tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7254409519744998662024-03-14T07:40:54.766-04:00Blog Over LunchWhatever I feel like writing about while I eat my soup.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger158125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-725440951974499866.post-9169340668476624892020-05-08T08:08:00.001-04:002021-07-20T16:36:55.925-04:00Two Kinds of People<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
There’s two kinds of people.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>That’s what we always say, right?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>So let’s have an experiment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Let’s
boil this whole mask debate down to, instead of an argument between two
large groups, let’s pretend it was a conversation between two people. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And let’s pretend those two people are intelligent
and reasonable, and they respect and care for each other, and wish each other
well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because how great would the world
be if we all felt that way? Let’s call them Dick and Jane.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bear with me for a bit.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jane: Hey Dick, can we talk a minute?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Dick: Sure Jane, what’s up?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jane: Well, here’s the thing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>You know how every time I go out anywhere, you’re there?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Dick: Yeah, crazy right?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jane: Right.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, see, the
experts are saying that, even if you have no symptoms, you could have COVID-19.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And even though I wear a mask whenever I’m around
you, if you have it you could still give it to me. But those chances are drastically reduced if you're also wearing a mask.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So it would really mean a lot to me if you’d
wear a mask when you’re around me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Dick: Well, Jane, here’s the thing….<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Karen: Excuse me…<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Dick: Wait what?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jane: Who the hell was that?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Karen: Excuse me, I have something to say…..see I CAN’T wear masks.
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Dick: Where’d she come from?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jane: Fuck if I know.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Dick: Ok hi, What’s your name?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Karen: Karen.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jane: Ok Karen, I get that some people can’t wear masks for medical
or emotional reasons. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I respect your
right not to wear one, because you can’t. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Karen: Thanks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d also like
to point out that I don’t ALWAYS ask to speak to the manager.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jane: Ok, duly noted. Now Dick, you were saying?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Dick: Yes, thanks…so I was about to say…<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Steve: IT’S A CONSPIRACY<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Dick: Sigh….<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Steve: THEY’RE TRYING TO CONTROL US.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jane: Um….what?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Steve: IF THEY TOLD YOU TO GET IN LINE AND GET IN A TRAIN CAR YOU
WOULD JUST DO IT.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Dick: What the actual fu….<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Steve: YOU’RE SHEEP.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jane: Ok…could you lower your….<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Steve: BUT THE BAKERSFIELD DOCTORS.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jane: Ok, we’re trying to have a respectful conver…<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Steve: PLANDEMIC! PLANDEMIC!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>PLANDEMIC!!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Dick: Can you please leave if you’re not going to discuss this reas….<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Steve: PLANDEMIC! PLANDEMIC!!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jane: Oh!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Look!!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The government found UFOs and didn’t tell us.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Steve: WHAT?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>WHERE?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Dick: Slams door.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jane: Ok…..so can we just assume Steve's in the “no mask” group and
move on.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Dick: Do I really have to claim him as one of mine? <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jane: ‘fraid so.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Dick: Shit.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jane: Ok….so you were saying.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Dick: Right….so you’re saying if I wear a mask it’s not to protect
me, it’s to protect you in case I’m sick and don't know it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jane: Yeah. Except it's not really what I'M saying. It's what the experts are saying.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Dick: Yeah, I don’t believe that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jane: You….you what?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Dick: Yeah I don’t believe it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jane: Ok.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Are you a doctor?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Dick: No, but I read an article.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jane: Oh…ok. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well see these
people who went to medical school for years and years say that if you have the
virus, and you wear a mask, it drastically reduces the chance that you will
infect someone else, especially if that someone is also wearing a mask.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Dick: Well you understand that it’s my right not to wear a mask in
public.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jane: Yep, I absolutely get that. I'm just asking you to do me a favor. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Dick: But....wait how about this! Since you’re afraid of the virus and I’m not, you
just stay home and that way you don’t have to be worried about catching it if I
have it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jane: Well, sure, I’m trying to do that as much as I can, but my
dog can’t see past the fur in his face anymore and he’s old and sliding all
over the floor from the overgrown fur on his paws and the groomers are finally
open so I got him an appointment for tomorrow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>So, maybe you can come pick him up and take him for me?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Dick: Nah.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I mean I’m sure
I’ll be there, because I always am, but I’m not going to pick your dog up and
take him for you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s your responsibility.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jane: You’re absolutely right. It is.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, you know, I need to go get groceries anyway
while I’m out.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Dick: Well you should get curbside pickup, because you know I’ll
be in the grocery store, breathing and stuff.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jane: Yeah I’d love to do that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>That would be awesome.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But the
stores here aren’t cooperating with that idea.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>They list necessities like toilet paper and laundry soap as out of stock
for online shoppers as a ploy to get you into the store.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Dick: Oh, wow, that sucks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Ok, what about delivery?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jane: Yeah, I do that when I can, but between delivery fee and tip
that costs an extra $8-$10 per delivery plus the stores that participate in that
service are either out of everything (or so they say) or they’re the more
expensive stores.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So Instacart costs me
about 30% more than, say, Marc's.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Karen: Cough cough…sorry, my asthma.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jane: Oh yeah!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I forgot
about Karen..So Dick, Karen CAN’T wear a mask.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>So if you have it, and you’re not wearing a mask, and you even walk past
Karen in the store, she’s even more likely to get it. So can you just be a pal
and wear this piece of fabric over your nose and mouth when you’re in the
stores?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Dick: But it makes my glasses fog up.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jane: Sigh….ok. Yeah, me too. It sucks. So what you’re
saying is that Karen and I should have to pay 30% more for groceries, and confine ourselves to our homes so that you and Steve don’t have to wear a piece of cloth on
your faces while you’re around me.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Dick: Steve again?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t
want him in my group.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jane: Sorry bud.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Dick: Ok so yeah, if you could just do that…that 30% thing and
just stay home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’d be great.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because my rights….<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So yeah, sorry, I tried.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But I can’t seem to make this about two people who care about each
other.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because if they actually did care
about each other, there would be no need for this conversation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">Also, and it goes without saying, don't be a Dick. Wear a mask. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw9sJlTc2zjgETZ9J4Kaugq6YVbSZ_LTXyQsY3J6bZdgJRxRx5R8ROqHoZNU91VZohIFz1xjNpWN-5HncWcB78Yk6kSz_3-sP33gHTpbg4m6ufhtp9V30bLMgYQz4g1CCdi8M3sqByVg3x/s1600/IMG_1289.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw9sJlTc2zjgETZ9J4Kaugq6YVbSZ_LTXyQsY3J6bZdgJRxRx5R8ROqHoZNU91VZohIFz1xjNpWN-5HncWcB78Yk6kSz_3-sP33gHTpbg4m6ufhtp9V30bLMgYQz4g1CCdi8M3sqByVg3x/s320/IMG_1289.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-725440951974499866.post-55286821263445408102020-04-18T15:01:00.000-04:002020-04-18T16:38:50.053-04:00My Trip to Buzzville - A Message to My PeopleLast weekend I buzzed off all of my hair. In a matter of minutes I went from 12" locks to 1/4" buzz. Why? Because I wanted to. But the trip to buzzville took me through some very dark corners of my mind. Some super deeply rooted beliefs were visited repeatedly. There were detours and roundabouts and u-turns. But I got here. This post is a sort of road map of the route I took. Just in case you're lost on the same journey.<br />
<br />
I had a friend a while back who buzzed her hair. She was thin, with big eyes and good bone structure, and a zero fucks given attitude. And I remember being jealous of her nerve, and the fact that she could "pull off" the look. The idea of not having to wash, condition, leave-in condition, dry and flat iron my hair to look presentable was so appealing. But that kind of convenience seemed about as attainable to me as the ability to fly. Because I'm not thin, or young. I don't have great bone structure, and I tend to give way too many fucks about what people think of me. So I gave it very little thought beyond "I wish I could do that".<br />
<br />
Then came COVID-19, insidious fucker that it is And, like many companies, mine sent us home to work. One of my coworkers, a single mom on lockdown with a toddler, working full time and pursuing her degree, buzzed her hair. And the craziest thing happened as she debuted her new 'do on our weekly Zoom meeting. My boss' head did not explode! Nor did his boss' head! And right about then my thoughts very slowly started to turn from "I wish I could" to "What if I did?"<br />
<br />
And when I say slowly, I mean really, REALLY slowly. Because what right did I have to do that? (Seriously, brain, WTF?). Sure, my coworker could do it because she's young, so on her it's "edgy". Plus she has the kid and the school work and if anyone deserves simplicity in her life, it's her. I'm 54. I can't be edgy. I live alone. I have no excuse.<br />
<br />
But....what if I did?<br />
<br />
I could blame it on the lockdown! Yeah, that's the ticket!! I could say I went Corona Crazy. I could do something I had always wanted to do, and blame it on the Rona!!! What an opportunity!!<br />
<br />
Ahh...who am I kidding? I could never pull it off.<br />
<br />
But the weeks went by. And while I don't believe the lockdown clouded my judgement in any way, I do think it gave me a lot more time to think about it. And think about it. And think about it.<br />
<br />
And the weeks went by.<br />
<br />
Bruiser needed a haircut. Bad. And the groomers were all shut down. So I borrowed a set of clippers from a friend. And they sat there, on the kitchen counter, taunting me. Whispering "What if you did?"<br />
<br />
Ok maybe the lockdown got to me a little bit.<br />
<br />
I started talking to friends about it, trying to get honest opinions. And, almost unanimously, the opinion was one version or another of "Don't do it". It was stated in well-meaning ways ranging from "You're crazy" to "Girl, leave your hair alone" to "You'll look like a cancer patient or an inmate". And for a while I convinced myself that if that many people, people who I care about and whose opinions I generally value, think I shouldn't do it, maybe I shouldn't do it.<br />
<br />
But, dammit, I really wanted to.<br />
<br />
You know how you can be in the grocery store and there's music playing but you don't really hear it until a song you actually like comes on? That's how that thought slowly wormed its way into my consciousness. It was there in the background and then suddenly I was tapping my foot and humming along. I really wanted to.<br />
<br />
But still....should I?<br />
<br />
I Googled "Women's buzzed haircut", looking for validation that I might actually NOT end up looking like Uncle Fester. And I don't mean 90's Christopher Lloyd Uncle Fester. I mean fat, hollow-eyed, 1960's Jackie Coogan uncle fester. But what I found were images of beautiful women, not a one of them over 25. Not a saggy jowl or crooked jawline or wrinkle or double chin in the bunch. My people were nowhere to be found. And I wondered why. Do my people not buzz their hair? Do they not post pictures of it? Or are we just not pretty enough to show up in the Google searches?<br />
<br />
And I thought, "<b><i>Wh</i></b><i><b>at if I was my people</b></i><b><i>, for my people?"</i></b> Maybe, if I actually had the balls to do this, someday a 50-something woman would be trying to screw up the courage to do what she really wanted to do to her own damn head, and she'd see my picture. Maybe just the right search string or hashtag would bring her to Blog Over Lunch and here I would be, saying "Here I am, Sister. I did it, and the world didn't end. So if you want to, go for it! Because I'm here for you. Just do me a favor and drop a pic in the comments."<br />
<br />
So here we are. I'm six days in to having buzzed hair. I've learned a few things along the way, but that's for another post. For now I'm just here to say it's your hair and it's your head and you deserve as much or as little simplicity as you want. If you want to spend an hour a day perfecting your tresses, girl, go for it. But if you want to take it all off, please don't let anyone talk you out of it. I can almost guarantee you won't regret it. And if you do, it'll grow back. Feel free to blame me. Either way, the world keeps spinning and the people who love you will still love you and the ones who don't, well they'll find some reason to talk shit about you anyway, so you just be you.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLlDlEiOx22K74vnfd2NCNWEt32K6szZZ2VAR_Y7_cgRKPsH1lWHqkGku7rJN7YmBQD6rrLDbRAzngSUkVwt29TDwMp_YnMR0si94nuOLvMqp4pimV623rPeMzmNq3cROiyCfAQg29KhAZ/s1600/buzzed.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="626" data-original-width="469" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLlDlEiOx22K74vnfd2NCNWEt32K6szZZ2VAR_Y7_cgRKPsH1lWHqkGku7rJN7YmBQD6rrLDbRAzngSUkVwt29TDwMp_YnMR0si94nuOLvMqp4pimV623rPeMzmNq3cROiyCfAQg29KhAZ/s320/buzzed.JPG" width="239" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #555555; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">#buzzcut #shorthair #shorthairdontcare #buzzcutgirl #buzzedhair #girlswithshorthair #girlswithbuzzcuts #coronacut #coronabuzz #quarantinecut #lockdowncut</span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-725440951974499866.post-45057267668678880092020-04-18T11:50:00.002-04:002020-04-18T11:56:19.945-04:00A Six Year Old Pretending to Rob a BankToday I went grocery shopping. Like legit, in the store, grocery shopping. This isn't something I do under even normal circumstances. I got way too spoiled by the convenience of Walmart grocery pickup back when I had shoulder surgery and if I was tempted to go back, a broken bone in my foot would have put that idea to an end real quick.<br />
