So, in the midst of job hunting, Facebook updating, and avoiding running, I've been checking my Match.com account quite frequently.
It may be because one of my good friends recently had her first baby (she met her husband on eHarmony, and they are SWELL together); or it may be that my other good friend found her husband on Match.com (after a frightening occurrence where she and another friend BOTH dated the same guy with a goiter); or it may be that I'm in complete and total avoidance mode.
(Oh shut up, I know it's number three, but it's kind of fun.)
Anyway, what I started wondering is this: if I'm a well-educated, unemployed woman who can put together a sentence AND manage her finances AND occasionally (though not always) be a good human being, and I can't get an email a month, who the heck IS getting noticed by these guys?
So I found a way to scope out my competition. After all, Match keeps saying "It's okay to look."
I devised a search. Female. 30-40. Anything over 5 feet. Any body type. Any hair color. Any eye color. Income and education equal to mine. Living in Chicago. No roommates, no kids, wants kids, never married. Exercises regularly, doesn't smoke, drinks occasionally, any religion.
Chicago has 2.5 million people living in the city, 9.5 in the metropolitan area.
There are EIGHT women on Match.com who meet the criteria outlined above.
EIGHT??? EIGHT???
So much for the excuse that there are "millions" of women in the city who are just like me. There are EIGHT of us. Apparently, eight IS enough. And heck, even the cute girls are still out there, searching for love in all the wrong places - telling me that even THEY have trouble.
I'm trying to be an optimist here, but I'm not sure what to take away from the Ocho (points if you get that reference). How about this: I have eight new friends. Maybe we could form an Ocho SWAT team. Date all the guys who meet our criteria, then swap stories? Rank them like an annual performance review? Line them up and make them play HORSE?
Or maybe we'll just wait for each other's leftovers. Sounds like a plan to me. Bartender? Oh bartender????
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Saturday, January 10, 2009
Fake Kids and Stupid Governors
There are days when I thank God I don't have kids (yet?). I wonder how I would explain a lot of things. Corruption. Greed. Why bad things happen to good people. Why Hillary Clinton could never seem to find a flattering pantsuit.
But this week, mostly, I wonder what parents are telling their kids about the Illinois Governor, Rod "I keep my comb close to me at all times" Blagojavich. At first, I thought it was complicated to explain to kids. Do you guess about what the man's problems are? Assume he's crazy? Immoral? Raised by the Mob? How would you explain the ethical, moral, and fashion violations of a man with such big hair?
In times like these, I like to think "outside the box". Enter my two hypothetical children, for a little illustrative chat.
"You see Bobby, this is what happens when you never share with others. When he was little, Rod would never let go of his toy in the sandbox unless you gave him yours first."
(I'm not sure how I feel with "Bobby" as my son's name...but I'm going to go with it.) Cute, blonde Sandy taps me on the shoulder, not to be left out of my imaginary tale.
"But Mom, why didn't Rod's Mommy and Daddy teach him how to share? They must have SUCKED as parents!" Bless her heart. She's picked up my sense of sarcasm.
"That's right Sandy, and they also forgot to teach him something else: how to work hard. You see, Rod got started early by running a gambling ring in the suburbs, but he got out of that pretty quick. And then he learned that you get very, very far in Chicago when you just keep smiling and taking things from other people. And what has Mom taught you? That when all you learn how to do is take, and not give, you always get in trouble!"
"What kinds of things did he take, Mom?"
"Well, he told doctors that they can't have a hospital to treat sick kids until they gave him a lot of money. You see, Rod needed more money because he wanted to stay Governor, (he was scared to find another job, where he had to work hard!) and so he thought it would be real easy to get it from people who just wanted to save sick kids. They needed Rod's permission to build a hospital - and he told them he wouldn't give them some tax money until they gave him their allowance. Does that sound right to you?"
Incredulous stares. Even fake kids know this is bad.
"Rod also didn't learn how to not listen when people said things about him. You know how sometimes, people say things that you don't like? Remember, Sandy, when Emma said your shoes looked like Tonka Trucks? What do we say when that happens?"
"Turn the other cheek!" shouts Sandy.
"You get farther with a tablespoon of sugar than you do with a pound of salt!" adds Bobby.
I smile. "That's right! But Rod, instead of doing that, when the people at the newspaper did things he didn't like, he told them he would take away their money, which was going to help their business."
"Can he do that?" said Bobby. "That doesn't seem right!"
"Well, he can - but only by doing some really shady things."
"Wow, Mom. He must be grounded for life. I bet he doesn't have any friends."
"Well, he does have friends, but you know, they have problems too. There's a man named Roland Burris, who took one of those toys that Rod gave him, even though EVERYBODY knew that Rod had stolen that toy, and Roland, he's mad, because he SAYS he thought Rod was just being nice, giving him that toy. But the toy, it's someone else's. And Roland doesn't want to give it back."
Sandy looks confused.
"But Mom, didn't you tell us that you learned in Criminal Law 101 that accepting stolen property over a certain value is a felony?"
Beauty of fake kids. They listen. "Yes, that's right. And what do you have to do when someone gives you a gift that they stole from someone else?"
"You GIVE IT BACK!" they shout! See, my two hypothetical children, they are geniuses.
My Governor, and my former Attorney General, not so much.
And that is something that I can't explain, not even to my hypothetical children.
Now about Hillary's pantsuits.
"Kids, I do have an answer for you on Hillary. Let's go turn on "What Not To Wear". This is a problem we CAN solve."
Thursday, January 8, 2009
A Win for the Dog...And the Couch...
