store (which will be packed with storm-freaks, the people who think the world is ending when a big storm is heading in and are buying all the canned goods and bottled whatevers the store has, bragging about their generators.) My concern isn't that we won't have food for the storm. My concern is that we won't have PARTY food for St. Patrick's Day! Guinness is on sale! Irish cream! Work with me here! I may be mostly Scottish, but I have a heavy dose of Irish on my mother's side. I'm a fairly mixed up Celt, I suppose.
Oh, and did I tell you? The kids are growing 4-leaf clovers in my windowsill! I may need them.
Thursday, March 15, 2007
Runaway
Did you ever run away as a child? I was a pretty angry kid, and I threatened it a lot. The problem with running away was that I had no where to run TO. I had no idea of where to go. So, on the days that I took it farther than just idle threats, I generally ended up on the side of the house tucked behind the brick chimney. I sat there for about an hour or two looking at the wall, and trying to figure out why I couldn't even do this right.
My brother, on the other hand, didn't CARE where he went when he decided to run away. My mother figured that my brother would be just like me and not get very far, eventually having to come inside to use the bathroom or something. She didn't count on the fact that he was even more hot-headed than I am. He didn't give a flying fig where he ended up, just as long as it was away from home. One memorable time found my brother over two miles away on one of the main roads in Colorado. I thought my mom was going to have a stroke.
After a couple more incidents which proved my brother had no hesitation about really running away, she took to locking both of us in our rooms instead. It was a lot better than staring at the chimney wall, and then I could rail about how unfair being kept prisoner was and imagine myself as Rapunzel. All in all, it was a decent trade-off, which left me feeling slightly less of a failure. Can't fail at running away if you can't get out in the first place, now can you?
Of course, that only lasted until I figured out how to pop out my screen and scale down the side of my house. My brother tried tying sheets together to accomplish this, and one of my most cherished memories is sitting in my back yard and watching as a string of tied Star Wars sheets came tumbling down the side of the house. My brother came wriggling out the window, hanging onto the sheet, and cursing the day I was born (I had just gotten him into trouble. Don't judge me, it's an older sister's duty to ruin her brother's life at that age, and HE was the one who brought literally over 100 frogs into the house that got loose in the kitchen. It was no body's business that I had about 150 of my own in my room. Not my fault if they couldn't figure out where all the chirruping noise was coming from...) Unfortunately, it turns out that eight year old boys are not that great at tying knots in sheets. I watched as they unraveled when he was about half way down, and dropped screaming (like a girl) the last four feet into a pine bush. He was fine, but the noise had brought my mother outside.
When you are a kid, and angry, running away is just about not being around the people who frustrate or hurt you. When you get older, it changes. As a teen, I had to face the realization that while I still had no where to go, I couldn't run away. Like it or not, that was where I had to stay. I didn't even want to run away anymore, I just wanted to hide behind that damn chimney wall again and never come out.
I moved out the day after I graduated high school. With a total loser. I figure I did what my brother did when he ran away as a child - I ran without caring where I ended up, and this always turns out badly. However, while I was supporting my drunk, quickly unemployed, lazy cheating boyfriend, I landed a job at a decent company. What was fascinating about this company was the group of people. Sure, there were locals and whatnot, but there were a lot of people from somewhere else.
One girl in particular had graduated high school, saved up money, and the second she could she picked up and moved states. Without a job, or any idea where she would stay. She talked about how it was starting over. No one knew her here, and she could be who she wanted to be. A completely fresh start. You have no idea how appealing that idea was (or maybe you do, I'm blogging about her 14 years later, clearly it made an impression.) A fresh start was still running away, but it was TO something.
I never really got that fresh start, but I did end up moving a lot over the years. But sometimes I still have that insane desire to run away. Not from home, but from myself. But I guess that's the problem, isn't it? You really are still you, no matter where you go. You will never have a place to get away.
I'm a bit melancholy today (gee, have you picked up on that yet?) I had horrible dreams all night long about what a monster I was... It was one bad thing after another, it was horrifying. I woke up covered in sweat and tears, and feeling like I deserved to be on death row. And wanting to run away.
*sigh*
Maybe it's just midterms.
My brother, on the other hand, didn't CARE where he went when he decided to run away. My mother figured that my brother would be just like me and not get very far, eventually having to come inside to use the bathroom or something. She didn't count on the fact that he was even more hot-headed than I am. He didn't give a flying fig where he ended up, just as long as it was away from home. One memorable time found my brother over two miles away on one of the main roads in Colorado. I thought my mom was going to have a stroke.
After a couple more incidents which proved my brother had no hesitation about really running away, she took to locking both of us in our rooms instead. It was a lot better than staring at the chimney wall, and then I could rail about how unfair being kept prisoner was and imagine myself as Rapunzel. All in all, it was a decent trade-off, which left me feeling slightly less of a failure. Can't fail at running away if you can't get out in the first place, now can you?
Of course, that only lasted until I figured out how to pop out my screen and scale down the side of my house. My brother tried tying sheets together to accomplish this, and one of my most cherished memories is sitting in my back yard and watching as a string of tied Star Wars sheets came tumbling down the side of the house. My brother came wriggling out the window, hanging onto the sheet, and cursing the day I was born (I had just gotten him into trouble. Don't judge me, it's an older sister's duty to ruin her brother's life at that age, and HE was the one who brought literally over 100 frogs into the house that got loose in the kitchen. It was no body's business that I had about 150 of my own in my room. Not my fault if they couldn't figure out where all the chirruping noise was coming from...) Unfortunately, it turns out that eight year old boys are not that great at tying knots in sheets. I watched as they unraveled when he was about half way down, and dropped screaming (like a girl) the last four feet into a pine bush. He was fine, but the noise had brought my mother outside.
When you are a kid, and angry, running away is just about not being around the people who frustrate or hurt you. When you get older, it changes. As a teen, I had to face the realization that while I still had no where to go, I couldn't run away. Like it or not, that was where I had to stay. I didn't even want to run away anymore, I just wanted to hide behind that damn chimney wall again and never come out.
I moved out the day after I graduated high school. With a total loser. I figure I did what my brother did when he ran away as a child - I ran without caring where I ended up, and this always turns out badly. However, while I was supporting my drunk, quickly unemployed, lazy cheating boyfriend, I landed a job at a decent company. What was fascinating about this company was the group of people. Sure, there were locals and whatnot, but there were a lot of people from somewhere else.
One girl in particular had graduated high school, saved up money, and the second she could she picked up and moved states. Without a job, or any idea where she would stay. She talked about how it was starting over. No one knew her here, and she could be who she wanted to be. A completely fresh start. You have no idea how appealing that idea was (or maybe you do, I'm blogging about her 14 years later, clearly it made an impression.) A fresh start was still running away, but it was TO something.