<br />
But times, they are a-changin'. And even though the powers that be recommend shopping online and arranging curbside puck for whatever you can, the stores themselves are not cooperating. Walmart, specifically, is limiting pick-up orders to a fraction of the norm. The two times in the last month that I've been lucky enough to get a slot, the pickup lot, normally full of 15-20 cars at a time, held only two. And instead of having 3 or 4 people filling orders, there was only one. I'm not sure of the logic behind this. I thought it was to keep workers a safe distance from each other, but my trip into the store today made it clear that employee distancing is not a priority, at least at Walmart. People are in there stocking shelves practically on top of each other. Without masks.<br />
<br />
So yeah, spots are hard to come by. But not impossible. If you're persistent, willing to check and refresh often, and willing to take any spot any time, you can get the job done.<br />
<br />
But what I noticed was that in spite of certain items being consistently unavailable on the app and website, people were posting on Facebook that they were finding the same items in the store. So today I went shopping. And I found MANY items that have been "sold out" online for a month, in full stock in store. There was no shortage of toilet paper, laundry sanitizer, butter, cold medicine or Tylenol. Even silly things like the specific flavor of iced coffee I prefer, out of stock for a month online, is fully stocked in the store. Why? Surely it's not that Walmart wants to get people into the store at any cost. Because if I come in for laundry sanitizer I'm going to impulse-buy something else, but if I shop online I'm only going to get what I need. This can't just be "smart marketing" at the expense of public safety. Can it? Surely not. Because that would just be wrong, and make me want to shove my now-throbbing foot up some CEO's ass. <br />
<br />
But...I'm not here to just rant about evil big business. As angry as my shopping trip made me, it also made me grateful.<br />
<br />
Because y'all, if you haven't figured it out yet, wearing a mask sucks ass! Seriously.<br />
<br />
First of all, I look like a six year old pretending to rob a bank.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgdN7a7d4Hvcg-LBSTxMILjtiWvu-kyzP_2GeYERm0wtPbcUR9Rl2F7csa20jsEUJ7YtthKJjtlKzea5ZaYb_HCql1PVQ_IUrai6Z5vn2xlJ4jC0Q-okp2jv-D2dYX7Eh5J01y64xBChox/s1600/mask.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="552" data-original-width="426" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgdN7a7d4Hvcg-LBSTxMILjtiWvu-kyzP_2GeYERm0wtPbcUR9Rl2F7csa20jsEUJ7YtthKJjtlKzea5ZaYb_HCql1PVQ_IUrai6Z5vn2xlJ4jC0Q-okp2jv-D2dYX7Eh5J01y64xBChox/s320/mask.JPG" width="246" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
This was my first real shopping in a mask experience. I wore it for all of about an hour and was MISERABLE. I can't imagine wearing one all day. Or, for those who are lucky enough to have an N95 mask which literally can leave bruises on your face, how they deal with that for a 12+ hour shift is beyond me. Not that I was ever lacking respect for medical professionals but that respect is now multiplied by a thousand. Because I couldn't do it.<br />
<br />
So THANK YOU to everyone on the front lines of this situation, helping the sick and keeping the most vulnerable healthy. I can't tell you how humbled I am after experiencing just the tiniest fraction of what you deal with all day every day. I'm in awe.<br />
<br />
#healthcareheroes #walmart #covid19 #maskssavelives #inthistogetherohio<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-725440951974499866.post-65736056901826660322020-04-11T12:03:00.000-04:002020-04-11T14:06:43.306-04:00Legos<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ve started this so many times.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ve written that sentence so many times.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then hit file>close>don’t save. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then I go back to work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Doesn’t matter if it’s 10:29 on a Saturday morning,
or 8:30 on a Thursday night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I want to
write, I have so much in my head, but it’s so hard to sort.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s like dumping a giant bucket of Legos out
on the floor, really WANTING to build something, but the steps between dumping the
bucket and having anything resembling…well anything…it's just too much.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But it IS 10:29 on a Saturday morning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And instead of file>close>don’t save, I’m
closing Outlook instead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because maybe
building something, instead of putting out fires for a change, will help.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> And if nothing else it will leave me a snapshot of 10:29 Saturday morning. </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s been a month since I’ve seen the inside of my office. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I see my coworkers via Zoom every Monday
morning, and next week I’ll start going to the office for a couple of hours
every Monday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Alone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’re all taking turns.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That will be kind of weird.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But it'll be two hours during which I don't have to say "Rue, shut up". So that's something to look forward to.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I love working from home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I thought I might get cabin fever, but I’m
not.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I might be one of those people who is cut out
for working from home full time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Going back
to the office will not be, for me, the cause for celebration that it will be for
many others.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> I know that's what so many people are looking forward to. </span>It’s the
light at the end of their tunnel. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I'm not really dreading it but I'm definitely not looking forward to it. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The lights at the end of my tunnel are hugs from my son,
dinner and drinks (lots of drinks) with my friends, the ability to by fucking Clorox
wipes online. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s the little things.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yesterday I ordered a gallon of hand sanitizer. It won’t be
available for two months.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I’ll have
to drive about 40 minutes to get it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ve discovered that Xanax can reduce the urge to sanitize
the entire house for the tenth time in a day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This is the world now.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But here’s what I want to say today, if nothing else:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Please. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For fuck sake.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Be nice to each other.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not
everyone is going to do life the same way you will right now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Some of us are anxious as fuck, don’t make fun of us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some of us still think this isn’t that big of
a deal, don’t burst our bubbles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Some of us are getting takeout, don’t criticize us. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some of us are cooking at home, maybe leave us
some goddamned ingredients at the store instead of buying them all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Some of us are sleeping all day to pass the time, don’t look
down on us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some of us can’t sleep, so cut
our tired asses some slack.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">Some of us won't get dressed today, don't laugh at our Stewey pajamas while we're getting the mail. Some of us will do our nails. Complement us when we post pictures. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This virus is not being nice to human beings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So human beings should maybe be extra nice to
each other for a change.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Can we please
just fucking do that?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For a little while?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Am I perfect at following my own advice here? No.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I’m trying. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The number of times a day I remind myself I’m not
the idiot whisperer, the number of times I backspace over a snarky comment,
those numbers multiply faster than confirmed cases.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I keep reminding myself it’s not my job to tell people how to
live. It’s just my job to get myself through this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I feel like if we could all just try to be a little kinder to each other, this might not suck so much. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There are still so many Legos left, but that'll have to do for now. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
Rue, shut the fuck up.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<img alt="Mean, Median, and Mode with Legos | Small Online Class for Ages 9 ..." src="https://process.filepicker.io/APHE465sSbqvbOIStdwTyz/rotate=deg:exif/resize=fit:crop,height:283,width:472/output=quality:80,compress:true,strip:true,format:jpg/cache=expiry:max/https://cdn.filestackcontent.com/0lLh85yXRUWf3Ch2j8aK" /></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-725440951974499866.post-1052453228921553052020-02-15T15:30:00.002-05:002020-02-15T15:33:57.486-05:00It'll be Better in the Spring<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have clinical depression and generalized anxiety
disorder.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s typically well managed
with medication.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Except when it’s not. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When it flares up, I never stop questioning my
feelings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Never.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every feeling comes with a disclaimer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A little tag in my head that says “…but this
may not be real”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Do I really care that I was left out, or is it just the depression?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Do they really not like me or is that just
the anxiety?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Was the look on her face
really annoyance? Am I sleeping too much? Are they busy or just annoyed with me? Is it
just because it’s winter? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It. Never.
Ends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When freedom turns to loneliness, and blessed quiet turns to
deafening silence, and confidence turns into self-doubt, how do I know if it’s
real or just the illness? Because I really want it to be just the illness. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And because this may not be real, I don’t say anything.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I mean how do I say “I’m sad” without worrying
anyone? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because I’m safe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I really am.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I’m just sad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
How do I say “What you did hurt my feelings” when even I’m
not sure if I’m not just being too sensitive?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
How do I step over the giant block of anxiety that is always
right in front of me, to say “You hurt me”, when I don’t believe you meant
to?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But how do I not say it?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How do I get past it? How do I not be
hurt?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And don’t I deserve to not be
hurt? <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m asking….because I’m not sure. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When it's like this, feelings hurt more than they should. It’s like living in
Ohio in the winter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes the air
hurts my face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Except that it only seems to hurt MY FACE.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I can’t just avoid air. So I try hard not to
lock myself in the house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I try to pretend the air doesn’t hurt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I try to remember
that someday it won’t hurt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s just winter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s just February in Ohio.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And sometimes there’s sunshine and I think “Oh…..this
will help”…but it doesn’t.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s still
fucking cold. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It'll be better in the spring. Right? Right! My depressed and anxious friends, say it with me......it'll be better in the spring.<br />
<br />
<img alt="Image may contain: tree, sky, outdoor and nature" src="https://scontent-iad3-1.xx.fbcdn.net/v/t1.0-9/86346559_10157830044597226_1035351323249213440_n.jpg?_nc_cat=101&_nc_ohc=oPU-cb0lvHQAX_O6-PF&_nc_ht=scontent-iad3-1.xx&oh=5bf8c063add7943c3e1ce1278ee46ccc&oe=5EC3C9BA" /></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-725440951974499866.post-60554332482608714122019-01-27T16:26:00.000-05:002019-01-27T16:31:56.704-05:00Old Porn and EyebrowsCable TV came to my neighborhood when I was in my early teens. The cool little black box with the twisty knob that had, like, maybe 20 channels instead of the six we had since the dawn of time. Thus began the brief era when MTV played music and movie channels played movies.<br />
<br />
No, seriously.<br />
<br />
The movies they showed weren't like anything I had seen. Not that my life was all that sheltered but at that point I was still a bit young to be going to R-rated movies. But my parents didn't care what I watched on TV so, there in my living room in the late 70's, I clearly remember thinking "Wait....is that what boobs are supposed to look like?"<br />
<br />
Up until that point the only breasts I had seen were my own and my mom's. I attributed the difference between hers and mine to the fact that she was "old". Later, I don't remember if I asked or if this was one of the many, MANY pieces of unsolicited, personal information she insisted on giving me, but I learned that it was my fault they were that way. They were long and low because she had me.<br />
<br />
My bad.<br />
<br />
But back to cable TV. After that first questioning "is that what they're supposed to look like?" thought, I got my answer. Over and over and over again. Yes. Yes that is what they're supposed to look like. And yours are weird.<br />
<br />
Years went by. And I went along my merry, weird-breasted way. .<br />
<br />
Then one day, and I don't even remember how, I saw an old porn movie from the 60's. As soon as it came up on the screen everything changed. This lady on the screen, with her unshaved you-kjnow-what and her ever-so-slight hint of a human being's stomach, slightly disheveled hair and super long eye lashes....her boobs were like mine! Because, guess what! Her boobs were real!<br />
<br />
Now for those of you wondering how I could go for YEARS not know movie boobs were fake, please understand that this was long, LONG before the internet. And the terms 'boob job' and 'plastic surgery' were not part Midwestern '70's or even '80's vernacular.<br />
<br />
So I guess that's something kids today have going for them. But still I worry.<br />
<br />
I mean fast forward to today. I look at the eyebrows of almost every 'pretty girl' on TV. They're all the same. Dark, identically shaped, meticulously filled in and dense, with razor sharp edges. Is it really possible that every girl born after 1995 has Kardashian eyebrows? Is it something in the water? No. It's just how you're "supposed to look" now.<br />
<br />