I never really got that fresh start, but I did end up moving a lot over the years. But sometimes I still have that insane desire to run away. Not from home, but from myself. But I guess that's the problem, isn't it? You really are still you, no matter where you go. You will never have a place to get away.
I'm a bit melancholy today (gee, have you picked up on that yet?) I had horrible dreams all night long about what a monster I was... It was one bad thing after another, it was horrifying. I woke up covered in sweat and tears, and feeling like I deserved to be on death row. And wanting to run away.
*sigh*
Maybe it's just midterms.
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
Waspers
Well, it must be getting near spring, because everywhere I go has been invaded by wasps. As a child, I never really paid attention to wasps and bees, except to go flying about screaming madly "It's a BEE! It's a BEEEEEEEEEE!" like all the other kids did. I fancy it was just peer pressure.
The truth was, in Colorado there are hardly any bugs at all. Really, there are so few compared with most places, we just sort of shared them. Named them. Kept them vaccinated. A far cry from what it is like living anywhere else that there is water and oxygen in normal or abundant quantities. OMG are there bugs here! They're taking over!
In my car this morning, a gigantic wasp, whom I have chosen to name Frederick, was buzzing to and fro in my car. He had no desire whatsoever to leave my car, which made travel a bit tricky this morning. I believe Frederick may be awaiting a ride home still. I am not happy.
I got to face my horrible midterm test this morning (which I did pass by the way, in spite of the list-master) with SEVEN black wasps zooming around the room overhead. Now, THAT is what I call a high stress situation. Try to remember your darn acronyms and songs you organized your lists with while ducking and weaving.
The teacher was not impressed, and told us how this was nothing. You see, apparently the college is against killing them so apparently THOUSANDS reside within these not so hallowed... well, hell, they'd have to be hollowed walls, now wouldn't they? THOUSANDS upon thousands. Doesn't anyone else think that would be considered a considerable risk to put to the students and faculty?
Do they make purse-sized Raid?
The truth was, in Colorado there are hardly any bugs at all. Really, there are so few compared with most places, we just sort of shared them. Named them. Kept them vaccinated. A far cry from what it is like living anywhere else that there is water and oxygen in normal or abundant quantities. OMG are there bugs here! They're taking over!
In my car this morning, a gigantic wasp, whom I have chosen to name Frederick, was buzzing to and fro in my car. He had no desire whatsoever to leave my car, which made travel a bit tricky this morning. I believe Frederick may be awaiting a ride home still. I am not happy.
I got to face my horrible midterm test this morning (which I did pass by the way, in spite of the list-master) with SEVEN black wasps zooming around the room overhead. Now, THAT is what I call a high stress situation. Try to remember your darn acronyms and songs you organized your lists with while ducking and weaving.
The teacher was not impressed, and told us how this was nothing. You see, apparently the college is against killing them so apparently THOUSANDS reside within these not so hallowed... well, hell, they'd have to be hollowed walls, now wouldn't they? THOUSANDS upon thousands. Doesn't anyone else think that would be considered a considerable risk to put to the students and faculty?
Do they make purse-sized Raid?
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
Brain Help
OK, I've had it! I'm about to blow a gasket. Toss myself out the window. Go pancake-postal. SOMETHING!
It's mid-terms (in case you haven't caught on yet) and one of my classes just sucks. I mean, there is no other word for it, it SUCKS. It's not the subject, it's the teacher (this is his only class.) The class is solely based on tests (joy) that HE makes up (double joy) that are all about lists.
Yes, I said LISTS.
The man has got to be obsessive compulsive. Everything is given in lists. We get about five new lists a class. With the text, he disregards all the context (i.e. the POINT), and instead focuses on any studies or anything else he can make lists out of. For example, in one chapter there was a lot of context and then about five different studies to back up the book's point. He focused on the studies instead of the chapter context for the test (which were not discussed in class for more than a minute or two, nor the impact of the studies conclusions on the whole freakin' point) as a way to form lists of things. On tests he just gives the name of the study and expects you to regurgitate the lists precisely from memory. Many of the lists are VERY similar, but vary in infinitesimal ways. If you screw up the variance, you miss the question.
Now, I've had a hell of a time in the class because I don't DO lists. You have to put substance behind a list. The only lists that ever make it into my mental filing cabinets are one's with a point, like if we were talking medical - a list of symptoms. Otherwise, there has to be a reason for the list. Symptoms make sense, and the names mean something in their own right that is applicable in other instances.
Not so with these damn lists this teacher makes.
Now it's a midterms, and the whole test is going to cover eight chapters, of which he admitted he is including at the minimum around 20 studies with lists, plus other lists. I cannot, for the life of me, keep these things straight - or even remember them all. There is no context behind the lists. There is no point to knowing what is ON the list. He doesn't test on the context at all, because that can't be put into a damn list!
You can't make acronyms out of the lists either because of the way the studies report their lists (not that I remember them, because I don't, I can't imagine walking in with 40 acronyms anyway when I can't even remember people's names.) SO what the heck do I do????? I have a near photographic memory, but it seems to rely on actual substance to commit to memory, not just random useless lists.
Do any of you have any other techniques to remembering about 40 useless lists that all sound the same, have tiny differences that will fail me, but not big enough differences to remember?
Besides vodka to just make it all go away?
...help
(I was working on my notes, and I was so angry by chapter four, I literally had to walk away screaming obscenities. And did I mention my teacher prides himself on being an "asshole"? Yeah, why the hell am I doing this again? I'm trying color coding hoping that will stick in my head, considering my bias for colors. Any and all suggestions welcome here...)
It's mid-terms (in case you haven't caught on yet) and one of my classes just sucks. I mean, there is no other word for it, it SUCKS. It's not the subject, it's the teacher (this is his only class.) The class is solely based on tests (joy) that HE makes up (double joy) that are all about lists.
Yes, I said LISTS.
The man has got to be obsessive compulsive. Everything is given in lists. We get about five new lists a class. With the text, he disregards all the context (i.e. the POINT), and instead focuses on any studies or anything else he can make lists out of. For example, in one chapter there was a lot of context and then about five different studies to back up the book's point. He focused on the studies instead of the chapter context for the test (which were not discussed in class for more than a minute or two, nor the impact of the studies conclusions on the whole freakin' point) as a way to form lists of things. On tests he just gives the name of the study and expects you to regurgitate the lists precisely from memory. Many of the lists are VERY similar, but vary in infinitesimal ways. If you screw up the variance, you miss the question.
Now, I've had a hell of a time in the class because I don't DO lists. You have to put substance behind a list. The only lists that ever make it into my mental filing cabinets are one's with a point, like if we were talking medical - a list of symptoms. Otherwise, there has to be a reason for the list. Symptoms make sense, and the names mean something in their own right that is applicable in other instances.
Not so with these damn lists this teacher makes.
Now it's a midterms, and the whole test is going to cover eight chapters, of which he admitted he is including at the minimum around 20 studies with lists, plus other lists. I cannot, for the life of me, keep these things straight - or even remember them all. There is no context behind the lists. There is no point to knowing what is ON the list. He doesn't test on the context at all, because that can't be put into a damn list!
You can't make acronyms out of the lists either because of the way the studies report their lists (not that I remember them, because I don't, I can't imagine walking in with 40 acronyms anyway when I can't even remember people's names.) SO what the heck do I do????? I have a near photographic memory, but it seems to rely on actual substance to commit to memory, not just random useless lists.
Do any of you have any other techniques to remembering about 40 useless lists that all sound the same, have tiny differences that will fail me, but not big enough differences to remember?
Besides vodka to just make it all go away?
...help
(I was working on my notes, and I was so angry by chapter four, I literally had to walk away screaming obscenities. And did I mention my teacher prides himself on being an "asshole"? Yeah, why the hell am I doing this again? I'm trying color coding hoping that will stick in my head, considering my bias for colors. Any and all suggestions welcome here...)
Monday, March 12, 2007
Rear-View Mascara
That's it. I have totally had it. I may be betraying my side of the human race, but dagnabbit - WOMEN, STOP PUTTING ON YOUR FREAKING MAKE-UP OR DOING YOUR HAIR WHILE YOU ARE DRIVING!!!!!
This morning was rough on me by all accounts. Considering the time change, I couldn't sleep until after midnight. Then, I got up at my normal time of 5 a.m. to life weights, during which my brain insisted on reminding me that it was really 4 a.m.
This morning I had lower-body weights on the schedule, and even more important was the fact that it was time to change the routine. I have no idea why, but I decided that NOW would be a fantastic time to try out a couple of the new exercises. Well, let me just say, they worked really well. Marvelous, really, except for the fact that they seemed to have affected my right side more than my left. My right side decided about an hour afterwards to stiffen up, which left me literally trying to STOP myself from walking in circles like a canoe with only one paddle. I walked into the edges of walls or doors at least three times (how do you tell if you have broken a pinkie toe anyway?)
Hopping, cursing, but dressed (important distinction, considering it's a Monday, and I very likely might have found myself at school having forgotten my pants or something,) I managed to get into my car only a measly 15 minutes late. I realized I was 15 minutes late when I had to set my car clock, and then immediately panicked. I made the conscious decision, however, to drive just a wee bit over the speed limit. You know, something within that 5-10 MPH range depending on the road. I didn't want to get a ticket, but I needed to pick up the pace.
OK, yeah, so, I drive that fast for the most part anyway. But the point was, I decided against going 90 MPH. See how responsible I am?
I was mentally patting myself on the back when a car cut in front of me, and I had to slam on my breaks so as not to end up in the other person's back seat. It was as if she didn't see me coming at all. This was enough to make me growl (I have a lovely growl, I've spent years perfecting it.) But when she then continued on at 30 MPH, in a 50 MPH zone I began to get a bit steamed.
And then I saw it. The reason for the excessively slow speed. The woman had whipped out her mascara and was trying to drive a curvy road (no safe way to pass) while applying make-up. After the mascara came blush. After that came lip stick. After that came the hair brush. I couldn't see much after that, the red haze was a bit opaque by then.
Honestly, I am amazed she didn't hear me screaming obscenities behind her. I'm sure the houses I passed along the way did. I am quite sure I saw some cows looking quite scandalized at my sailor's vocabulary.
Eventually, I got past her only to get stuck behind another car with three women in it doing the exact same thing! Are you kidding me!?!!?
Do you know how many times I have done my make-up or hair in the car while driving? ZERO! Z-E-R-O, people! ZEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEERO! And do you know why? Because there is a freakin' ROAD you need to pay attention to!
Apparently, leaving late puts me on the road with the stupid make-up and hair crowd. And someone tell me why police don't pull people over for this? We passed two police cars, both of which couldn't have missed the spectacle, and neither one did ANYTHING!
Anyway, I got to class really late. I tripped UP the stairs due to my whacked out leg, and now I'm sporting some really pretty bruises (including on my ego, thanks.) But I made it. For a pop-quiz.
Mondays suck.
I may have to make myself a sign for my car for the next time I get stuck behind make-up weilding drivers.... something to the effect of "Unless you plan on stabbing that in your eye, PUT IT AWAY AND DRIVE @#%$@!!!!" Or "You are only getting UGLIER! Put the make-up away and drive faster and no one will be able to see you!" Or something simple perhaps, like "I hope you put an eye out with that mascara wand!"
OK, they're just off the top of my head. I'll come up with something snazzy... And it'll be in neon colors, and flash, with sparklies. Definitely sparklies...
This morning was rough on me by all accounts. Considering the time change, I couldn't sleep until after midnight. Then, I got up at my normal time of 5 a.m. to life weights, during which my brain insisted on reminding me that it was really 4 a.m.
This morning I had lower-body weights on the schedule, and even more important was the fact that it was time to change the routine. I have no idea why, but I decided that NOW would be a fantastic time to try out a couple of the new exercises. Well, let me just say, they worked really well. Marvelous, really, except for the fact that they seemed to have affected my right side more than my left. My right side decided about an hour afterwards to stiffen up, which left me literally trying to STOP myself from walking in circles like a canoe with only one paddle. I walked into the edges of walls or doors at least three times (how do you tell if you have broken a pinkie toe anyway?)
Hopping, cursing, but dressed (important distinction, considering it's a Monday, and I very likely might have found myself at school having forgotten my pants or something,) I managed to get into my car only a measly 15 minutes late. I realized I was 15 minutes late when I had to set my car clock, and then immediately panicked. I made the conscious decision, however, to drive just a wee bit over the speed limit. You know, something within that 5-10 MPH range depending on the road. I didn't want to get a ticket, but I needed to pick up the pace.
OK, yeah, so, I drive that fast for the most part anyway. But the point was, I decided against going 90 MPH. See how responsible I am?
I was mentally patting myself on the back when a car cut in front of me, and I had to slam on my breaks so as not to end up in the other person's back seat. It was as if she didn't see me coming at all. This was enough to make me growl (I have a lovely growl, I've spent years perfecting it.) But when she then continued on at 30 MPH, in a 50 MPH zone I began to get a bit steamed.
And then I saw it. The reason for the excessively slow speed. The woman had whipped out her mascara and was trying to drive a curvy road (no safe way to pass) while applying make-up. After the mascara came blush. After that came lip stick. After that came the hair brush. I couldn't see much after that, the red haze was a bit opaque by then.
Honestly, I am amazed she didn't hear me screaming obscenities behind her. I'm sure the houses I passed along the way did. I am quite sure I saw some cows looking quite scandalized at my sailor's vocabulary.