This is obviously just a new expectation in a line of expectations as old as time. But does that make it ok? As society is finally starting (ever so slowly) to embrace the idea that all bodies don't have to look the same, can't we maybe start to make it OK to face the world with the hair and facial features you were born with and evolved into?<br />
<br />
As a woman of "a certain age" (ugh) I am faced every day in the mirror with a woman who I know will never again be considered pretty or cute or sexy and trust me, I've made my peace with that. And while I admit to silently judging women my age who fight the aging process with every fiber of their being, at the expense of their dignity, I try to remind myself "you do you". If grasping at any last threat of youthful sexuality makes you feel good, then honey go for it. We should all do what makes us feel good FOR OURSELVES.<br />
<br />
But what bothers me is society's (or is it the media's?) insistence that ANYTHING NATURAL is not normal or acceptable. Most recently, <a href="https://www.boredpanda.com/before-after-makeover-stylist-konstantin-bogomolov/?utm_source=facebook&utm_medium=social&utm_campaign=BPFacebook" target="_blank">this article</a> came across my news feed. The headline reading "35 Incredible Transformations That Show How Ordinary People Can Dramatically Improve their Looks".<br />
<br />
Oh dear God no. How dare they be ORDINARY?<br />
<br />
The "before" pictures all show people who had the audacity to wake up, presumably shower, put on clean clothes, a minimal amount of make-up and then inflict their faces and bodies on the rest of the world. The horror.<br />
<br />
The after pictures erase any trace of gray hair, about 90% of wrinkles, any sign of natural brow or skin-tone. Natural hairstyles are replaced with dyed or highlighted, razor cut, flat ironed or curled masterpieces which I'm sure would add at least a half hour to their morning routine. In almost every case flat, comfortable-looking shoes are replaced with high heels. Glasses are replaced with contacts.<br />
<br />
In one instance a 36 year old woman's shoulder-length, wavy hair is cut in a short pixie, with the color deepened from a natural-looking brown to a deep chocolate. Her already beautiful skin-tone is replaced with that of a department store mannequin. Tasteful eyeliner has been added, along with blush, mascara and a glossy lip. And someone commented "I love how natural she looks after the change". Really? This woman was naturally GORGEOUS. But she looked like a human being. And we can't have that, can we?<br />
<br />
What is the purpose of an article like this? Is it to show that you, too, can throw off the burden of looking like a living, breathing person? Are women rushing out to salons everywhere with anguished, tandem cries of "Help! I look ALIVE!"? Because I feel like too many are either doing that or feeling bad because they don't have the money, time or bone structure to permanently masquerade as America's Next Top Model.<br />
<br />
And really, it may be the unattainable nature of that new "standard" that has me throwing up my hands in surrender. I'm never going to look like a Kardashian. I have wrinkles and jowls and more than the factory standard number of chins. So why try?<br />
<br />
What I find especially disturbing, maybe because I have a son, is that this trend seems to be spreading to men. Videos are cropping up now where men are having their cheeks (along with the INSIDES of their nostrils...OMG no thank you!) waxed to provide a perfectly defined, curved line between cheek and beard. Their eyebrows are being plucked and shaped and trimmed (but, thankfully, not Kardashianized yet) and their HAIRLINES are even being sharply defined with straight razors. Now, I'll admit that when I first saw this I thought it was about time they felt a small measure of the pressure women have endured for centuries. But then I started to feel bad for them. When does it stop? When can we just...BE?<br />
<br />
I have friends who like to wear makeup. They consider it fun and creative and I'm happy for them that they've found something they enjoy. I see that choice as no different than my choice of having tattoos or sparkly nails. That's not what this is about. This is about the fact that I don't feel worthy of going out to a restaurant or a bar unless I put on at least foundation, powder and mascara. It's about the fact that I spend $100 and two hours twice a year applying a keratin treatment to my hair because otherwise I'd have to spend a half hour a day blow drying and straightening it in order to appear even remotely professionally acceptable. These are things that men have never had to worry about.<br />
<br />
Well not yet.<br />
<br />
I know style is a constantly changing thing, and I thank my lucky stars that I don't live in the time of corsets or crinoline. But I really do feel like we're going in the wrong direction the last five years or so. I worry about the little girls that will be teenagers soon. The ones who would rather play in the dirt than with dolls, or play softball instead of cheer. Because no matter how much natural beauty they have, inside or out, NOBODY is born with the features that are popular right now. I'm afraid it will take more and more work and money just to look "normal". Because normal is getting farther and farther away from what's natural.<br />
<br />
Avert your eyes......<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNJ3-rAmS3PelMAoq_yuuQHfX_NjC3L_LOGS8Gi-fZizX14BOg_tYUZ6zxZB4jNd7wDKWGZX7GgkClaG9JMt0XcT2J6sXidrZb3JfcHI8DnqzLTEGWroDMtWmkAx4wyIQZjD3NbG1u6nLS/s1600/IMG_5630.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNJ3-rAmS3PelMAoq_yuuQHfX_NjC3L_LOGS8Gi-fZizX14BOg_tYUZ6zxZB4jNd7wDKWGZX7GgkClaG9JMt0XcT2J6sXidrZb3JfcHI8DnqzLTEGWroDMtWmkAx4wyIQZjD3NbG1u6nLS/s320/IMG_5630.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Unfiltered photo of an actual human being. </div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-725440951974499866.post-7220775050356468172019-01-01T11:57:00.002-05:002019-01-01T11:57:40.204-05:00Ahead may lie shit.It's been over a year since I've written more than an email or Facebook post. I'm a slacker. I'm uninspired and I'm blocked and I'm all of those excuses that writers pull out when they're not writing. And it's bullshit. Well I mean it's all true, for sure. But it's still bullshit. I need to be writing. Writing makes me happy and I have the time. Dear God do I ever have the time.<br />
<br />
They say there are two things writers do consistently. They read and they write. I've been doing neither. So today I will start reading in the hopes that I can write some non-shit. Because I've tried to write a few times over the past year and before clicking that scary "Publish" button up there I've decided it wasn't fit for public viewing. I'm stuck in this weird loop where what I'm writing isn't good enough so I just...don't. As if that solves the problem. If the end goal is to write then how is not writing getting me any closer to that goal? <br />
<br />
I'm a real dumbass sometimes.<br />
<br />
So I'm telling you now. Ahead may lie shit. Don't say I didn't warn you. <br />
<br />
I'm not going to sit here and say I'm going to write every day, because.....well let's get real. This is not a New Years resolution. It is honestly pure coincidence that it's January 1 at all. I'm just saying it's time for me to start banging on the keyboard again for me. And if something worthwhile comes out of it, great. If not, well then what have I lost? <br />
<br />
So even though the timing of this semi-declaration has more to do with the fact that I'm not working today than it does with the date on the calendar, I'm going to talk a little bit about 2018, bitch that it was. It definitely wasn't my favorite year. It was pretty painful to tell you the truth. But some great things have come out of it too.<br />
<br />
For most of my life I've had only one or two close friends at a time, and I've been happy with that. I've never been one of these people who intentionally didn't let people in, but I also never really put myself out there. Well in 2018 I discovered what it's like to have a group of friends. And while it has been an overwhelmingly positive experience, I also found out what it's like to discover that I let someone in who I shouldn't have. Now I understand why people put up walls. It's a hard thing not to do when someone you trusted turns out to be batshit crazy. But I'm choosing to value the new friends I gained in 2018 rather than focus on the ones who turned out to be toxic. I love my new-found tribe and I wouldn't trade them for the world. <br />
<br />
Cutting the crazy out started a domino effect that led to one of the most important parts of my life being taken away from me. And I've been sitting around stewing in my anger about that for a couple of months now. Don't get me wrong...the anger is very much still there, and I don't see it going anywhere soon. But the upside is that I now find myself with about 20 free hours a week that I used to devote to dog rescue. I need to fill that time with something that doesn't involve alcohol, cigarettes or Netflix. And while I've resisted the urge to wall myself off from people, I will never again pour my heart and soul into something that can be taken away from me by someone who would, dogs be damned, just because she can.<br />
<br />
Nobody can take this from me. So here I am. Looking at that damn Publish button. To push or not to push? Here we go.....Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-725440951974499866.post-6246087163799807422017-11-26T19:52:00.004-05:002017-11-26T19:52:51.611-05:00Whole 30 Day 3 - Sometimes it IS hard.<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The most often quoted statement in The Whole 30 plan is.... </span><br />
<blockquote style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #3f3f3f; font-size: 16px; font-style: italic; margin: 40px;">
<div style="box-sizing: inherit; margin-bottom: 28px; padding: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“It is not hard. Don’t you dare tell us this is hard. Quitting heroin is hard. Beating cancer is hard. Drinking your coffee black. Is. Not. Hard.”</span></div>
</blockquote>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Personally I really liked it. It's true. Comparably speaking on the continuum that shows napping on one end and quitting heroin on the other end, The Whole 30 is definitely napping adjacent.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But apparently that pissed a lot of people off. And three days ago when I first read that, I was pretty annoyed at those pissed off people. Because it prompted the people who originally stated "It is not hard" to later write:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<div style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #3f3f3f; font-size: 16px; margin-bottom: 28px; padding: 0px;">
<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So today, for you, we re-write the tough-love portion of the Whole30, in the hopes that <span style="box-sizing: inherit;">this </span>language will resonate, and encourage at least one of you to give our program a try.</span></i></div>
<div style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #3f3f3f; font-size: 16px; margin-bottom: 28px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 30px;">
<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="box-sizing: inherit; font-weight: 700;">This will be hard. </span>You will not be perfect. Don’t even <span style="box-sizing: inherit;">try</span> to be perfect. No one is judging, no one is keeping score, and there are no penalties for acknowledging that you are struggling. Be kind to yourself, be patient with yourself, and remember that it’s not 30 days – it’s just <span style="box-sizing: inherit;">one</span> day. <span style="box-sizing: inherit;">One</span> meal. <span style="box-sizing: inherit;">One</span> bite. Do this one bite at a time, if you have to, because it’s for the most important and worthwhile cause on earth – you.</span></i></div>
<div style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #3f3f3f; font-size: 16px; margin-bottom: 28px; padding: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'll admit I rolled my eyes a little at the idea that anyone took exception to the statement that a 30 day meal plan is not hard in a big picture kind of way.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #3f3f3f; font-size: 16px; margin-bottom: 28px; padding: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Then today I opened my big ol' container of pre-washed salad greens and they were slimy and wilted. </span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #3f3f3f; font-size: 16px; margin-bottom: 28px; padding: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Determined to not let this one little setback get me down, I dumped it into the sink and pulled out the container of NOT pre-washed mini-heads of designer lettuce that I bought on a whim (thank goodness) and prepared, chin up, to move on.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #3f3f3f; font-size: 16px; margin-bottom: 28px; padding: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I dug out and dusted off the salad spinner, tore up my designer lettuce and put it in the strainer, an decided to run the garbage disposal to get rid of the old, slimy lettuce before washing the new stuff.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #3f3f3f; font-size: 16px; margin-bottom: 28px; padding: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Except....my garbage disposal immediately clogged up. This happened yesterday too, and I'm not sure why. But I dug out the tiny little hand-sized plunger and set to work...with no luck. </span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #3f3f3f; font-size: 16px; margin-bottom: 28px; padding: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I opened the cupboard under the sink in search of the big plunger and found....water. Fortunately not a lot. But enough that I had to empty the cupboard out, wipe it out and put a bowl under it. </span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #3f3f3f; font-size: 16px; margin-bottom: 28px; padding: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And as I was pulling wet, slimy lettuce out of my sink I found myself muttering under my breath "Screw you...this is hard"</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #3f3f3f; font-size: 16px; margin-bottom: 28px; padding: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Cancer hard? No, of course not. But tonight I'm cooking enough chicken to feed a small army (some to use this week and some to freeze), making three salads (one for dinner and two for lunches), packing up and freezing what's left of Friday's chili and getting tomorrow's dinner into the crock pot. And what I REALLY want to do is call Pizza Hut. </span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #3f3f3f; font-size: 16px; margin-bottom: 28px; padding: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So yeah, I'm having a little bit of a pity party for myself right now and I'm completely aware of how ridiculous it is. So don't judge.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #3f3f3f; font-size: 16px; margin-bottom: 28px; padding: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I made the Whole 30 Green Goddess salad dressing and I'm not really impressed. Not sure what it's missing but it's missing something. I'll have to do some Pinterest surfing to come up with something better for next week.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #3f3f3f; font-size: 16px; margin-bottom: 28px; padding: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Once tonight's prep-and-freeze-fest is complete I'll be set with leftovers for lunch and dinner 'till Wednesday. I actually feel pretty good. My shoulder feels AMAZING. Seriously the best it's felt since LONG before the surgery I had seven months ago. My knees and feet feel good too, though I haven't been especially hard on them yesterday or today. I had some sort of odd fluid release yesterday. Seriously peeing every 2 hours all day and night. But good riddance excess fluid.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #3f3f3f; font-size: 16px; margin-bottom: 28px; padding: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Breakfast was an apple with almond butter. Lunch was chili. Dinner was a big ol' salad made with stupid fancy lettuce, tomato, cucumber, yellow bell pepper, pine nuts, hard boiled egg, olives, grilled chicken and green goddess dressing. It was good. The only change I would have made if I wasn't on this plan is that I would have used ranch dressing and added a little bit of feta cheese. Oh and cranberries, which I can totally have if I can find them without added sugar. Snacks were mixed nuts, a banana, and some apple juice.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; box-sizing: inherit; color: #3f3f3f; font-size: 16px; margin-bottom: 28px; padding: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Back to the kitchen I go.</span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-725440951974499866.post-85331769357894014422017-11-25T19:40:00.000-05:002017-11-25T19:40:01.494-05:00Whole 30 - Day 1.5 & 2.I'm winding down day two and here are the Cliffs notes.<br />
<br />
1 - Oh my God I miss gum SO BAD. Worse than iced coffee.<br />
2 - I miss iced coffee pretty bad too. <br />
3 - Cut corners and you end up with a gross lunch.<br />
4 - Pack food for longer than you think you'll need.<br />
<br />
After I last posted I went grocery shopping. It wasn't bad AT ALL. The RealPlans app kept me SUPER organized and the food I needed was all pretty easy to find. I know I keep comparing this to The Ultimate Reset but that's the closest experience to this I've had and I can tell you that shopping for The Whole 30 is MILES easier than shopping for the Reset. I think that's mostly because Whole 30 lets you decide what you're going to eat. Downside is I'm not likely to discover new foods like I did on the Reset. Good news is I'm not driving 45 minutes to find jicama and liquid aminos. <br />
<br />
Also, without being told what to have when, I'm able to just quadruple a recipe and get two lunches and two dinners out of it. <br />
<br />
I hate cooking WAY more than I hate monotony.<br />
<br />
I spent $96.91 at Aldi and $47.83 at Giant Eagle. And some of it was things like olive oil and almond butter (holy $12 jar of almond butter) that will last me far more than the one week.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5LGYXCWtubJTM07Bn658G1u6xIh4MGa54Nqn6bHWXZ85AJ3YSgQyhUFf0vc4Ivv7TpY7A7Dj35k0bJf2mQC_0bcoAsdrpRNt9zDO4y8lVbVQoJaAWbO6p8n_bMWRNflVRxv7DMSX3-SQ1/s1600/IMG_2355.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5LGYXCWtubJTM07Bn658G1u6xIh4MGa54Nqn6bHWXZ85AJ3YSgQyhUFf0vc4Ivv7TpY7A7Dj35k0bJf2mQC_0bcoAsdrpRNt9zDO4y8lVbVQoJaAWbO6p8n_bMWRNflVRxv7DMSX3-SQ1/s320/IMG_2355.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
As I was waiting to check out I was eyeballing the candy shelves and the little cooler with all of the pop and bottled iced cappuccino, and reminded myself of the little bottle of apple juice I picked up from the dairy isle. I LOVE APPLE JUICE. I don't like apples much, but I LOVE apple juice. So I had that in the car on my way home and thoroughly enjoyed it. It truly was almost better than candy.<br />
<br />
....almost.<br />
<br />
When I got home and went to put all that away I realized my cupboards and fridge were in desperate need of clean out. To be fair my freezer is too but I only bought one tiny little bag of frozen asparagus so that was no problem. Clearly Whole 30 is very geared to ward fresh and simple ingredients.<br />
<br />
So an hour after getting rid of an embarrassing amount of expired canned and boxed food, I realized I had 45 minutes 'till I needed to leave and I had yet to have lunch. <br />
<br />
My planned lunch was chicken avocado salad. First, I cut the corner of using canned chicken. Technically compliant but not ideal. Combine that with an under-ripe avocado and my lunch was, in a word, gross. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_UP3Q3isZ6OvUzudRmiPenW6s2VWvEDxjg2SfYGcnsljDS-9oS1Jmw2qG1-v-tC3XNE1Lbr6ippE_fQoV-vApurvgpm6RfJvFB5lHPqmUjAT2BrBPZepCx6F8c9O_Q8bKNz2MpjSQYC7D/s1600/IMG_2356.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_UP3Q3isZ6OvUzudRmiPenW6s2VWvEDxjg2SfYGcnsljDS-9oS1Jmw2qG1-v-tC3XNE1Lbr6ippE_fQoV-vApurvgpm6RfJvFB5lHPqmUjAT2BrBPZepCx6F8c9O_Q8bKNz2MpjSQYC7D/s320/IMG_2356.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
The olives made it edible.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
So lesson learned...never use canned chicken in anything that doesn't include a sauce to camouflage the odd taste of the tuna. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
But I made it out the door only 10 minutes late for a doggie play date, at which time it was discovered that my dog was peeing blood. So from the parking lot of the dog park I made a vet appointment for 7:30 the same day.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Normally when I leave the dog park I hit Starbucks drive-thru before I get on the highway to head home. And the urge was STRONG y'all. Seriously. But I made it home without a stress-induced snack.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Fortunately I had a few hours to kill between dog park and vet appointment so I was able to make my dinner recipe, which was chili. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWZFupstgQ5VZLZOBKriQb7VLuxdJ8iHAvh8JZBEisGSKk5ukPVcH9UOnhPhyphenhyphen3fYr6ZNOxGqG-nYnPJbOuvAhLspOTKL6qvjEcza4RmZClWOc47fEWFdNAedzc5wFYYG51xp2U_E8RTlhu/s1600/IMG_2358.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWZFupstgQ5VZLZOBKriQb7VLuxdJ8iHAvh8JZBEisGSKk5ukPVcH9UOnhPhyphenhyphen3fYr6ZNOxGqG-nYnPJbOuvAhLspOTKL6qvjEcza4RmZClWOc47fEWFdNAedzc5wFYYG51xp2U_E8RTlhu/s320/IMG_2358.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I think my house is going to smell like chili for a week but it was pretty good. I'll use the recipe again when I'm done with the Whole 30, but I'll add tomato paste and beans....and cornbread...and cheddar cheese.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
But it was good. I can't share the recipe because it's part of the Real Plans Whole 30 subscription, but next week I'm going to use only Pinterest recipes so I can share them with you guys if they're good.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Of course about the time the chili was ready to eat, and I was good and hungry, it was time to go to the vet. The appointment went well and Rue is on the mend thanks to antibiotics. But I found myself driving home at 8:30 at night....right past McDonald's. But I did not submit. I came home and had my chili. I try really hard not to eat after 8pm but desperate times call for desperate measures.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I ended day 1 feeling very positive. Like "I can do this" kind of a feeling, which is nice.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Day two started with apples and almond butter, and stepping on the scale.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtjsX2fMXw1RxpOZ9Ndu-n_z2bMvvZdFA02XGhz3BNvtqrQMl9ww7TcXDWDoTgJA3eyRTkF0u67lRCfUYxOszQjUA69xXzp0_1EDzh2fL-i2FMKpX2ZJpuKu8N76wtODJzFo0Dk_EnrcD4/s1600/IMG_2363.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtjsX2fMXw1RxpOZ9Ndu-n_z2bMvvZdFA02XGhz3BNvtqrQMl9ww7TcXDWDoTgJA3eyRTkF0u67lRCfUYxOszQjUA69xXzp0_1EDzh2fL-i2FMKpX2ZJpuKu8N76wtODJzFo0Dk_EnrcD4/s320/IMG_2363.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I didn't want to record my day-after-thanksgiving weight as starting weight for this, so I waited 'till day 2 to weigh in. Good news is I've only gained 0.2 lbs in the last two weeks, Thanksgiving inclusive. Bad news is my weight is just not acceptable. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
But I knew that. Weight recorded and moving on.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Anyway, I don't think I've ever had almond butter before and this was pretty good. $12 a jar good? I'm not sure. But pretty good.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I added a hard boiled egg that I didn't even really want but I knew lunch was going to be very late so I had it.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I knew I was going to be gone 'till at least 3:00 so I packed a 100 calorie pack of almonds and a banana, and thought I'd just have a very late lunch and dinner.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Well around 1:30 I realized I had made a huge mistake. I was starving, starting to have blood sugar shakes and a good 3 hours away from getting home. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Oh and I was also within walking distance of McDonald's and nothing else. No stores that sell food. No gas stations. Nothing. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I got a sausage, egg & cheese McMuffin, without cheese, and threw away the muffin. This breaks the rules because the eggs were cooked in non-clarified butter, and while pork is allowed, it's supposed to be lean. In retrospect I should have ordered a plain grilled chicken sandwich and thrown away the bun, but I'm not beating myself up over it.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
When I got home I had stuff I wanted to get done, like feed animals and blog, so I had about 1/2 cup of mixed nuts (no peanuts) to tide me over 'till dinner, which will be chili. The plan was to make roasted potatoes with sausage & peppers but since I didn't have chili for lunch I'm going to just heat up a bowl of that and move the potatoes & sausage dish to tomorrow. Another nice flexibility that The Ultimate Reset doesn't give you. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
And I may pair it with a nice wine......glass full of apple juice. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-725440951974499866.post-32309106462377105702017-11-24T09:32:00.003-05:002017-11-24T09:32:28.643-05:00Whole 30 - Day 1You guys. I feel like shit.<br />
<br />
I lost something like 35 lbs on Weight Watchers last year, but I've gained it back and then some. I've been off plan for about a month and don't seem to be able to find any sort of balance between weighing and measuring every bite I put in my mouth (every split second of which I loathe) and shoving everything in sight into my face hole. My knees hurt. My hands are swollen. And, worst of all, when I look in the mirror (or down at my hands, feet, knees, stomach), I see my mother. <br />
<br />
Weight Watchers is obviously not working. Well that's not fair. It works when I do it but I don't seem to be able to motivate myself to do it in spite of paying for a full year up front something like six months ago. Every Sunday night I tell myself that tomorrow I'm getting back on plan and by Monday dinner I'm so far off plan I can't even see its tail lights. Something has to change.<br />
<br />
I am literally (in the true sense of the word) afraid of what kind of damage I could do to myself between now and Christmas. If I continue like I have been I'm about a week away from having to buy new pants. And it would be highly unlikely I'd JUST continue as I have been because, if history is any indication of what I can expect, the break room table will be a foot deep in candy and cookies in about a week. <br />
<br />
So I decided day before yesterday, the day before Thanksgiving, to do The Whole 30 between Thanksgiving and Christmas. I start today (the day after Thanksgiving) and day 30 will be December 23. <br />
<br />
The timing is ideal, and not ideal. I have a couple of events coming up which will be difficult to navigate without alcohol. And temptation will be almost constant at work. But the black and white thinking (which I'm pretty good at) will be an advantage because I'll just have to leave the sweets alone entirely, rather than convincing myself I'll just have one, which results in chocolate covered Oreos for lunch, and leads to KFC for dinner.<br />
<br />
Also my complete lack of advance planning is ideal and not. I don't have time to talk myself out of it, but it's currently 9am and I have NONE of the ingredients I need for lunch. Breakfast was two hard boiled eggs and an orange, because that's just about all of the non-processed, unsweetened, chemical free, Whole 30 compliant ingredients I have in the house.<br />
<br />
There's a cool app/website called Real Plans that looks like it's going to be a big help. It supports several plans including Whole 30. Gives you recipes which you can schedule into the plan, lets you import recipes (yay Pinterest), makes your grocery list for you and even tells you today that you need to, for example, thaw chicken for tomorrow. <br />
<br />
And even with all of that help it took me half of yesterday to get my week's plan together. <br />
<br />
I've done The Ultimate Reset twice. This is similar in that it takes out all of the processed crap and artificial sweeteners. But it doesn't take out caffeine (thank God) and doesn't force you to be vegetarian or vegan. I like that I can pick my foods from SO MANY recipes and so many sources, or I can just go simple like a chicken breast and asparagus. And I LOVE that I can set it up so I get 2 or 3 meals out of each recipe. If anything, I'm having a problem with too much choice. The Reset gave you a grocery list each week and told you what to make when. I am a little bit of a deer in headlights with all of the options here.<br />
<br />
Lunch today will be Avocado Chicken Salad and dinner will be Chili.<br />
<br />
I'm not sure I'll be able to blog every day, or that you'd even want me to. But I do miss writing and have found myself at a loss for what to write about lately so where I can find time between shopping, cooking, the holidays and year-end I'll check in here where I can.<br />
<br />
For now, off to Aldi I go.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-725440951974499866.post-46126254131369730182017-01-07T09:36:00.001-05:002017-01-07T09:48:04.112-05:00Triage<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="84sqr" data-offset-key="a4ife-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="a4ife-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative; text-overflow: ellipsis;">
<b><i><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.0pt;">Triage</span></i></b><i><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.0pt;">: The process of sorting people based on their need for immediate <b style="color: #222222; font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; white-space: normal;">medical </b>treatment as compared to their chance of benefiting from such care, when limited <b style="color: #222222; font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; white-space: normal;">medical</b> resources must be allocated to maximize the number of survivors.</span></i><br />
<div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<i><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.0pt;"><br /></span></i></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">I've been </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">feeling lousy and writing it off to stress. Pushing through. Doing what has to </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">be done. That landed me in the ER yesterday.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">I've been working too much. It's been nonstop. 14-15 hours a day during the week. "Only" 10-12 on the weekends and holidays. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">My job is always high stress and somewhat demanding and I think that's why I like it. I'm rarely bored. But these are extraordinary times. We have a new system, piled on top of year end, piled on top of big changes in my department. I have a team at work, including my boss, who want to help but precious little I can delegate. It's nobody's fault, it's just how it is right now. The bottom line is that 3000 people rely on me to get their money into their bank accounts every two weeks and they don't care that I'm tired, that our system is new and a bit glitchy, that I'm only one person. Their landlords and power company don't have two fucks to rub together about my situation. That's the reality in Payroll.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">Long story short-ish I left work yesterday feeling nauseated. On the way home I thought I was having a heart attack. Saw the ER sign and went. Turned out I was having the mother of all panic attacks. I've had a lot of them in my time, but this one was a doozie. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">Sitting </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">in the ER listening to a woman with an obviously miserable but not in danger </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">kid bitch because the elderly woman with chest pains (not me) was taken in </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">before they were, I thought "Lady, Triage. Look it up" </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">And then I realized, that's what I HAVE NOT been doing. I mean I triage my work tasks. I am good at putting the issues that aren't keeping people from getting their next check aside in favor of those that are. But I haven't been looking at my life as a whole and </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">figuring out which issues are </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">life threatening (rest, sleep, exercise, healthy food) and dealing with those </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">first, second or really at all. And let's be honest, if I end up hospitalized or dead, the employees' </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">rent isn't going to get paid. And their landlords are still not going to care. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">I'd like to say I'm going to make myself a priority moving forward, but let's be real. None of us has the luxury of doing that all the time. But I'm definitely moving myself up on the list. What did I do with that list?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">I'll find it</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"> right after this nap.</span></div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-725440951974499866.post-21158933997919468092015-12-25T11:46:00.002-05:002015-12-25T11:46:43.428-05:00This is ChristmasI'm sitting here on Christmas morning feeling very much at peace for what is probably the first time in my life. I've been very VERY guilty of wishing my life away up 'till this point. When I was a kid, I wanted to be a grownup. When I grew up I wanted to be married. When I got married I wanted a baby. When I had a baby I wanted to be single again. When I got single I wanted a relationship. When I got a relationship I wanted my freedom. About ten years of waffling back and forth between relationships and freedom and now I am free once again. Except this time I'm enjoying it. <br />
<br />
Times before when I've found myself single it was always because one relationship had ended and the next one had yet begun. I had lost one and was looking for another. This time I intentionally got rid of one (a big difference from losing one) and I really can't imagine looking for another. They say when you stop looking for Mr. Right he will find you, but I'm not even sure I want to be found.<br />
<br />
I have The Boy, and I'm so proud of the man he's turning into. It has been a VERY long and hard road but he really seems to have matured five years in the last six months.<br />
<br />