Eventually, I got past her only to get stuck behind another car with three women in it doing the exact same thing! Are you kidding me!?!!?
Do you know how many times I have done my make-up or hair in the car while driving? ZERO! Z-E-R-O, people! ZEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEERO! And do you know why? Because there is a freakin' ROAD you need to pay attention to!
Apparently, leaving late puts me on the road with the stupid make-up and hair crowd. And someone tell me why police don't pull people over for this? We passed two police cars, both of which couldn't have missed the spectacle, and neither one did ANYTHING!
Anyway, I got to class really late. I tripped UP the stairs due to my whacked out leg, and now I'm sporting some really pretty bruises (including on my ego, thanks.) But I made it. For a pop-quiz.
Mondays suck.
I may have to make myself a sign for my car for the next time I get stuck behind make-up weilding drivers.... something to the effect of "Unless you plan on stabbing that in your eye, PUT IT AWAY AND DRIVE @#%$@!!!!" Or "You are only getting UGLIER! Put the make-up away and drive faster and no one will be able to see you!" Or something simple perhaps, like "I hope you put an eye out with that mascara wand!"
OK, they're just off the top of my head. I'll come up with something snazzy... And it'll be in neon colors, and flash, with sparklies. Definitely sparklies...
Sunday, March 11, 2007
Springing Forward
I am not a fan of daylight savings. I used to be, when I was a kid, but only for the Autumn time change. I remember thinking how wonderful it was to be able to sleep in an "extra hour." I was in a good mood for the three days following, before I adjusted to the time change and went back to my sour old "I don't WANNA go to school!" self.
Now I just think it's stupid. I really wish they would just split the difference and be done with it. It drives my mother crazy, as she is in Arizona and they do NOT do any time changes. I think Indiana doesn't either, right? Are there others who have come to their senses?
I feel as though someone is stealing my morning light. I was really enjoying the little bit of light in the mornings when I stumbled down to my basement gym. It's a nice feeling to see the light and realize that it could, at a stretch, be called morning. Getting up in the pitch black to exercise is just wrong on so many levels. Well, now they've snatched my morning light, and it's back to sadistically working out in the dark hours when one feels that sleeping is far more appropriate.
The upside is, the time change means Spring is near! Sure, it's midterms right now and I'm contemplating the merits of tossing myself off a building rather than take the tests (it's far too cold still, I figure the windchill factor on the way down is enough to keep me from that fate) but I know that soon the trees will reawaken and flowers are close behind.
Of course, that also means that mud-season is near. Living in various places across the US from California, all the way to Maryland has shown me many different seasons, but nothing like Mud-Season in Vermont. This happens when it finally warms up, and it's too warm to snow, but nothing is growing yet. So, along with enough rain to make one contemplate building an ark, there is nothing to hold the rain in place. It runs, and pools, and creates giant mud laden roads and areas. It turns everything everywhere brown, from your car to your kitchen. It gets into everything. The dogs end up banned from the house (while the cat gleefully gloats through the window.) You are neither properly dry or clean for the entire 3-4 week period. Though... they do say that mud is good for the pores, right?
Spring is close... I can smell it in the air. I'm ready. I'll even face down mud-season, willingly, to get to the balmy days of summer and running around in tank tops and cut-off shorts.
Now I just think it's stupid. I really wish they would just split the difference and be done with it. It drives my mother crazy, as she is in Arizona and they do NOT do any time changes. I think Indiana doesn't either, right? Are there others who have come to their senses?
I feel as though someone is stealing my morning light. I was really enjoying the little bit of light in the mornings when I stumbled down to my basement gym. It's a nice feeling to see the light and realize that it could, at a stretch, be called morning. Getting up in the pitch black to exercise is just wrong on so many levels. Well, now they've snatched my morning light, and it's back to sadistically working out in the dark hours when one feels that sleeping is far more appropriate.
The upside is, the time change means Spring is near! Sure, it's midterms right now and I'm contemplating the merits of tossing myself off a building rather than take the tests (it's far too cold still, I figure the windchill factor on the way down is enough to keep me from that fate) but I know that soon the trees will reawaken and flowers are close behind.
Of course, that also means that mud-season is near. Living in various places across the US from California, all the way to Maryland has shown me many different seasons, but nothing like Mud-Season in Vermont. This happens when it finally warms up, and it's too warm to snow, but nothing is growing yet. So, along with enough rain to make one contemplate building an ark, there is nothing to hold the rain in place. It runs, and pools, and creates giant mud laden roads and areas. It turns everything everywhere brown, from your car to your kitchen. It gets into everything. The dogs end up banned from the house (while the cat gleefully gloats through the window.) You are neither properly dry or clean for the entire 3-4 week period. Though... they do say that mud is good for the pores, right?
Spring is close... I can smell it in the air. I'm ready. I'll even face down mud-season, willingly, to get to the balmy days of summer and running around in tank tops and cut-off shorts.
Thursday, March 08, 2007
Visual DNA
I don't normally follow the different tests and quizzes unless they're really interesting, and I really liked this one I got over at Hilly's Blog:
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
That Diet Thing
Diet is a funny word, isn't it? People make jokes about it, "Hey, without the "t" we're just going to DIE!" People like to use it to make a point "I'm on a D-I-E-T!" To brag, to excuse, to belong.
I remember when I was a kid in elementary school, I couldn't wait until I could tell someone I was on a diet. I had no idea what that meant, but boy, all the adults said it and it seemed to impress everyone else. Everyone always wanted to know more about it. Finding out the reality of what a diet actually was wasn't so much fun. In retrospect, the same could be said for homework - I had been excited about that too. It looked exciting and important from a kindergartner's perspective! Harsh wake up call, that.
For a while in the 80's and 90's, it was all the rage to be on some sort of diet. It wasn't about health, it was about belonging to a group of people who were avidly pursuing something. It was about purple leotards, Richard Simmons in sequins, and sweat bands. It was a fad, for a fad's sake. Yes, people wanted to lose weight, but that was just a bonus of being a part of the big dieting fad. It got a lot less humorous as science expounded upon the health issues facing those who were overweight. Processed foods became the norm while normal healthy foods started vanishing from the aisles, and our population piled on body fat as if they were preparing for a nuclear winter.
Now, being on a diet is more like a punishment. If you "need to be on a diet", then it's obvious you are "not living your life to the fullest." Somewhere along the way, you screwed up and now you are paying for it. At least, that is the general mentality. Isn't that what you hear when various weight loss center commercials come on? I even saw an ad aimed at men, I think it was for Nutrisystem, that screamed all about having sex as a goal for losing weight.
The important thing to note about all those "diets" in the 80's and 90's is that they were temporary. Everyone knew that when they ate only cabbage and grapefruit for six weeks, that when it was all over they could go back to "normal" (and gain everything back, plus some.) While our information has changed, that attitude hasn't. Worse yet, there is a prevailing attitude that those who cling to their new healthy/diet eating habits are denying themselves, isolating themselves, missing out, almost as much as the poor fat guy who never got to have sex before he discovered that commercial. *rolling eyes*
I think that most people hold themselves back in one way or another. If it's because you are overweight that you rationalize that you can't go water skiing, or if it's because you are eating a healthy diet and decide you can't attend the BBQ because they might have chips there, everyone is holding themselves back. Or, at least they perceive the need to do so. On the other hand, maybe that healthy person isn't holding themselves back and brings their own food to the BBQ, and the overweight person goes water skiing anyway - many people will suggest that those people SHOULD have held themselves back, or simply shake their heads in bafflement.
As our waistlines have increased and science has spat out more and more studies, the realization has set in that we should do something, along with a heavy dose of panic. People are taking any way out they can find. Some work, most don't. They're willing to try anything, even if it's dangerous. Did you know that weight loss surgeries for teens is WAY up? Would you be OK with putting your child under the knife in pursuit of weight loss? And from everything I have read, surgery is NOT the easy way out - it's dangerous. But people are willing to take the risk.
For a while, I felt that it was laziness. I felt like people weren't willing to do the work to turn things around. And while I still feel that plays a role in some of those cases, I'm starting to believe it has more to do with the reactions that happen in a state of panic. I think people feel more mortal, and realize that things are spiraling out of control. Lack of control sends most people into a panic. People hear all these frightening studies and reach out for whatever they can grasp to stop the backslide into the grave. A drowning man will even stand upon his best friend in the water to survive - that is an act of panic.
I really wish the media would just shut up. Stop putting out all these studies, and reports, and fad diets. I think we have heard enough, don't you? We all know being overweight is bad for us. We GET it. We don't need convoluted research studies telling us all the different ways we are fat and what the repercussions are if we eat at three in the morning while standing on our elbows. It's time to get rid of the fluff and stick to facts:
* If you eat more than you require each day, you will gain weight.
* If you eat less than you require each day, you will lose weight.
* If you eat too LITTLE you will seriously screw yourself up, metabolism and otherwise.
* If you eat junk all the time, you will have a body made of junk and FEEL that way too.
* If you think you have to give up everything, you are lying to yourself for justification.
* If you think you can keep all your bad habits, you are lying to yourself.
* If you think that those bad habits will one day vanish and never come back, you are deluding yourself (you will always have them in the back of your mind, but the difficulty will lessen.)
* If you think all you have to do is exercise to lose weight, you are wrong.
* If you think you can be healthy without exercise, you are wrong.
* If you think it's the end of your life to switch to a healthy lifestyle, you are wrong.
* If you think there is a finish line where you can cross it and then go back to knocking back donuts everyday, you are wrong.
What does that leave?
If you want to lose weight: Track your intake of calories and find a reasonable deficit (slowly) which results in about a 1-2 lbs weight loss per week. Maybe not every week, but consistently.
To FEEL good, you need to eat good things. Think mother nature's packaging, not man's. You CAN love healthy food too.
To NOT feel excluded, you need to include food in your diet you love, regardless of where they came from, but NOT all the time. They should only make up a small quantity of your diet (like one meal a week, for example.)
To be in shape, you must work out.
To be healthy, you must eat right AND work out.
To not feel excluded from the rest of the world, you need to realize that there are millions of us who are choosing a healthy life over a donut and couch every day. Realize that you aren't excluded from anything, simply that you have made a choice for YOU, and being included doesn't mean eating a cake and pie for your Aunt Dorothy. She wants cake? She can eat it! But you can still be with her and participate.
This also means finding the balance in your life. What is healthy for you may not work for everyone else. But it's important to be honest about what this really means for you.
That's it, it's just that simple. No lab coats, or telling you to eat aluminium foil while yodeling for three hours per day. Stop looking for the next best thing, it isn't coming. Make your own.
I remember when I was a kid in elementary school, I couldn't wait until I could tell someone I was on a diet. I had no idea what that meant, but boy, all the adults said it and it seemed to impress everyone else. Everyone always wanted to know more about it. Finding out the reality of what a diet actually was wasn't so much fun. In retrospect, the same could be said for homework - I had been excited about that too. It looked exciting and important from a kindergartner's perspective! Harsh wake up call, that.
For a while in the 80's and 90's, it was all the rage to be on some sort of diet. It wasn't about health, it was about belonging to a group of people who were avidly pursuing something. It was about purple leotards, Richard Simmons in sequins, and sweat bands. It was a fad, for a fad's sake. Yes, people wanted to lose weight, but that was just a bonus of being a part of the big dieting fad. It got a lot less humorous as science expounded upon the health issues facing those who were overweight. Processed foods became the norm while normal healthy foods started vanishing from the aisles, and our population piled on body fat as if they were preparing for a nuclear winter.
Now, being on a diet is more like a punishment. If you "need to be on a diet", then it's obvious you are "not living your life to the fullest." Somewhere along the way, you screwed up and now you are paying for it. At least, that is the general mentality. Isn't that what you hear when various weight loss center commercials come on? I even saw an ad aimed at men, I think it was for Nutrisystem, that screamed all about having sex as a goal for losing weight.
The important thing to note about all those "diets" in the 80's and 90's is that they were temporary. Everyone knew that when they ate only cabbage and grapefruit for six weeks, that when it was all over they could go back to "normal" (and gain everything back, plus some.) While our information has changed, that attitude hasn't. Worse yet, there is a prevailing attitude that those who cling to their new healthy/diet eating habits are denying themselves, isolating themselves, missing out, almost as much as the poor fat guy who never got to have sex before he discovered that commercial. *rolling eyes*
I think that most people hold themselves back in one way or another. If it's because you are overweight that you rationalize that you can't go water skiing, or if it's because you are eating a healthy diet and decide you can't attend the BBQ because they might have chips there, everyone is holding themselves back. Or, at least they perceive the need to do so. On the other hand, maybe that healthy person isn't holding themselves back and brings their own food to the BBQ, and the overweight person goes water skiing anyway - many people will suggest that those people SHOULD have held themselves back, or simply shake their heads in bafflement.
As our waistlines have increased and science has spat out more and more studies, the realization has set in that we should do something, along with a heavy dose of panic. People are taking any way out they can find. Some work, most don't. They're willing to try anything, even if it's dangerous. Did you know that weight loss surgeries for teens is WAY up? Would you be OK with putting your child under the knife in pursuit of weight loss? And from everything I have read, surgery is NOT the easy way out - it's dangerous. But people are willing to take the risk.