I have SO MANY wonderful friends. And I'm discovering that what I thought was a fear of being alone was actually a fear of having no choice BUT to be alone. Today I spent my Christmas morning in my jammies, with my dogs, watching A Christmas Story on TV. And I haven't felt sorry for myself once. I think it's not only because I saw The Boy last night, and I have somewhere to go in a few hours, but also because I know that there are multiple places I could be and people I could be with rightthisverysecond if I wanted to. <br />
<br />
There's a very big difference between alone and lonely.<br />
<br />
I have my animals. My loyal lap dog Boo, always there for a snuggle. My House Pony Rue, making me laugh every single day. My lap cat Smudge, who I swear thinks he's one of the dogs. And my new baby Spot, my shy boy who surprises me with a snuggle every time I think he'll never really be "mine".<br />
<br />
As I sit here, rotating between writing this, watching Ralphie nearly shoot his eye out, and scrolling Facebook, I see people sharing many different kinds of Christmas. I do have a little twinge of missing the past when I see the lit up trees with all of the presents underneath. As much as I always dreaded Christmas and all of the work that was involved in the process, Christmas morning with kids in the house was a joy. Then again I was in bed by 10 last night while those friends were up wrapping and assembling 'till long after Santa's rounds were done. I'll leave my clean-ish house this afternoon, carrying one made dish and one bought one, and come back to the same clean-ish house with a belly full of food I didn't have to cook, and a heart full of love from my family that isn't blood but treats me as if we were.<br />
<br />
So far in my life I've experienced many kinds of Christmas morning. I've been 14 months pregnant on Christmas (I swear it's true). I've been on the receiving and giving ends of the ridiculously overflowing Christmas of an only child. I've had the warm, precious and rare "look they're getting along" moments of two kids in the house. I've had lonely, sad tear-filled Christmas mornings, and now I have peaceful, contentedly alone Christmas mornings. Some day soon I hope to have Christmas mornings full of grandchildren's laughter. All in due time.<br />
<br />
But for now, this is Christmas, and it's perfect.<br />
<br />
<img src="https://encrypted-tbn2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTr2GEi4hsxaTYivpNrNMIT1oB-n38TI8lTdTPzTGUaLFzfTHrD" />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-725440951974499866.post-11012361146718389182015-09-25T13:01:00.002-04:002015-09-25T13:01:38.235-04:00Greetings From the Fountain<div style="background-color: white; font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
On this beautiful day in Crocker Park, 90% through an uncharacteristically difficult work week, I opted to have my lunch outside.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
As beautiful as my work neighborhood is, I rarely leave my office for lunch. This is not due to an affinity for lunch at my desk, but more a result of my increasingly busy schedule and the difficulty and frustration that comes from trying to run a growing Jamberry business or process dog adoption applications from an iPhone 5.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
So I eat at my desk, with my ergonomic keyboard and my dual monitors, breathing the recycled, too-cold office air, envying the ladies who lunch outside my window, and wonder why I’m burned out.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
Duh.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
But today, in an effort to circumvent this week's plague of computer issues, I brought my trusty laptop to work. And, as expected, I didn’t need it. The morning was blessedly free of technical difficulties but as sure as I sit here enjoying the fall sun, listening to children giggle as people take group photos in front of the fountain (WHAT is so interesting about that fountain?), I know that had I not brought my laptop I would have had to go home for it and wanted to punch things the whole way.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
So when lunch time rolled around I thought to myself, “Self…why not sling the trusty laptop over your shoulder, grab that leftover Subway sandwich and go have lunch in the courtyard?” To which I replied, “Self, that’s a great idea!”</div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
Alas, none of the available wifi networks are public, and my phone is not being a cooperative hotspot. So I am disconnected. Well as disconnected as I get, given that I do have my phone. While I do have things I should be doing with a full sized keyboard and screen, it’s just too pretty out and days like this in Ohio are numbered. So I’m not going back yet. And the WiFi Gods can’t make me.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
So I write. It’s been a while.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
As I approach the half-century mark, I’ve been thinking a lot about what I’ve learned. They say life is like a roll of toilet paper, the closer you get to the end, the faster it goes. But I find that as I get older, while the time DOES move faster, I also seem to cram more learning into each quickly passing year. The last ten years, in particular, I have become infinitely more aware of myself. Of what I need and what I won’t tolerate, what I’m capable of and what I just don’t want to bother with. What is important and what is necessary. What comes easy and what I have to work at. And what’s worth the work.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
Blog Over Lunch is worth the work and, truth be told, it usually comes easy...once I get started. I just have to get started. It makes me feel good and I’ve been told it means something to a few people. So I need to start putting it higher up on my priority list. And you, one of my four dear readers, are probably sitting there thinking you’ve read this before. And I’ve meant it before. </div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
For now I have to get back up to the office wifi so I can post this and finish out the last four hours of this horrendous work week. But I promise it won’t take a lack of WiFi to get me started again. Soon.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9hc6-m9bj_3hcEFQtTKs012Z_Qa0XREq2k0vAFDku5i5tipumPrIel1mwJs8t91siDaSN204Eyjjuf4dNwSEKLGDm0aKGcsH50DYeUeW-nu8tgzfj1pcFWT0h1WPknTuWW4JiCrwp1EvJ/s1600/FullSizeRender.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9hc6-m9bj_3hcEFQtTKs012Z_Qa0XREq2k0vAFDku5i5tipumPrIel1mwJs8t91siDaSN204Eyjjuf4dNwSEKLGDm0aKGcsH50DYeUeW-nu8tgzfj1pcFWT0h1WPknTuWW4JiCrwp1EvJ/s400/FullSizeRender.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: Calibri; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<br /></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-725440951974499866.post-18351135775418573762015-04-26T19:13:00.004-04:002015-04-26T19:13:30.541-04:00My name is Rue. And I'm a good girl.My name is Rue, and I'm a good girl. That's what they tell me anyway.<br />
<br />
I used to live in a house with little people and big people. I'm also what they call "a big girl", and somehow that means I tend to make little people fall down and cry. I didn't mean to! I was just playing. Little people fall down REAL easy! And even when I kissed their little leaky faces they still were sad and leaky. So even though I tried to be nice and stop making the little people leak they kept falling down and I got sent away to a scary, cold place. And that made ME sad.<br />
<br />
The people at the scary place were nice, but they weren't MY people. They didn't play with me much. They just gave me food and water and talked to me some, but the floor and the walls were cold and hard and it was SO noisy with other dogs crying and crying and crying for their people just like I was. Maybe lots of dogs knock little people down and make them leak and have to go away. It didn't make me feel any better though.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7CO1yswHvTSNMY9R3v4Z5kqbx3KdhOvzSR-SDD3e-785RlPz4I1PBc7XNLMt6dzvrTHJmsddTv41ZogpzmyJwrua0Mjzk1PfHk09OPfmpdNiv623r4TYk9A2JhcqIzPj2_mqLiI0jwFrD/s1600/petfinder.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7CO1yswHvTSNMY9R3v4Z5kqbx3KdhOvzSR-SDD3e-785RlPz4I1PBc7XNLMt6dzvrTHJmsddTv41ZogpzmyJwrua0Mjzk1PfHk09OPfmpdNiv623r4TYk9A2JhcqIzPj2_mqLiI0jwFrD/s1600/petfinder.jpg" height="320" width="230" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The people were nice, but they sucked at taking pictures.</div>
<br />
After a long time at the scary place (I heard someone say "two days", which must mean a long time) a man and a lady came to see me. They took me outside and petted me and walked me around a little bit and talked to me real quiet and sweet. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPCiBefmp8-KYpDWo-5B1LQVuMi3UeNgyvO8VHR143NJ5521i0dRf4w8j7_e-6FV4lPkd0aW-Gpa1O0gEbs8pvsP1pEv9PqJYAopZgRUb9cnm_wtyXx6sWVULQSNLd50X4gPy7kdnlqcXs/s1600/atpound.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPCiBefmp8-KYpDWo-5B1LQVuMi3UeNgyvO8VHR143NJ5521i0dRf4w8j7_e-6FV4lPkd0aW-Gpa1O0gEbs8pvsP1pEv9PqJYAopZgRUb9cnm_wtyXx6sWVULQSNLd50X4gPy7kdnlqcXs/s1600/atpound.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Me and The Man. </div>
<br />
They didn't have any little people with them so nobody fell down and leaked. They had a little dog, but we sniffed each other's butts and decided we could be friends.<br />
<br />
After they walked me around and I sniffed the little dog's butt we went back inside the cold noisy place and I was so scared my new friends were going away! But they talked to the nice people and wrote some stuff down and then I got to go for a long ride in the car. <br />
<br />
Car rides are THE BEST. They had a big car! So big I could stand up and even stick my face outside the window and sniff all the smells as they whizzed by. The Lady kept telling The Man I was going to get a bug in my eye but The Man kept the window down anyway. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2lWM0eeqSGtumXnqjlJOSF2-IKCjKmBrcyG1ZN9iGJ6pAwdKHUv4gUmGrRDe1qh2SPde7cNfeSwOrvoVfCrnUA86OFCh5UdIipx6EWUSElutiHhYP6yyGnmwuBCQnV5PJKubUvYPrt8yY/s1600/inthecar.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2lWM0eeqSGtumXnqjlJOSF2-IKCjKmBrcyG1ZN9iGJ6pAwdKHUv4gUmGrRDe1qh2SPde7cNfeSwOrvoVfCrnUA86OFCh5UdIipx6EWUSElutiHhYP6yyGnmwuBCQnV5PJKubUvYPrt8yY/s1600/inthecar.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I wonder if a bug in my eye would be fun.</div>
<br />
After a long time sniffing the smells that flew by the window we visited a nice lady with three little people. I was so scared the little people would leak but The Man held my leash real tight while the little people hugged and petted me and didn't fall down or leak. The nice lady gave us a big mattress which rode in the car with me for a while.<br />
<br />
We went to the store and got a big fat collar with a handle on the side, and a short leash, and some food and treats that I couldn't have yet but oh my GOSH they smelled so good! And then MORE ride in the car with more smells flying by.<br />
<br />
And just when I thought I'd die of excitement from all of the new smells, we got to a house where I got to go inside with the little dog and sniff in all of the corners.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo_jeIt_vVrZRPauDf7iNH76dgjMWP9kLjZ-E9RQBacwOcbHHaImP-GCmkuTKpnjKUtgNJWGUdcTVTKQkHdnN9WVXRLdBb2K57GAyOUl67dZCqv5XLVDAzYQam6JC3GQoD-ZBaGawX8BpC/s1600/atwindow.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo_jeIt_vVrZRPauDf7iNH76dgjMWP9kLjZ-E9RQBacwOcbHHaImP-GCmkuTKpnjKUtgNJWGUdcTVTKQkHdnN9WVXRLdBb2K57GAyOUl67dZCqv5XLVDAzYQam6JC3GQoD-ZBaGawX8BpC/s1600/atwindow.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
They said this is my yard.</div>
<br />
<br />
And the mattress and the food and treats and stuff came in the house too. I slept on the floor for a long time. It was so nice to be out of the noisy place. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYewvT1EcMDBwaM-O6i0ofcDxiMXWVzaE-Jo2NcTGTUoniqbB3nhzNDHxGszHkLfkLKSTtTnjnmA9yWc395ZmXb0rCkShnS6PL1q85B_RgTV1Jy-E3Nbs5H3orhcPqgmZsPS7TTfmwwd-5/s1600/sosad.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYewvT1EcMDBwaM-O6i0ofcDxiMXWVzaE-Jo2NcTGTUoniqbB3nhzNDHxGszHkLfkLKSTtTnjnmA9yWc395ZmXb0rCkShnS6PL1q85B_RgTV1Jy-E3Nbs5H3orhcPqgmZsPS7TTfmwwd-5/s1600/sosad.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
I miss my people. Why did they send me away?</div>
<br />
<br />
When I woke up the mattress the nice lady gave us was inside a HUGE crate. The people gave me treats so I would go inside the crate with the mattress. I went, because I'm a good girl, but I didn't like it much. It wasn't like the cage at the scary place. It was soft and warm and quiet. But still, Why do I have to be in a cage? I cried for a while, but I saw that the little dog was in a cage too and he was happy and sleeping, so I tried to be a good girl and go to sleep too. It's not so bad I guess.<br />
<br />
I hope all of the dogs in the cold, scary place get to go for long, wonderful smelling car rides and then get a warm place to stay like me. Nobody should have to cry and cry for their people like that. <br />
<br />
I don't understand why I don't get to see my people, the little ones and the big ones, anymore. But The Man and The Lady seem nice enough and they keep telling me how good I am. So I'll try to keep being good so I get to stay.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-725440951974499866.post-24255608835743889422014-10-26T19:28:00.000-04:002014-10-27T11:12:55.042-04:00Moving MemoriesA few days after I was born I was brought by my parents to my first home. It was a small, 1,000-ish square foot slab ranch adjacent to Cleveland Hopkins Airport. The only memory I have of this home is of sitting on the living room floor looking in to the kitchen, and seeing my father moving the refrigerator out of its spot and taking it outside. I had no idea refrigerators could be moved!! I was three and we were moving to the suburbs.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I lived in the mint green split level on Monica Drive until I was 18, when I moved into my friend's one bedroom apartment. Each night I opened the fold-out love seat, pulled the mattress off and slept there on the living room floor. My clothes were kept in the coat closet by the front door. We both left the apartment on Friday mornings, heading to work with clothes for the weekend in the back seats of our cars. We spent the weekends with our parents and our boyfriends, then came back "home" on Sunday night. It was a nice year of freedom, but it wasn't a home.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
After that year I moved back in with my parents. The lease was up and my friend wanted to move back toward where she grew up, which was even farther from work than where I grew up. And I was facing surgery and six weeks' of recuperation so moving home for mom to take care of me, as unpleasant as the prospect was, made sense. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
A year after that I moved in with The Ex. Mom and Dad were still there on Monica drive, and I went there to visit every 2nd Sunday. I never intended to move back there, but I also didn't feel like I had to say goodbye to my home. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We lived in a 14 x 70 tin can for the next six years. I tried my best to make it homey, but with its wall to wall carpet (even in the kitchen and bathroom), floor to ceiling paneling (colored, patterned paneling in the kitchen and bathroom), leaky plumbing, leaky windows and an electrical system that didn't allow me to make coffee and blow dry my hair at the same time, let's just say that when I finally talked The Ex into buying a house I was more than ready to say good riddance to the old tin can.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We bought our first house. A respectable starter home, a 1,000-ish square foot slab ranch in a decent blue-collar neighborhood. It was on a postage-stamp sized lot, onto which the prior owners expanded the 2 car garage to a 4 car garage, leaving a "back yard" so small that I could stand in the middle and touch both the house and the garage. And the front yard was so small that The Boy, when he reached his toddler years, could easily dart into traffic before I could grab him. So, six years after buying that house, we built a home back in our little home town. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I really expected to feel sad when we left "the baby house" as The Boy would grow to call it. I remember a slight pang of melancholy as I walked out of my baby's nursery, a tiny, bright room with teddy bear and confetti wallpaper. But that brief sadness was wiped away by the excitement of moving into a brand new home. Almost double the square footage. A clean slate.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The Ex wanted land. Every house we looked at was met with the same criticism..."The yard isn't big enough to shoot my crossbow". I wanted a house in a neighborhood like the one where I grew up. A cul-de-sac where kids could play kick ball in the circle, all of the families knew each other, kids came home when the street lights came on. But The Ex wanted a house like where he grew up. A big piece of land on a state route. No sidewalks. Neighbors, if any, had to be far away. The more secluded the better. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