For a while, I felt that it was laziness. I felt like people weren't willing to do the work to turn things around. And while I still feel that plays a role in some of those cases, I'm starting to believe it has more to do with the reactions that happen in a state of panic. I think people feel more mortal, and realize that things are spiraling out of control. Lack of control sends most people into a panic. People hear all these frightening studies and reach out for whatever they can grasp to stop the backslide into the grave. A drowning man will even stand upon his best friend in the water to survive - that is an act of panic.
I really wish the media would just shut up. Stop putting out all these studies, and reports, and fad diets. I think we have heard enough, don't you? We all know being overweight is bad for us. We GET it. We don't need convoluted research studies telling us all the different ways we are fat and what the repercussions are if we eat at three in the morning while standing on our elbows. It's time to get rid of the fluff and stick to facts:
* If you eat more than you require each day, you will gain weight.
* If you eat less than you require each day, you will lose weight.
* If you eat too LITTLE you will seriously screw yourself up, metabolism and otherwise.
* If you eat junk all the time, you will have a body made of junk and FEEL that way too.
* If you think you have to give up everything, you are lying to yourself for justification.
* If you think you can keep all your bad habits, you are lying to yourself.
* If you think that those bad habits will one day vanish and never come back, you are deluding yourself (you will always have them in the back of your mind, but the difficulty will lessen.)
* If you think all you have to do is exercise to lose weight, you are wrong.
* If you think you can be healthy without exercise, you are wrong.
* If you think it's the end of your life to switch to a healthy lifestyle, you are wrong.
* If you think there is a finish line where you can cross it and then go back to knocking back donuts everyday, you are wrong.
What does that leave?
If you want to lose weight: Track your intake of calories and find a reasonable deficit (slowly) which results in about a 1-2 lbs weight loss per week. Maybe not every week, but consistently.
To FEEL good, you need to eat good things. Think mother nature's packaging, not man's. You CAN love healthy food too.
To NOT feel excluded, you need to include food in your diet you love, regardless of where they came from, but NOT all the time. They should only make up a small quantity of your diet (like one meal a week, for example.)
To be in shape, you must work out.
To be healthy, you must eat right AND work out.
To not feel excluded from the rest of the world, you need to realize that there are millions of us who are choosing a healthy life over a donut and couch every day. Realize that you aren't excluded from anything, simply that you have made a choice for YOU, and being included doesn't mean eating a cake and pie for your Aunt Dorothy. She wants cake? She can eat it! But you can still be with her and participate.
This also means finding the balance in your life. What is healthy for you may not work for everyone else. But it's important to be honest about what this really means for you.
That's it, it's just that simple. No lab coats, or telling you to eat aluminium foil while yodeling for three hours per day. Stop looking for the next best thing, it isn't coming. Make your own.
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
High Heels, Suicidal Husbands, and Deadly Turkeys... Oh My?
Yesterday was a very long day for me. I think all these snow days have spoiled me a bit, and so finally going back to my long schedule was a bit of a shock. Worse yet, I had a presentation I had to give and dress for - so all day long I had been in heels and whatnot. Maybe that doesn't sound bad, but I much prefer jeans and sweater when it's sub zero temperatures to silk and other thin types of fabrics. I wasn't properly warm all day. Oh, and being a foot taller than most people because you find out that your traitor of a dog ate all your shoes WITHOUT heels, and you didn't think you could get away with tennis shoes, can be a little bit grating as well.
I was fighting the strong desire to close my eyes and drive off the road into a tree or stray moose all the way home. The only thing that kept me awake for the hour drive was the thought of changing immediately into my favorite comfy, absolutely horrid, red plaid with hearts, flannel pajamas. I get home around 6 p.m. on college days, and normally dinner is over (because it's at 5 p.m. in our house) and things have settled into the evening routine. Perfect for pajamas and a cup of tea in front of the fire. Maybe a little nap in front of the fire. Maybe a BIG nap in front of the fire, and forget the tea...
I cannot even describe my utter despair at seeing a strange car in my driveway. Worse yet, walking into the house and being informed that Mr. Savy had a fellow soccer coach over AND we were having him stay for dinner as well, and would you mind making that now? The kids are hungry and it's an hour past dinner.
I almost killed him.
At the very least I imagined plucking out hairs in sensitive spots and smacking him upside the head with dog toys repeatedly.
Now, to be fair - we normally split everything in the house 50/50. Mr. Savy had cleaned the house before the soccer coach got here, and did a wonderful job. I appreciate that, I do. I just wish that he had 1: fed the KIDS at 5 p.m. ANYWAY, because they were starving, and 2: didn't ask me to cook dinner and everything when I got home right in front of his friend. I realize men aren't that great at multi-tasking, but is it so hard to cook dinner while discussing something with another guy? Or is it that, due to the testosterone factor, a man can only cook dinner and have a discussion if it involves a big flaming grill and a hunk of dead something or other?
Either way, I was rather peeved. I can't describe it correctly, but without knowing the effort that Mr. Savy had gone to before the coach showed up - it looked like a nasty scene out of some demented 1950's-crossed-with-now fantasy. It's hard to explain, but I was mortified at looking like a "typical" wife being told to make dinner for everyone at the drop of a hat, before I had even taken my coat off. I was also embarrassed for Mr. Savy that it looked that way because no one knew the effort he had gone to, and that he isn't normally an idiot like that.
It just looked bad. And frankly, I was pretty ticked off anyway, so it didn't help matters. It hits my hot-button on the "house-wife" grounds. I hate that word more than ANY other word in the world, even the cussing ones. It makes my skin crawl.
Anyway, you'll be happy to know that Mr. Savy survived the evening and pleaded total dumbfounded innocence when I pointed out the situation to him later. Though I did contemplate shoving him off the bed a couple times last night.
Now, for some completely off topic things...
This is why Vermont is so weird: A person I know had a job interview. As he was driving to the interview on the highway going 65 MPH (he says, my guess would be it was a tad faster - I mean WHO drives the speed limit anyway?) a wild turkey smashed through his windshield. He survived, the turkey didn't. Imagine trying to explain that to the company you were interviewing for?
And lastly, it was -44 F (that is -42.22 C according to my converter) degrees windchill this morning when I put my kids on the bus. I had tears in my eyes that actually froze on my cheeks. I have never had that before. So, I'm contemplating running a charity donation event aimed at sending me to Jamaica. (Now, don't you all feel better about your weather today?)
I was fighting the strong desire to close my eyes and drive off the road into a tree or stray moose all the way home. The only thing that kept me awake for the hour drive was the thought of changing immediately into my favorite comfy, absolutely horrid, red plaid with hearts, flannel pajamas. I get home around 6 p.m. on college days, and normally dinner is over (because it's at 5 p.m. in our house) and things have settled into the evening routine. Perfect for pajamas and a cup of tea in front of the fire. Maybe a little nap in front of the fire. Maybe a BIG nap in front of the fire, and forget the tea...
I cannot even describe my utter despair at seeing a strange car in my driveway. Worse yet, walking into the house and being informed that Mr. Savy had a fellow soccer coach over AND we were having him stay for dinner as well, and would you mind making that now? The kids are hungry and it's an hour past dinner.
I almost killed him.
At the very least I imagined plucking out hairs in sensitive spots and smacking him upside the head with dog toys repeatedly.
Now, to be fair - we normally split everything in the house 50/50. Mr. Savy had cleaned the house before the soccer coach got here, and did a wonderful job. I appreciate that, I do. I just wish that he had 1: fed the KIDS at 5 p.m. ANYWAY, because they were starving, and 2: didn't ask me to cook dinner and everything when I got home right in front of his friend. I realize men aren't that great at multi-tasking, but is it so hard to cook dinner while discussing something with another guy? Or is it that, due to the testosterone factor, a man can only cook dinner and have a discussion if it involves a big flaming grill and a hunk of dead something or other?
Either way, I was rather peeved. I can't describe it correctly, but without knowing the effort that Mr. Savy had gone to before the coach showed up - it looked like a nasty scene out of some demented 1950's-crossed-with-now fantasy. It's hard to explain, but I was mortified at looking like a "typical" wife being told to make dinner for everyone at the drop of a hat, before I had even taken my coat off. I was also embarrassed for Mr. Savy that it looked that way because no one knew the effort he had gone to, and that he isn't normally an idiot like that.
It just looked bad. And frankly, I was pretty ticked off anyway, so it didn't help matters. It hits my hot-button on the "house-wife" grounds. I hate that word more than ANY other word in the world, even the cussing ones. It makes my skin crawl.
Anyway, you'll be happy to know that Mr. Savy survived the evening and pleaded total dumbfounded innocence when I pointed out the situation to him later. Though I did contemplate shoving him off the bed a couple times last night.
Now, for some completely off topic things...
This is why Vermont is so weird: A person I know had a job interview. As he was driving to the interview on the highway going 65 MPH (he says, my guess would be it was a tad faster - I mean WHO drives the speed limit anyway?) a wild turkey smashed through his windshield. He survived, the turkey didn't. Imagine trying to explain that to the company you were interviewing for?
And lastly, it was -44 F (that is -42.22 C according to my converter) degrees windchill this morning when I put my kids on the bus. I had tears in my eyes that actually froze on my cheeks. I have never had that before. So, I'm contemplating running a charity donation event aimed at sending me to Jamaica. (Now, don't you all feel better about your weather today?)
Saturday, March 03, 2007
Lady Liposuction?
Did you know that a lot of people think the Statue of Liberty is fat? I wonder if they thought that when she was first put up. Imagine, if after holding that darn torch up for so long, people had the audacity to start criticising your weight!It's interesting though, isn't it? Most of the population of the United States is overweight or obese, and yet changes are being made every day to promote thinner and thinner women. Look at the Columbia Pictures logo. Her last revamp in 1992 (I believe) made her taller and thinner. That was a while ago, and I'm sure she's scheduled to undergo another thinning procedure. It makes me think of the kid who got put into the taffy-puller in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.
I suppose the real question is, do you think filling society with ever shrinking icons of women is helping anything? Would a very thin, taller, but busty Statue of Liberty sell more snow globes and key chains than the original? Would America be more patriotic? Would people who live close enough to see her on a daily basis be thinner because of it?
Are Hooter-waitresses going to inherit the earth?
PBS has a series called the War On Fat, and the opening page states "91 million Americans are considered obese-defined as twenty percent above ideal body weight-and the incidence of obesity is rising around the globe." 91 million people. That's amazing to me, and yet - horrifyingly - NOT surprising. Yet it seems that this so called "war" is only being waged in the media for the most part.
The story this past week involving the 200+ lbs eight year old and whether or not he was being abused as far as the standards of the law goes has presented an interesting opportunity for debate. Unfortunately, it happened in England instead of the United States, where some official dialogue could begin here, as I suspect it is in England (and good for them!)
Food as a weapon presents an interesting dilemma. Here is a substance you need to survive, yet can physically harm you as well. As an adult, you understand this balance very clearly and still may struggle with conceding to "doing the right thing." I wonder if there is anything else like that on the planet? Worse yet, the more natural forms of food are rapidly being replaced with what can only be classified "polluted" and unnatural versions.
Unfortunately, those polluted items taste pretty good. So, armed with the full knowledge that it's the wrong choice, we keep reaching for the junk. Beyond taste, which is a small motivator in the end, I wonder why. And why, after all that we have inflicted on ourselves, do we then flood the media with mass images of emaciated models. It's almost like a cycle of abuse. The wife that keeps going back to the abusive husband (or vice versa.) Why? Because we think it will change? That the Twinkies will morph into the nutritional value of an apple?
Or, on a more sinister line of thinking, do we think we deserve this endless cycle of abuse?
Next comes the question of quantity (because if you ate 3000 calories a day of CELERY you would GET FAT TOO - assuming you didn't puke your guts up.) I have a theory on this. I believe that we're still in the pack mentality. When someone brings food into the home, it's fought over. Who gets the biggest piece? Even when you are alone, the "lone wolf" so to speak, it's still important that it's all yours.
Last night we had a pizza and movie night. My six year old got into an argument over the pizza, counting out slices and the sizes of said slices. Every parent knows this one... "MOM! Her slice is bigger than MINE!!!!" *ugh* It's like nails on a chalk board. Every time I hear that I want to pound my head into a wall. But it's likely YOU even remember saying something similar when you were a kid. It's natural. It's instinctual. There is no reason to assume this went away when you got old enough to purchase beer legally.
So, how do you manage the hoarding instinct, coupled with the polluted food, and turn it around? I don't think a thinner Statue of Liberty is the answer. Really, seeing all these ever thinning images is more like a punch in the face. Part of the cycle of abuse. How many women look up thinner women's images to "inspire themselves" for their new diets? Is that really a constructive thing? I don't believe it is, because it doesn't focus on you being the best that YOU can be, only on the image of what someone else is.
I don't want to be someone else. I just want to be a better me. I think that's a hard thing to actually want, because you live in you - and if you are anything like me, you know you'll never be good enough. But I still want to be better.
I wish we didn't live in a society that can actually look at the Statue of Liberty and not see the history, but her body weight. We've lost our way, and found ourselves in the pantry snaking on cupcakes and taping images of underweight women to the walls. I think it's time we go back out into the sunlight, don't you?
Friday, March 02, 2007
Sick Snow Days
The upside to everything I went through yesterday is that school has been cancelled for both my kid's school and the college. So, putting off that homework was actually OK!