This was one of the few battles The Ex won. We ended up on almost an acre and a half on a country road. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It's been 17 years since we moved into this house and today, as I cleaned out the kitchen closet, packing up everything I don't think we'll need in the next three weeks, it feels like just last week that I was filling it up for the first time. I hate this yard, and I hate a lot about this house, but I love my kitchen. And as much as I am absolutely in love with the little house I'll be moving into in less than three weeks, it makes me a little sad to be disassembling the kitchen here. Watching the counter become more and more bare. Seeing the empty cupboards and the bare wall where pictures used to hang. Especially the bare refrigerator doors that used to hold school pictures of The Boy, The Girl, nieces and friends.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I never understood why people get sad when they move. I mean unless you're getting kicked out of your home or you're leaving due to divorce, it should be a happy time. And this is. I can't wait to get into my new house and begin the next chapter of my life. I have no delusions about who I am. I was an empty nester for a few months earlier this year and will be again once I move. I'm looking forward to having a house and yard that don't completely overwhelm me with their need for attention, maintenance and repairs. I can't wait to start painting and decorating with nobody's taste in mind but my own. I always knew I'd leave this house when The Boy was grown so I've sort of felt like a temporary tenant for the last few years. I just kept the place in halfway decent shape in anticipation of selling it when the time came. I will invest time and money into the next house, not feeling like I'm throwing it into an endless void but feeling like I'm investing in my future. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But with all that said, today I felt a little sad. This is where The Boy celebrated 18 of his 19 birthdays. He skate boarded and played basketball in that driveway. This is where The Girl spent every weekend from the time she was 7 until she was 12. My favorite dog ever was a puppy here, and he died here. This is where I learned how to take care of a yard, change locks, work the grill. And this is where I was part of a family. Twice. I've had great times on that deck, around that pool table, at that kitchen table and in this living room. And I've had my heart broken here more than once. Some of the happiest and all of the saddest times of my life happened in this house. I won't leave those memories behind I'll take them with me, so I don't know why it makes me so sad. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But it does. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-725440951974499866.post-43913244967087126792014-09-06T13:54:00.000-04:002014-09-06T13:59:54.261-04:00Living the (Bad) DreamWhen I was 19 or 20, The Ex and I bought a trailer. Nowadays it might be called a mobile home, or a manufactured home, but truth be told there was nothing mobile about it and aren't all homes manufactured? It was a trailer, plain and simple.<br />
<br />
When we first moved in it may as well have been a 3,000 square foot brick colonial. It was my first real, independent address. I got to help pick out the (mostly used) furnishings. I had say in what happened there. Even though my name wasn't on the title (The Ex was the official owner) it was still my first real home. I didn't answer to my parents and I didn't sleep on a hide-a-bed in the living room. I was the lady of the house.<br />
<br />
By the time we moved out I was painfully aware that it was a 980 square foot tin can sporting a leaky roof, soft floors, an electrical system that didn't allow me to blow dry my hair and make coffee at the same time, floor to ceiling faux-wood paneling and windows which leaked rain, wind and - worst of all - spiders.<br />
<br />
My worst memory of the trailer involves one of many, many encounters with spiders. Thousands (it seemed) of baby spiders who had the misfortune of being discovered by me, shortly after birth, in the crease of one of my flouncy country-style bedroom curtains. I pulled the curtain back to turn on the window air conditioner and from there it's a blur of screaming and crying with The Ex trying to kill the little monsters that were being blown out of the curtain by the air conditioner, landing on and around our bed.<br />
<br />
But that is the worst memory of our five years there. We were happy. We were kids. Working and living free, enjoying life without much in the way of possessions or responsibilities. <br />
<br />
Because of the almost entirely positive memories I have of life in the trailer, it has always seemed odd that I have recurring nightmares which take place there. Starting shortly after my divorce, the trailer has been the backdrop for a nightmare at least once a month, often several times a week. These are not boogie-man nightmares. Nobody is chasing me with Kreuger-esque blade fingers or forcing me to incorrectly use "they're" where "there" would be appropriate. Nobody has dismembered a loved one or swapped my coffee for decaf. The nightmare is just that I live there. I have sold my 1700 square foot colonial on 1.67 acres and re-purchased the 14 x 70 mobile home on lot 149. Sometimes I'm trying to convince myself that I can put to good use the thousands of hours I've spent watching HGTV and transform it into a cozy, beautiful space. Sometimes I am asking myself what the hell I was thinking. Sometimes The Ex is living there with me and I am dreading having to tell him, once again, that I don't want to grow old with him. Sometimes I'm even having an internal dialogue wondering how I could be stupid enough to put myself back into this situation after I've had so many regretful dreams about it. Sometimes I'm telling myself over and over again to wake up. <br />
<br />
Almost always there are spiders.<br />
<br />
These dreams have been so consistent and vexing that at one point when a "Dream Analysis Expert" was on a local radio show I called in. I was put on the air and described my dream and she said that I have a fear that I will make a poor decision and lose everything for which I have worked so hard. <br />
<br />
Seems legit. The dreams started shortly after I began making decisions for myself. And there have been many MANY times in the last eight years when I have been sure there must be someone more qualified to plot the course of my life. <br />
<br />
Knowing the source of these dreams has not stopped them from plaguing my sleep on far too frequent occasion, but I do now recognize that they crop up more often during times of indecision.<br />
<br />
All six of you, my loyal readers, are probably aware that less than a year ago I had a cast on my right foot, wheeling around on a knee walker, home-bound except for the kindness of friends who got me out of the house on a blessedly regular basis. I had a broken fifth metatarsal (teeny tiny bone) in my right foot which, in spite of a full year of hoping, praying, resting, icing, elevating and bracing, had failed to heal on its own. So I had to have a screw put in. I had to work from home for a month, walk in a boot for I don't even remember how long. I had to have special insoles put in my shoes and even almost a year later I still had to wear sneakers 99% of the time.<br />
<br />
Last Sunday morning I had a day of cleaning and shopping planned. I had a cookout scheduled for the next day, Labor Day, with about 15 people coming over. All was well in my little corner of the world. Life was good.<br />
<br />
I started the day as I had each morning for the prior couple of weeks, walking Happy, my little foster dog, while my dogs ran free within the confines of our Invisible Fence. In broad daylight, at 9-something in the morning, I stepped down off the deck step, right foot first, and landed half on and half off a stepping stone. Before my left foot could come down to catch me, I went down and snapped the two main bones in my ankle. If you've seen the hobbling scene in the movie Misery, you have a good mental image of what greeted me when I pulled my right foot out from under me.<br />
<br />
Ever delusional in the level of my badassedness, I convinced myself that I could just brace myself for the pain, cowgirl up and do a sort of backwards crab walk, back up the deck steps and into the kitchen where I could only hope my phone would be waiting so I could call 911. Less than a half crab step convinced me otherwise, as my right foot dangled unnaturally beneath my raised leg, and my left ankle (sprained and bruised but blessedly unbroken) screamed "Fuck you lady" at the attempt.<br />
<br />
Darkness crept in to my peripheral vision. Consciousness threatened to fade. I screamed for the neighbors. And they came running, thank God.<br />
<br />
I got my first ambulance ride. And I spent the better part of three days and two nights hospitalized while I waited for and recovered from surgery. <br />
<br />
I'm home now. My trusty knee walker by my side. No cast this time, at least not yet. But my right foot is elevated and bandaged up to the knee and I am once again forbidden from weight bearing activity or driving. Working from home and relying in the kindness of others for every convenience or company.<br />
<br />
Guys, this sucks. And as many times as I try to convince myself that I'm dreaming, that I couldn't be repeating this experience again not even a year later, I can't wake up. <br />
<br />
But I'm trying to look on the bright side. At least there are no spiders. <br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<img height="320" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-h-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-xpf1/v/t1.0-9/10455070_10152623771827226_7799747984667723068_n.jpg?oh=2224210155b70462130f13b656099c28&oe=54967585&__gda__=1420382970_338e2b1d88bca55eafdf7f0a79b586c0" width="314" /></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-725440951974499866.post-90098723479855488862014-06-29T14:30:00.003-04:002014-06-30T13:28:07.308-04:00Don't PanicIf you know anyone who experiences panic attacks, please give them a giant hug. I don't think anyone can understand how awful this is unless they've experienced it themselves.<br />
<br />
I have Generalized Anxiety Disorder, which is mostly controlled with medication. I've been dealing with this for about 20 years, though I didn't know what it was until 15 years ago.<br />
<br />
My anxiety creeps in at the most bizarre moments. Either a few days AFTER a time of extreme emotional stress, when I forget to take my anti-anxiety medication for a few days in a row OR if I'm sick. Illness is the one thing that will trigger it IMMEDIATELY. Not every time I'm not feeling well, no it can't be that predictable. Just out of the blue I'll start feeling unwell and panic. I know it makes no sense whatsoever, and it causes a miserable, ridiculous, terrifying snowball effect that can turn a bad tuna sandwich or random flu-induced dizzy spell into cold-sweat, heart racing nearly blacking out panic.<br />
<br />
Throw in a benign heart condition that causes heart palpitations, and a newly empty nest and there's a recipe for terror.<br />
<br />
Knowing what's happening might slightly shorten the duration of a panic attack, but it doesn't make it any less frightening.<br />
<br />
The inner dialogue goes like this:<br />
<br />
Woah...the room is spinning.<br />
<br />
Ok...idiot. It's a thousand degrees outside, you just got done scrubbing rugs on the deck. You've been breathing cleaning solution fumes in the bathrooms all day and you forgot to eat. Two large iced coffees do not substitute for water or food. AND every time it gets super hot and humid you can't breathe. Where's your asthma inhaler?<br />
<br />
Doesn't matter. I'm dying.<br />
<br />
No...you're not dying. You're overheated, overcaffeinated, dehydrated and hungry. <br />
<br />
Nope. Definitely dying. And I'm alone. Should I call 911??<br />
<br />
DO NOT CALL 911. You're having an anxiety attack.<br />
<br />
Where's my phone. I need to call 911.<br />
<br />
Just hold your phone. You have it if you need it. It's an anxiety attack. Just breathe.<br />
<br />
The dogs are outside. I'm going to die in here and they'll be outside in this heat. <br />
<br />
YOU. ARE. NOT. DYING. Sit down and breathe.<br />
<br />
I think I'm having a heart attack. My heart is beating out of my chest.<br />
<br />
Because you're panicking. Take your pulse....<br />
<br />
It's 80. What's normal?<br />
<br />
Google says 60 - 100. You're fine.<br />
<br />
But I haven't been exercising and I eat like crap. I'm definitely dying and I deserve it. I swear if I live through this I'm going to start exercising an hour a day and living on lettuce.<br />
<br />
You are overcaffeinated, dehydrated and hungry. Drink some water and eat a granola bar..<br />
<br />
Of course the water and granola bar make me want to throw up, because my anxiety is through the roof.<br />
<br />
See? I can't eat. Something is very wrong.<br />
<br />
Small bites. You're fine. Turn on the tv and lay down.<br />
<br />
Within 5 minutes I'm physically fine. But the anxiety remains.<br />
<br />
I take a shower, but I keep the phone right outside the shower in case I need to call 911.<br />
<br />
I drink water as fast as I can without making myself nauseous and starting the whole cycle again..<br />
<br />
I lay down on the couch and focus on the tv. <br />
<br />
A friend calls and asks if I want to come over and go swimming. She lives 20 minutes away. What if I start feeling bad in the car? Or while I'm at her house? I'll look stupid.<br />
<br />
I tell her I'm not feeling well. I know she understands but I feel stupid.<br />
<br />
I think of the parade I'm supposed to be in the next day. It's going to be super hot and humid. What if this all starts back up DURING the parade? I think back to the time my mom almost passed out in the grocery store. She caused such a scene. I don't want to cause a scene. I'd have to just walk out of the parade to sit down, and either someone would miss the parade to sit with me or I'd be totally alone among strangers. Either potential situation is horrifying. I let everyone know I can't go.<br />
<br />
I stay home. <br />
<br />
The next day I feel fine. Stupid but fine. I go out and do some yard work, working up a sweat and getting my heart rate up and I don't die. <br />
<br />
And I know I'm one of the lucky ones. Tomorrow I'll go to work like a normal person. I have these episodes maybe once or twice a year. While they can be terrifying and debilitating in the moment, they do not keep me from having a normal life. I can easily understand how people with this disorder can end up a prisoner in their own home, and terrified of the solitude at the same time.<br />
<br />
I have noticed a pattern. This tends to happen when I do too much. I'll be going along fine and WHAM, anxiety will knock me on my ass. And while I'm on my ass I think back and realize I haven't relaxed in weeks. I run and run and run until I'm forced to stop. Maybe in a bizarre way the anxiety is my friend, because it makes me stop. But it sure doesn't feel like a friend when it comes to visit and won't leave. This visit has caused me to pretty much stay home all weekend. Maybe it knows best. Maybe I needed this downtime. Some time to write and putter around the house.<br />
<br />
The laundry room floor needs scrubbed. Don't panic. I'll get the bucket. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwDfzErUceODujwLkivHP3rG6ceekSORJRNWo7YWYXExSegx1ZTs-413l8HOhkqBK2grgeejZY6EiOxxYH67NFe3KYby41MkgzkQR0dN59nr7lIbjZ_L4CHhoUb7S3HtPB0orF19xvAz-K/s1600/squirrel.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwDfzErUceODujwLkivHP3rG6ceekSORJRNWo7YWYXExSegx1ZTs-413l8HOhkqBK2grgeejZY6EiOxxYH67NFe3KYby41MkgzkQR0dN59nr7lIbjZ_L4CHhoUb7S3HtPB0orF19xvAz-K/s1600/squirrel.JPG" height="320" width="234" /></a></div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-725440951974499866.post-15322980180908729062014-04-12T17:37:00.000-04:002014-04-14T13:14:54.494-04:00Your Actions MatterSomeone posted a <a href="http://www.theblaze.com/stories/2014/04/11/bus-bully-learns-the-hard-way-that-you-can-only-push-someone-so-far-before-they-snap/" target="_blank">video</a> on Facebook the other day and I can't get it out of my head. It's kind of painful to watch (at least it was to me) so I'll just save you watching it if you prefer to pass and just say it's a video of a boy being relentlessly bullied by a girl, until he just snaps and nearly strangles her.<br />
<br />
A big part of why it hit me so hard was that it took place on a bus.<br />
<br />
When I was in middle school I was relentlessly bullied by one of the girls in my neighborhood. When we were very small we were friends. We played together, I have pictures of us swimming together, doing each other's hair. But as we got older, she became cool and I became a dork. I wore polyester pants that, in spite of the fact that they were custom tailored for me (a nice way to say my mom made them) were two inches too short. She wore jeans. I was a fat little kid, she wasn't. I was a shy only child with few friends. She had siblings and friends and a family that, at least on the surface, was far less dysfunctional than mine. <br />
<br />
So when we got to middle school she would take the seat behind me on the bus and pretty much torture me. She pulled my hair, spit on me, poked me in the eye and hit me, all while her friends laughed and cheered her on. And when I inevitably broke down in tears, that just gave her more to laugh about.<br />
<br />
The bus dropped us off a few blocks from my house, so since she lived across the street she could continue to insult and harass me all the way home.<br />
<br />
Many days I walked in the door to my house in hysterical tears, hyperventilating and begging my mom to start driving me to school. Just sobbing "Please don't make me ride the bus again"<br />
<br />
In the days when this girl and I were friends as little kids, our moms were friends as well. That friendship had long ago ended, but my mom still felt that the best option was to talk to the girl's mother. And that helped just about as much as you'd think it did. <br />
<br />