The downside is that I got next to no sleep last night. Mr. Savy went out to play soccer with his friends (one of which is a doctor) and he ended up calling me after I had finally gotten to sleep saying his friend wondered if he should come over and check me over because the doctor-friend was worried about appendicitis. Ha. No. I'm determined to ignore this... whatever it is. I'm sure I just accidentally snacked on tooth pics, irritated a voodoo queen, or something.
I woke up multiple times last night feeling like I needed to hug the toilet, and a temperature of over 101 this morning. My side still hurts, but not as bad, so I'm glad I didn't embarrass myself in front of Mr. Savy's friend. Though in truth, I think a big part of it was that I couldn't face someone seeing me in my velvet mickey mouse pajamas, and a dirty kitchen because I couldn't stand upright long enough to do the dishes last night (or sweep the floor, or put anything else away in any other room of the house.)
I had these horrible images from back when I used to watch those COPS shows ten years ago (checking up on my relatives, it was the fastest way) where they would go into people's houses and you would look at it in open mouthed shock saying "How could anyone LIVE like that???" Well, last night MY house looked like that. It's amazing what one person not up to speed results in, as far as disaster areas in a home.
It's so bad, that on the off chance I do decide to die today - I'm going to CLEAN the house. I don't care if I have to do it on my hands and knees crawling from one room to the next, throwing up in between, I'm going to rediscover my kitchen counters and floor. I don't quite remember what they actually look like, but I'm sure I'll recognise them when I find them. I think.
The downside is that I got next to no sleep last night. Mr. Savy went out to play soccer with his friends (one of which is a doctor) and he ended up calling me after I had finally gotten to sleep saying his friend wondered if he should come over and check me over because the doctor-friend was worried about appendicitis. Ha. No. I'm determined to ignore this... whatever it is. I'm sure I just accidentally snacked on tooth pics, irritated a voodoo queen, or something.
I woke up multiple times last night feeling like I needed to hug the toilet, and a temperature of over 101 this morning. My side still hurts, but not as bad, so I'm glad I didn't embarrass myself in front of Mr. Savy's friend. Though in truth, I think a big part of it was that I couldn't face someone seeing me in my velvet mickey mouse pajamas, and a dirty kitchen because I couldn't stand upright long enough to do the dishes last night (or sweep the floor, or put anything else away in any other room of the house.)
I had these horrible images from back when I used to watch those COPS shows ten years ago (checking up on my relatives, it was the fastest way) where they would go into people's houses and you would look at it in open mouthed shock saying "How could anyone LIVE like that???" Well, last night MY house looked like that. It's amazing what one person not up to speed results in, as far as disaster areas in a home.
It's so bad, that on the off chance I do decide to die today - I'm going to CLEAN the house. I don't care if I have to do it on my hands and knees crawling from one room to the next, throwing up in between, I'm going to rediscover my kitchen counters and floor. I don't quite remember what they actually look like, but I'm sure I'll recognise them when I find them. I think.
Thursday, March 01, 2007
Bust
Today was a total bust for me. I woke up after having dreamt that my soul had been stolen and shoved into a stain glass window, and that I had been shot in the kidney. No, I hadn't been drinking last night.
After shaking off the remnants of the dream, I realized I was STILL shot in the kidney. OK, not really, but my right side was killing me! I suppose that technically my kidney would be a couple clicks higher than this, but the dream was very convincing.
It hasn't stopped all day long, and feels like someone shoved an ice-pic through my lower right side. This, of course, allows for high levels on concentration and productivity... not. I have NOT been able to focus at all. I have a literal ton of homework due for tomorrow and I have barely cracked it. Part of me wonders whether to care, considering another massive storm is due to hit overnight and the likelihood of my kids school being closed is very high, which would result in my staying home anyway. Plus, if I still feel like this, I won't be going anywhere. Total upside to all of this? No appetite whatsoever - Bonus!
I did accomplish one thing today - I hauled myself to the DMV to renew my license. Boy, are those chipper happy people. Well, compared to zombies anyway. The interesting thing was that they had a new girl who actually WAS all perky and optimistic. The older, dour and sour ladies kept glaring at her as she'd chirp to one person after another greeting them. It was highly entertaining to watch, if anything. I suppose it's akin to watching a car accident as it's about to happen in a movie. You just know the person in the crosswalk is doomed, but you watch anyway. I wonder how long it will take the DMV to crush her spirit and turn her into a cranky old lady who would as soon shoot out your tires as renew your license?
Fortunately, I managed to stand up straight for the photos, pay my fee, and lumber half hunched over out of the office clutching a shiny brand new license with a photo that would strike fear into the heart of any patrolman. It's so bad, I was half hoping I'd get pulled over on the way home so they could send me back and tell me it's a menace to society and to take another photo. On the other hand, I'm glad I didn't get pulled over - I couldn't even sit up straight. They probably would have thought it was suspicious behavior and that I was harboring concealed weapons, or a flamingo, or something.
OK, I'm going to go die now. Anyone want to do my home work?
After shaking off the remnants of the dream, I realized I was STILL shot in the kidney. OK, not really, but my right side was killing me! I suppose that technically my kidney would be a couple clicks higher than this, but the dream was very convincing.
It hasn't stopped all day long, and feels like someone shoved an ice-pic through my lower right side. This, of course, allows for high levels on concentration and productivity... not. I have NOT been able to focus at all. I have a literal ton of homework due for tomorrow and I have barely cracked it. Part of me wonders whether to care, considering another massive storm is due to hit overnight and the likelihood of my kids school being closed is very high, which would result in my staying home anyway. Plus, if I still feel like this, I won't be going anywhere. Total upside to all of this? No appetite whatsoever - Bonus!
I did accomplish one thing today - I hauled myself to the DMV to renew my license. Boy, are those chipper happy people. Well, compared to zombies anyway. The interesting thing was that they had a new girl who actually WAS all perky and optimistic. The older, dour and sour ladies kept glaring at her as she'd chirp to one person after another greeting them. It was highly entertaining to watch, if anything. I suppose it's akin to watching a car accident as it's about to happen in a movie. You just know the person in the crosswalk is doomed, but you watch anyway. I wonder how long it will take the DMV to crush her spirit and turn her into a cranky old lady who would as soon shoot out your tires as renew your license?
Fortunately, I managed to stand up straight for the photos, pay my fee, and lumber half hunched over out of the office clutching a shiny brand new license with a photo that would strike fear into the heart of any patrolman. It's so bad, I was half hoping I'd get pulled over on the way home so they could send me back and tell me it's a menace to society and to take another photo. On the other hand, I'm glad I didn't get pulled over - I couldn't even sit up straight. They probably would have thought it was suspicious behavior and that I was harboring concealed weapons, or a flamingo, or something.
OK, I'm going to go die now. Anyone want to do my home work?
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