This went on for months. Even now, 35 years later, I'm a little nauseous thinking about those days. The complete and total dread I felt any time I had to leave my house. Just walking to the end of the driveway at my mother's request to get the mail was an invitation to ridicule. And my clothes, my face, my body, my EXISTENCE in the neighborhood just gave her ammunition which would be used to make my life miserable when next she had me outnumbered and surrounded by her friends.<br />
<br />
There were a pair of sisters who lived a street over from us. Everyone was afraid of them. They were a year or two older than us and, looking back, they were just kids. But to us they were tough and mean and you did not mess with them.<br />
<br />
So imagine my surprise when one of them stuck up for me! It was on an unremarkable ride home. I was, as usual, just trying to endure the humiliation and shame, hoping the hitting and poking and hair pulling wouldn't escalate into anything causing permanent damage to my body. The damage to my psyche, self-confidence and self-esteem had already been done. And I heard someone say "You're real tough with all your friends around you right?". She didn't answer. And I heard "You want to try doing that to me? Yeah, I didn't think so"<br />
<br />
She never messed with me again.<br />
<br />
I'd like to be able to say that the tough girl and I became BFF's, but we didn't. We didn't even speak until ten years later when, by chance, I moved in next door to her. She had absolutely no recollection of me or even the day she stuck up for me. She probably saved my life, and she didn't even remember it. What she didn't know the day she put the bully in her place was that it was occurring to me on a fairly regular basis that I would rather die than continue to endure that daily misery. I saw no other way out.<br />
<br />
Thanks to her I stopped being bullied. I think the bully and her friends thought the tough girl and I were friends, and that was fine with me. I made some friends, ditched the polyester, and I actually enjoyed high school. <br />
<br />
Senior year I started dating The Boy's dad, who was best friends with the bully's older brother. His family and the bully's family were friends. I actually spent part of my honeymoon with her and her parents in their fishing cabin. I smiled and made nice, and I tried to remind myself that I wasn't that scared little kid anymore so it was reasonable to assume she wasn't the monster I remembered. I came to the conclusion that she still wasn't a very nice person, but she couldn't hurt me anymore.<br />
<br />
They say living well is the best revenge. If that's true, then I have evened the score and then some. That video was the first time I have given that evil little girl a thought in the 20 years since I last saw her at her brother's wedding. And even when the video brought her to my mind, the thought was less about her and more about how much difference a person can make in another's life. Whether you're a sick little girl who enjoys hurting people, a parent who doesn't take it seriously when they're told that their daughter is torturing another child, or someone who sees someone being picked on and has the guts to speak up. Your actions matter. So choose them wisely.<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-725440951974499866.post-36756036879495918582014-03-24T13:38:00.001-04:002014-03-24T13:38:09.932-04:00Yep...pretty much<img alt="Looking For Inspiration?" src="https://i.chzbgr.com/maxW500/8113004800/hED2919E8/" />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-725440951974499866.post-82818963708814508152014-02-18T13:26:00.001-05:002014-02-18T13:30:22.838-05:00The Beautiful Truth<div style="text-align: justify;">
In the past I have been fairly outspoken on the topics of perceived beauty and weight. I have been one of the loud ones, not only pointing out that what is in your heart and mind and soul are more important than the symmetry of your face, silkiness of your hair or size of your ass, but also lamenting the fact that many men don't seem to "get" this. In the world of online dating, it is VERY common to see a 55 year old man, with a gut, receding hairline and a photo that was taken in a dirty bathroom mirror, who will flat-out say "no big ladies please", or limit his preferred demographic to women 15 years his junior.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
So as a woman of a certain age and weight, I have spent the last couple of years defending the value of women like me. Sometimes here on BOL (hello <a href="http://blogoverlunch.blogspot.com/2013/05/a-f-you.html" target="_blank">Mike Jeffries</a>, you asshole), but more often on Facebook. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
When I see a post that says something about beauty coming from within, if I don't say "Try telling men this", I at least think it. Ok who are we kidding? I say it. And I say it loud. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<img height="320" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-h-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-frc1/t1/1920521_741619385857054_640593337_n.jpg" width="213" /></div>
</div>
<div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
Right, sure.</div>
</div>
<div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Because lately I'm feeling very much like life byproduct. I've been a daughter, wife, mother. I've been a girlfriend and I've served as a stepmother without bearing the official title. And now I'm just what's left behind, no longer fit to be sent out into the world for any good purpose. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I have my career, The Boy, and friends. But this isn't really how I envisioned things working out.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
But here's the thing. Notice I said I spend a lot of time defending "women like me". In my mind I picture the fat, 40-something woman, one of my Facebook friends, possibly someone I went to school with, looking at Facebook and seeing one of my comments and thinking "That's right. I AM worth something!". <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZNbW_IaKLlOwYbE7ycr3gg5ZYRV4DjZafZm7tUzOkInFScxLuDZ8mDDdwOfW6nuaHcrvaZEx2p2cJ7MA3G-tCwUGJVWmhRvbLwmyPUf4QcBNoTVxMYvdmuksnmAjV56hDYpnBFeRxoZWZ/s1600/superchick.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZNbW_IaKLlOwYbE7ycr3gg5ZYRV4DjZafZm7tUzOkInFScxLuDZ8mDDdwOfW6nuaHcrvaZEx2p2cJ7MA3G-tCwUGJVWmhRvbLwmyPUf4QcBNoTVxMYvdmuksnmAjV56hDYpnBFeRxoZWZ/s1600/superchick.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Ok but you know you can't fly, right?</div>
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
But I'm not talking to me. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I recently had a second date with a really great guy. He's different than a lot of guys I've dated in that he's not overweight. I don't know if I've intentionally searched out big guys or if they find me but if I think back to the men I've been out with since I got divorced, I'd say 85% have been overweight. And if they're not overweight, most likely they are WAY taller than me. Because I feel if he's bigger than me in SOME WAY, it makes me look smaller.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
That's right...I'm a master of optical illusion!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjoZfy5mMfgA9gRbYEZVneJclBzmklHmgBF67c9xJjYuTk6uKxyJDft1ziZVljtATZtRtcn5kVIKbVCT6aent3wZmLxVuA3DlOUo4bReFMg5kFkHn8mS09-1N5hsS0mEutpnR5qqmPWYqU/s1600/tadaa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjoZfy5mMfgA9gRbYEZVneJclBzmklHmgBF67c9xJjYuTk6uKxyJDft1ziZVljtATZtRtcn5kVIKbVCT6aent3wZmLxVuA3DlOUo4bReFMg5kFkHn8mS09-1N5hsS0mEutpnR5qqmPWYqU/s1600/tadaa.jpg" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Black is slimming right?</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
But this guy is of average height and weight. And he's CUTE! And when we met last week my first thought was "I'm a whale". But then something happened...or actually DIDN'T happen. He didn't run for his life. We had a very nice dinner and then after the dinner he continued to text me. And we had another date. I may have tricked him into thinking I was normal the first time, but after he saw me he came back for more!!</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
And I was looking in the mirror wondering why. Why would this good looking, hilariously funny, sweet, normal man want to go out with me?</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
What's wrong with this picture? Why am I so quick to defend everyone but me?</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I'm a complete and total fraud. Hypocrite!!!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6oR5MOzwfAM3LuB7K_JvmBlhVHpJdye1L4szp02-QJhJOhzeSAZHaD2IQPcnJLiJrmtsliFPTEzvrAGxO8tTrQq8GLOVgWqGUp1KYF_9GZeMLH9mIt4GSRCuoeF0XpKfFgnBFy1R8S2sc/s1600/hypocrite.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6oR5MOzwfAM3LuB7K_JvmBlhVHpJdye1L4szp02-QJhJOhzeSAZHaD2IQPcnJLiJrmtsliFPTEzvrAGxO8tTrQq8GLOVgWqGUp1KYF_9GZeMLH9mIt4GSRCuoeF0XpKfFgnBFy1R8S2sc/s1600/hypocrite.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Excuse me, my pants are ablaze.</div>
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I preach to the women of the world "Value yourself!!! You are awesome!!" And I tell myself "Oh wait not you. Sorry sweetie. You are worthless, because you are fat and old"</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
And in the rare moments when I recognize I have any value at all, I blame men for not seeing the value in me. For "MAKING ME" feel worthless.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
So question....why do I give them that power? If they're not smart enough know that physical beauty always fades...if they haven't matured enough to value intelligence, humor and a good heart....if they haven't figured out that if you shop for a car based on the paint color alone you're going to end up broken down on the side of the road....well then why would I let these idiots' opinion of my value influence MY opinion of my value??</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
That would sort of make me an idiot. And I'm a lot of things, but I am NO idiot. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I'm beautiful. Maybe not always on the outside, but ALWAYS on the inside. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
It's too early to tell if I've found one of the ones who "gets it". If not, maybe someday. And if not, I'll just grow old with dogs. <br />
<br />
Dogs always see your heart.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-725440951974499866.post-66067436847208952332014-01-04T16:29:00.001-05:002014-11-26T13:34:24.805-05:00A Crappy DayThis morning I was getting ready to go get my hair cut and decided to run Roomba while I was gone. If you're not familiar, Roomba (yes I capitalize it and talk about it as if it's a living thing) is a robotic vacuum cleaner. ANYway, I picked it up and went to empty the bin from the last time it was run (3 or 4 days ago) and HOLY MOTHER OF GOD WHAT IS THAT SMELL?<br />
<br />
So let's back up. The Pug is old. And a few months ago poop started falling out of her butt. I don't mean she's pooping in the house. There is no circling, no hunching, none of that. She'll just be walking along and "plop" poop falls out of her butt.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNiyAclAx0dI95S9xxdyMqQQ8QUKLkL_fE9Quo3mZjpthU8PlvgnEqZ9raUnVUJReOzok8Bu0BQDVfrnjFOcWTaVrw_UTZZwV9FgLasiPSbd3KfkgVR59BgmTD41-TLPjqqbMh7MIBfcTl/s1600/nopoop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNiyAclAx0dI95S9xxdyMqQQ8QUKLkL_fE9Quo3mZjpthU8PlvgnEqZ9raUnVUJReOzok8Bu0BQDVfrnjFOcWTaVrw_UTZZwV9FgLasiPSbd3KfkgVR59BgmTD41-TLPjqqbMh7MIBfcTl/s400/nopoop.jpg" height="400" width="377" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Pugs don't pay attention to signs.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I took her to the vet and was told that she's just old. So, yaknow, shit hapens. As long as she seems healthy and happy I should just enjoy her for as long as I have her and be thankful that 1) it's not pee and 2) the poop is hard and can be picked up with a tissue and easily disposed of.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Unless Roomba finds some fresh droppings. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
There are no words to describe the horror.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Fortunately Roomba has hepa filters, so it wasn't throughout the deep inner workings, but it was in all the nooks and crannies underneath. And the tires. Oh God the tires. This thing has tires like a monster truck. And it's not like I can just submerge it in water. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I took it apart as best I could and scrubbed. And scrubbed. And scrubbed. And picked little square pieces of compressed crap out of tire treads with a screwdriver.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="text-align: center;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="text-align: center;">I wonder if this voids the warranty?</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
So the upside is that Roomba is cleaner now than the day I brought it home from the store. The downside is that I may never again be able to pick it up to empty it without wanting to sterilize my hands.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
But I can tell The Pug feels bad about the whole thing. She's lucky she's so damn cute.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifZrI76n0o_ChyphenhyphenUwSRxTkSQ5QpvI5Kz9NfxXO0djqsPG7q_dttybuI7SeMN0tY907YuOK7RI10LBTQCjiJqc3IRkNeO_gAsdpEevTxjMxnRIMOhzqgql4G4Tb0CdJOsfCuC2zM5CfIzyAV/s1600/lepug.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifZrI76n0o_ChyphenhyphenUwSRxTkSQ5QpvI5Kz9NfxXO0djqsPG7q_dttybuI7SeMN0tY907YuOK7RI10LBTQCjiJqc3IRkNeO_gAsdpEevTxjMxnRIMOhzqgql4G4Tb0CdJOsfCuC2zM5CfIzyAV/s320/lepug.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Screw you. I'm old.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-725440951974499866.post-26762339110310488202014-01-01T17:57:00.000-05:002014-02-02T10:08:14.200-05:00The Obligatory New Year New Me Bullshit<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmCZwZQeqQIeC5AQhNB15h0QH41BMMPOQ-5IyqyW1QykMMa441syRQuoYGuTdnHTUpa6BkS0oZrdSRM4BSYc80FpUvQyhNTc0K191fzsCv3C9B1L1V3yHVEN1Q7eixwJgI9RQqnzq5NFHu/s1600/rdj.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmCZwZQeqQIeC5AQhNB15h0QH41BMMPOQ-5IyqyW1QykMMa441syRQuoYGuTdnHTUpa6BkS0oZrdSRM4BSYc80FpUvQyhNTc0K191fzsCv3C9B1L1V3yHVEN1Q7eixwJgI9RQqnzq5NFHu/s1600/rdj.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Don't start.</div>
<br />
One of the nice things about being a blogger, even an intermittent one like myself, is that it provides a looking glass into the past, where I can easily see where I was at various points in my life. So here, on the first day of 2014, I'm looking back at the bitch of a year that was 2013. <br />
<br />
This time last year I about to begin my second swing at The Ultimate Reset, a 21 day detox. It includes recipes and supplements, starting out just clean eating and slowly transitioning into a vegan diet. <br />
<br />
The good news is that, as I sit here today, I weigh five pounds less than I did 365 days ago. The bad news is that I have lost and regained 20 lbs in that time.<br />
<br />
Could have had something to do with this....yathink?<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwvJvU8vLGaQc7d9Hh4ZlcNR0PAYd9z8tz2vHHawAt_kfeDwaWtpodItXT7H4ltFF2rVneJFK66HzdfdfGPp5_Owj7wwp3Ekpa9IrXPuKIDUqlbhUPsoMEUXGMbohBdnIVXoGMPi3ElQD5/s1600/foot.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwvJvU8vLGaQc7d9Hh4ZlcNR0PAYd9z8tz2vHHawAt_kfeDwaWtpodItXT7H4ltFF2rVneJFK66HzdfdfGPp5_Owj7wwp3Ekpa9IrXPuKIDUqlbhUPsoMEUXGMbohBdnIVXoGMPi3ElQD5/s320/foot.PNG" height="161" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Looking back at my posts about the experience (and ridiculous amount of WORK) that is The Ultimate Reset, I remember the headaches, the cold, the endless trips to the bathroom, and missing my coffee and diet coke. I do not miss drinking the green and brown goop, the high grocery bills, the scavenger hunt that was grocery shopping for exotic ingredients I would use ONCE, the complicated recipes or running the dishwasher every day, sometimes twice. I do miss the feeling of accomplishment that came from setting goals and sticking with the plan, and the feeling of, I guess I'd call it "lightness" that comes with eating vegan. So....with some fanfare....I dub this, the first month of 2014......<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
Dum dum DUMMMMMMM....</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<h2 style="text-align: center;">
VEGAN JANUARY. </h2>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjGhTkgHhaXzHB4cZ8wBm7mwYOjnh1k8FppQ6IgK9TCqZPKmLsi6qKi43T2cH14E4__0_IiR_CWcShJ2GIt_lgtH8HxPy5LMJjJf3wNHZzCeLsbDCcrokdIkm03yNBivNOqzuxbPgN8Rgg/s1600/vegan.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjGhTkgHhaXzHB4cZ8wBm7mwYOjnh1k8FppQ6IgK9TCqZPKmLsi6qKi43T2cH14E4__0_IiR_CWcShJ2GIt_lgtH8HxPy5LMJjJf3wNHZzCeLsbDCcrokdIkm03yNBivNOqzuxbPgN8Rgg/s320/vegan.png" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Hmmmm...should I rethink this?</div>
<br />
Already I'm loving the difference between just eating vegan and being on The Reset. After doing The Reset twice, I know which items are hard to find and which aren't (or just aren't worth it). And I know which recipes I liked and which I didn't. So I planned my first four days (Wednesday through Saturday) of menus based loosely on The Reset, just picking out the easier recipes and the ones I liked. And I'm making double and having leftovers, something The Reset rarely did. This should cut WAY BACK on shopping and cooking.<br />
<br />
Also, I'm not cutting out coffee. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSe77eai0602PWuO43pEVIkD1DE2lpFpYDMfjuISGKq2kQkwlK7DtkFpAG7qyfNvXWGnB1DSyhHX7VBGWykc_bHkdQswaC80QV4lOKhbwrcBCu5wx7Fz2lMOAkGwgluc_16EXwSMsFgA11/s1600/fn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSe77eai0602PWuO43pEVIkD1DE2lpFpYDMfjuISGKq2kQkwlK7DtkFpAG7qyfNvXWGnB1DSyhHX7VBGWykc_bHkdQswaC80QV4lOKhbwrcBCu5wx7Fz2lMOAkGwgluc_16EXwSMsFgA11/s320/fn.jpg" height="42" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
You're can take away my meat, eggs, and yogurt. You can take away sour cream and replace milk and creamer with soy and almond substitutes. You can take away my processed and prepared foods. But coffee and, to a lesser extent, Diet Coke, are non-negotiable.<br />
<br />
Another difference between previous times I've done The Ultimate Reset and this time just eating vegan, is that this time I can share recipes with you. Lots of people asked me for the Reset recipes, but they're proprietary and copyrighted and all that legal mumbo-jumbo. So, while some of my recipes may be INSPIRED by The Ultimate Reset (I do owe Beachbody a world of gratitude to introducing me to how good I feel when I eat vegan), this is not The Reset. I still have several coach friends and would be happy to put you in touch with one if you want to go all-out and do 21 days of hardcore detox.<br />
<br />
Today's Lunch....Big-Ass Salad with Yummy Garlic Dressing.<br />
<br />
This is a metric crapton of work (the chopping and slicing and dicing and grating and HOMEMADE dressing for crying out loud) but it is SOOOO good that I made three of them today, and enough dressing for a bunch more. Making food ahead and having leftovers is going to be the only way I can pull this off, so I'm preparing in bulk right out of the gate.<br />
<br />
The salad itself is nothing too special, but the ingredients somehow come together into something awesome.<br />
<br />
First, I start with this artisan lettuce.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIpYMq_YMjBFKJ200kaYJHL0X9k57WzdeSCf-uVgKCAhoveEM1aWKgaZjTD3JQZkRRaeyUGqs5esPFUwb94s89lSGiPdEfPP_RuFyEMRH8YDGeqIXNu7eX2ZZ-hHX9npmd_9suE1Z3KsbE/s1600/lettuce.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIpYMq_YMjBFKJ200kaYJHL0X9k57WzdeSCf-uVgKCAhoveEM1aWKgaZjTD3JQZkRRaeyUGqs5esPFUwb94s89lSGiPdEfPP_RuFyEMRH8YDGeqIXNu7eX2ZZ-hHX9npmd_9suE1Z3KsbE/s320/lettuce.jpg" height="247" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
No, it's not organic. But it's good and it's cheap. I LOVE this lettuce. It seems to last longer than the bagged stuff and it's not that expensive. However, I only got three salads out of the package. Next week I'll need to buy two or three packages.<br />
<br />
Wash it up really good in the salad spinner, I put 1/3 in a bowl for lunch, the other two thirds in Rubbermaid for salads for tomorrow and the day after.<br />
<br />
To each salad I add shredded carrot, chopped cucumber, chopped bell pepper, sprouts, chopped tomato, chopped jicama, pine nuts and cashews.<br />
<br />
But it's the dressing that makes it truly special.<br />
<br />
In the blender combine:<br />
1 cup olive oil<br />
1/2 cup apple cider vinegar<br />
1 tsp yellow mustard<br />
8 cloves of garlic<br />
2 tsp pink himalayan salt<br />
A handfull of fresh parsley<br />
2 tbsp agave nectar<br />
6 tbsp lemon juice<br />
<br />
Turn that sucker on and blend the bejeezus out of it. Store in a bottle in the fridge. Makes about 15 1-oz servings. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXtJNSq0n3DWK3N_GPqlE3iXqU0jlrgfjZ2Cy3trsqFEgi_syVSjbDxbz5D2m-BWUjhP6czNASOa5nIxU4DTuDpsf1NsqrFoDErSAT0jkKQqvio6bEq28onFFranftnP5mTdMo6cmMXbOD/s1600/boocarrot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXtJNSq0n3DWK3N_GPqlE3iXqU0jlrgfjZ2Cy3trsqFEgi_syVSjbDxbz5D2m-BWUjhP6czNASOa5nIxU4DTuDpsf1NsqrFoDErSAT0jkKQqvio6bEq28onFFranftnP5mTdMo6cmMXbOD/s320/boocarrot.jpg" height="161" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Don't forget to share carrots with the doggies.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKVR-SAN9be0FXbCqS_-GazpgYeIsPSKGK0nLOyd2sf3zzwGKKJbizQdZpRPJKBsK77Otyu2ifizXnPyHij0DBBLcb1dNum6MetDNAShia5Eoa6uIDAwSQgmPvousxQO16-r1BmfGePGr-/s1600/muhkarat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKVR-SAN9be0FXbCqS_-GazpgYeIsPSKGK0nLOyd2sf3zzwGKKJbizQdZpRPJKBsK77Otyu2ifizXnPyHij0DBBLcb1dNum6MetDNAShia5Eoa6uIDAwSQgmPvousxQO16-r1BmfGePGr-/s320/muhkarat.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The pug does not share. MY carrot!!!!</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinl1oblDmcI1iHDv7o8-qIg_X8I4T1wzitSytXEvd9IJ3uFG1PVIqc8VH_iUhlkhnNtiwSEbCsciW7PrFPN9RbwzQwtJculHXmi05RIOWcmzzmClnnpv4HR5SMkqsPo8K6X6iO5Ue4-49K/s1600/themess.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinl1oblDmcI1iHDv7o8-qIg_X8I4T1wzitSytXEvd9IJ3uFG1PVIqc8VH_iUhlkhnNtiwSEbCsciW7PrFPN9RbwzQwtJculHXmi05RIOWcmzzmClnnpv4HR5SMkqsPo8K6X6iO5Ue4-49K/s320/themess.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I forgot what a mess eating healthy makes,</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJfScQWRMhqczHaJJzoeP6F9KeqDR8mdZmbcbex8-mFbDQswK7nR-v0IQYNWHWC74vqt8FKaeTtLpCl8PFbPoPQzrbrcQyrnqhdc4DKlQaqq4ehQ5tpfp24nVU-lPozXbCEMTGGw2qF_lZ/s1600/thesalad.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJfScQWRMhqczHaJJzoeP6F9KeqDR8mdZmbcbex8-mFbDQswK7nR-v0IQYNWHWC74vqt8FKaeTtLpCl8PFbPoPQzrbrcQyrnqhdc4DKlQaqq4ehQ5tpfp24nVU-lPozXbCEMTGGw2qF_lZ/s320/thesalad.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The end result...a big bowl of YUM.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I have a spaghetti squash in the oven for dinner, and tomorrow's lunch. The dishwasher is running for the second time today. All is right with the world.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Happy New Year my friends!</div>
<br />
Edit....I lasted a week. Don't judge. Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-725440951974499866.post-17013129429575392242013-12-14T23:23:00.000-05:002013-12-14T23:23:48.325-05:00Semantics and One Little Pill a DayToday was as close to a day of total freedom as a responsible adult can get.<br />
<br />
I had my alarm set for 9. What was I thinking? At 9 I reset it to 10. And at 10 I hit snooze three times. And each time the music woke me, I justified remaining in bed with "I don't have anywhere to be". That's awful close to "I have no reason to get out of bed". Sometimes semantics is the only thing separating carefree relaxation from major depressive disorder.<br />
<br />
Well...semantics and one little pill a day.<br />
<br />
When I finally dragged my butt out of bed and put clothes on my fat ass (don't ask about my diet of late, mnkay? It's Christmas.), I risked life and limb to drive across the frozen Ohio tundra to take the dog to get his hair cut. That's the responsible adult portion of our program. Boo needed a haircut. And a bath. Bad.<br />
<br />
While Boobear got his beauty treatment I slipped and slid over to The Farm, the location of the dog rescue where I volunteer. I walked dogs and threw tennis balls and petted and played with these sweet, trusting souls who deserve so much better than they have so far received out of life. I consider myself lucky to be able to do this for an hour or two more weekends than not. The sense of purpose this work brings is sometimes all that keeps me going from 5pm Friday 'till 8:30am Monday. <br />
<br />
As I was about to leave The Farm, not because I had anywhere to go but just because I was done, I got a call from Boss Lady, the rescue's founder, asking if I could stick around and introduce one of the dogs to a lady she was sending over. Sure! No problem! Anything to feel useful for a few more minutes.<br />
<br />
As I waited in my car for the lady to make her way to The Farm, I watched the snow fall. If Norman Rockwell had been asked to do a painting called "Farm in Winter" this would have been it. A tidy farmhouse with a wrap-around porch, a big red barn where horses live. Cute little red...I don't know...chicken coops? What am I, a farmer? Spit rail fencing. Big old trees. The family's dogs came out to visit me for a bit. Boss Lady's dad, with his long, white beard, made an appearance wearing a Santa hat. I shit you not. Even in my head I couldn't paint such a perfect picture.<br />
<br />
The lady came, she and her prospective adoptive dog hit it off very nicely. I reported back to Boss Lady and left The Farm just in time to pick Boo up at the groomers. He is so adorable now, fluffy and clean with no more hair hanging in his eyes. <br />
<br />
When I got home The Boy and his girlfriend were here. I can easily go a week without seeing The Boy, even though we live in the same house, so this was a nice surprise. I miss his face. But soon enough he informed me "Mom, you smell like dog". He's a real poet that one. So I wandered off to shower and they left.<br />
<br />
I was supposed to have a date tonight. He flaked on me. Why do guys do that? "I'll call you tomorrow and we'll firm things up". Yeah...sure you will. Why ask me out in the first place if you're not going to follow through? Is it just an ego thing? Are you just trying to see if you CAN get the date even though you don't actually want to go on it? <br />
<br />
Boys are stupid, regardless of age.<br />
<br />
I'm pretty good at lying to myself but given that I turned my car sideways on my way home from my travels this afternoon I don't think I'm bullshitting myself when I say I was better off at home tonight, snuggling with a pint of cappuccino gelato. The date was going to be 20 miles away and the snow has continued to fall.<br />
<br />
I just let the dogs out for their last potty and yard patrol of the night. It's one of those windless winter nights that make me think, just for a split second, that I've gone deaf when I stick my head out to call them in. It's so still it almost feels like outside is actually a vast indoor room, like I could talk to my neighbors without raising my voice. And without the wind I could stand on the deck in my socks and pajamas and watch my dogs romp through the first real snow of the year. <br />
<br />
So today I did only what I wanted to do. I played with dogs and I got to see The Boy and I got to live in a winter wonderland. It was a beautiful day.<br />
<br />
And now, even though I've only been up for 12 1/2 hours, I could go to bed if I wanted. Instead, I will go read in bed, not having to worry about keeping anyone awake. Living the dream, right?<br />
<br />
I think I'm going to need a bigger pill.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-725440951974499866.post-89530308875489514142013-11-21T12:46:00.003-05:002013-11-21T14:34:29.480-05:00Thankful<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
As I waited impatiently for my coffee, I heard "How's your day going, Ma'am?". I snapped out of my daze and just laughed. It was all I could do.</div>
<br />
I know when someone asks that question they expect, and usually WANT to hear something as deep as "Good, you?". But I just couldn't say it. And as much as I hate to be Debbie Downer, when I got done chuckling, I answered his question.<br />
<br />
"I've had better days", I said. "I just got so aggravated with work that I had to get up and walk away. So I'm here. I have to go back, but it's nice to be out of there for a few minutes"<br />
<br />
As he handed me my coffee, this young man said to me "Well for what it's worth, if nobody has told you today that they love you, I LOVE YOU. From one human being to another. I love you"<br />
<br />
I said "Thank you. I love you too". And I smiled. Given how my day was going up until that moment, just the smile was miracle enough.<br />
<br />
I've thought about that encounter several times in the past couple of days. Not only the sweetness of that young man, but also the fact that I DO have someone who says "I love you" to me every single day. <br />
<br />
Each morning I open the basement door and yell down the steps to make sure The Boy is awake. <br />
<br />
"Alex?......Alex????"<br />
<br />
"Yeah"<br />
<br />
"I'm leaving. You up?"<br />
<br />
"Yeah"<br />
<br />
"Ok...love you"<br />
<br />
"Ok...I love you too"<br />
<br />
Every. Single. Day. <br />
<br />
It won't be long until the only reason I'll have to open the basement door is to grab the extra bag of dog food, visit the dreadmill or peek down there with one wary eye to make sure the sump pump is keeping up with the rain. If I want to hear his voice I'll have to pick up the phone, and I know it won't be appreciated if I do it every single morning. So for today, I'm counting my blessings. I am very lucky. And I am....<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRFMyiQhhso42UbZrIabGRPV15NekJMry8LAmyzIzfXojuH_mG1tokCEbETdYZKsqJFeWdN6DJlWH5kBa4opzs49yv-7W4a2nEZzaUOBa45EFw_PpwmRbsJ0YQ7GiNSTssGdoOILI5nMQf/s1600/THANKFUL.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRFMyiQhhso42UbZrIabGRPV15NekJMry8LAmyzIzfXojuH_mG1tokCEbETdYZKsqJFeWdN6DJlWH5kBa4opzs49yv-7W4a2nEZzaUOBa45EFw_PpwmRbsJ0YQ7GiNSTssGdoOILI5nMQf/s320/THANKFUL.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-725440951974499866.post-39846818555329754752013-11-19T21:44:00.002-05:002013-11-19T21:44:50.298-05:00Quinoa Chicken StirfryI know I promised you guys a potato soup recipe, but honestly it didn't turn out so great. I need to tweak it before I'll want to put it up here.<br />
<br />
But today I made some really good stuff. I had a hideous day at work, and at one point I got so ticked off because a project wasn't going as I needed it to that I knew I was faced with three choices. Throw something, start crying or walk away. So I walked away. <br />
<br />
Now before you go thinking I made the right choice, know that I walked straight across the street to Starbucks, where I got a skinny iced mocha and a peanut butter cup cookie. Because the skinny cancels out the cookie right?<br />
<br />
As it turns out, no. Not right. Go figure.<br />
<br />
So four hours later, at 7pm, when I was finally on my way home from work, I found myself wondering what I could make for dinner that would be quick and low calorie, but would be satisfying enough to hopefully keep me from entering "fuck it" mode and eating everything in sight.<br />
<br />
Because eating everything in sight because you've blown your diet for the day is like running your cell phone over with your car because you dropped it.<br />
<br />
Or some such shit.<br />
<br />
Now if you know me, you know I'm not much of a cook. And when I do cook I'm really not one for flying by the seat of my pants. I run my kitchen like I run the rest of my life. By the book. That way when it all goes kaflooey I can say "Well I just did what the book said". See how that works? So I prefer if my food comes in a box that says how long to microwave it, but barring that I need a very specific recipe, with instructions that could be understood by a three year old. <br />
<br />
So I can't really say what came over me that resulted in me throwing the following ingredients together. Maybe the caffeine, sugar and artificial sweeteners in my afternoon snack messed with my head. If so, I should thank the Barista, because it turned out pretty darn good.<br />
<br />
Here's what you need:<br />
<br />
3 cups <a href="http://www.birdseye.com/vegetable-products/mixtures-blends/pepper-stir-fry" target="_blank">Birds Eye Pepper Stir-Fry</a><br />
3 oz <a href="http://www.tyson.com/Products/Grilled-And-Ready-Chunks.aspx" target="_blank">Tyson Grilled & Ready Chicken Breast Chunks</a><br />
1/2 cup Cooked <a href="http://www.vitacost.com/ancient-harvest-quinoa-inca-red-organic?csrc=GPF-PA-089125170003&ci_gpa=pla&ci_kw=&ci_src=17588969&ci_sku=089125170003&ci_src=17588969&ci_sku=089125170003&gclid=CIaAvbuj8roCFeIb4godx1UALA" target="_blank">Red Quinoa</a><br />
1/8 tsp chili powder<br />
1/4 tsp cumin<br />
1/4 tsp coriander<br />
Splash of soy sauce<br />
Olive Oil Spray<br />
<br />
Spray a frying pan with olive oil, throw the vegetables and chicken in together and saute on medium heat. By the time the veggies are cooked the chicken will be heated through. When nearly done add the spices, soy sauce and quinoa. Stir together just until quinoa is heated. <br />
<br />
Serves one. And you will not want to share.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu2vBEivpULHowBNPD6SWF72UMPE8p3ZOrHuA6mw5T6WkZ-jvlk2hBZ01HX5X0CA2K3813gdf7pvkHuZ-PPgwmHDQ32BzJl8QzUxLy5MoJxlfSCaUUfII0cQRQQ5QoQPQ9CMhpzWOPjo9d/s1600/quinoastirfry.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu2vBEivpULHowBNPD6SWF72UMPE8p3ZOrHuA6mw5T6WkZ-jvlk2hBZ01HX5X0CA2K3813gdf7pvkHuZ-PPgwmHDQ32BzJl8QzUxLy5MoJxlfSCaUUfII0cQRQQ5QoQPQ9CMhpzWOPjo9d/s320/quinoastirfry.JPG" width="291" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
The links are to the brands/varieties of what I had in the house. The red quinoa is pretty but white would work just as well. <br />
<br />
Everything in this recipe is pretty much a staple in my kitchen. Whenever I make quinoa I make WAY more than I need so I'll have some in the fridge for later. And the peppers and chicken are just handy to keep in the freezer.<br />
<br />
The nutritionals look like this:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-iVfYTplKhteMAOPl4T3M2dZLSxeJDpQXtA0ky2_WQsAZKXODlI8FSddA67RvJPviqgvAuNIa4C5sHahhi2KnEcvHny5NOmNOdzv0co5Z8YbRMxRTslYtIqYUZ0p8BsBmYZPIjY2NLAho/s1600/quinoastirfrynutritionals.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-iVfYTplKhteMAOPl4T3M2dZLSxeJDpQXtA0ky2_WQsAZKXODlI8FSddA67RvJPviqgvAuNIa4C5sHahhi2KnEcvHny5NOmNOdzv0co5Z8YbRMxRTslYtIqYUZ0p8BsBmYZPIjY2NLAho/s320/quinoastirfrynutritionals.JPG" width="222" /></a></div>
<br />
I'll definitely make this again. Though I'm not sure what to call it. Quinoa Chicken Stirfry? Boring but accurate. And really it's a miracle I managed to pull a decent meal out of my...um...hat after the day I've had. You can't expect a clever name too.<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0