I learned a valuable lesson about caring for pets from my mom, when I was just a freshman in high school. Every morning, we'd be up and out the door at the crack of dawn. I wasn't yet driving, so I usually took the bus, but for some reason, I remember one day, my mom getting ready to take us to school - and being unable to do so on time. Why? Because she was busy chasing our Beagle puppy around the muddy, crappy front yard, trying to get him to come in the house, while he was treating it as his own Tour de Yard. He was a puppy, and he was having fun. Look at the stupid lady in the fur coat chasing me!!! Run, dog, run!!! My sister and I howled on the front steps as our mom got more and more angry.
Then I was late to homeroom. Woops. The bottom line is that the dog was a puppy! He was full of energy, and we didnt't have a clue how to train him, and he wanted to play.
More recently, I was at my Aunt's in Cincinnati. We were enjoying a lovely day of Christmas banter when a possessed Jack Russell Terrier was let out next door. He barked like he had a squirrel cornered - constantly - for a good ten minutes, about five feet from my Aunt's kitchen window. I finally looked at my Aunt and asked her what the dog's issue was - and she explained that the dog was fondly known as "Crack Dog" in the house. Up went the window.
"Hey CrackDog!!! Shut up!! You, CRACK DOG!!!" All the while, the dog is jumping, howling, and barking, because his own owners never gave him attention, and my Aunt, for all her illegal pharmaceutical references, was at least talking to him. She went downstairs - he kept barking. She yelled from the basement, "CRACK DOG!!! CRACK DOG!!!" while my mom and I cried, we laughed so hard. Sure, to us, it was funny - but to my Aunt - well, she was calling him Crack Dog. From the basement. You can guess what she thought of it.
So what I learned from both my mom - and more recently my Aunt - is that any puppy you adopt better be a good fit - and you better have the time, patience, and energy to ruin your best pair of shoes (figuratively speaking) making him part of your home.
I've lived in Chicago for almost 12 years now, and the last few months, I've really, really felt ready to adopt a dog. I'm 34 years old; I have an apartment I love; and I feel like maybe it's time to have something to come home to. Only, since Mr. Right has apparently been delayed on a flight from Wonderfulland, I was considering a non-human to fill that role. You know, that whole unconditional love thing? It sounded good to me. I'd have a reason to get up early, walk regularly, a companion to take with me hiking or running along the lakefront. What's not to love??
So this week, I looked into adopting Cassie, a cute black lab puppy. Sure, I originally thought I might foster first, but the timing was perfect. After all, I've got some time on my hands. But then I freaked out a bit.... First, she's a puppy. Second, she was black - and I've got this pretty CREAM Crate and Barrel couch that I've managed to not mangle for 10 years...and then there's the fact that I really do travel a lot...
So I was going back and forth, when my sister sent me the nicest email. Her version of a pro/con list, designed with me in mind. Liz had adopted a puppy not long ago, and she knew the drill...and shared her thoughts with me, just to make sure I had both eyes open. You know, the way sisters can do - with just enough truth to make you cringe....thus proving, too, that the older sister (that would be me) is not always the wisest one...
So, with my sister's advice fresh in mind (and the feedback of two of my very good friends, who also politely offered their non-opinions), I called back the woman I'd been speaking to about Cassie and said thanks, but I think I'm going to have to pass. She was pretty upset that I'd wasted her time, which I understand. But here's the thing: they (the all-knowing pet people) tell you that when you're thinking about adopting a pet, you really have to think long term. And you know, as much as I WANT to have a dog right now, I'm not sure that in six months, when I'm employed again and making money and wanting to travel - or worse, in three months, when the only job I can get requires regular travel - that I'm going to be able to deal with it.
So...I'm going to sign up to foster a dog instead. I'll see how it goes, and help out a local shelter, and have a more temporary commitment. It's a "best of all worlds" compromise. And it's very, very, me. It's temporary, I get to feel good about it, do something helpful, and everybody wins.
Even the cream colored couch.
Then I was late to homeroom. Woops. The bottom line is that the dog was a puppy! He was full of energy, and we didnt't have a clue how to train him, and he wanted to play.
More recently, I was at my Aunt's in Cincinnati. We were enjoying a lovely day of Christmas banter when a possessed Jack Russell Terrier was let out next door. He barked like he had a squirrel cornered - constantly - for a good ten minutes, about five feet from my Aunt's kitchen window. I finally looked at my Aunt and asked her what the dog's issue was - and she explained that the dog was fondly known as "Crack Dog" in the house. Up went the window.
"Hey CrackDog!!! Shut up!! You, CRACK DOG!!!" All the while, the dog is jumping, howling, and barking, because his own owners never gave him attention, and my Aunt, for all her illegal pharmaceutical references, was at least talking to him. She went downstairs - he kept barking. She yelled from the basement, "CRACK DOG!!! CRACK DOG!!!" while my mom and I cried, we laughed so hard. Sure, to us, it was funny - but to my Aunt - well, she was calling him Crack Dog. From the basement. You can guess what she thought of it.
So what I learned from both my mom - and more recently my Aunt - is that any puppy you adopt better be a good fit - and you better have the time, patience, and energy to ruin your best pair of shoes (figuratively speaking) making him part of your home.
I've lived in Chicago for almost 12 years now, and the last few months, I've really, really felt ready to adopt a dog. I'm 34 years old; I have an apartment I love; and I feel like maybe it's time to have something to come home to. Only, since Mr. Right has apparently been delayed on a flight from Wonderfulland, I was considering a non-human to fill that role. You know, that whole unconditional love thing? It sounded good to me. I'd have a reason to get up early, walk regularly, a companion to take with me hiking or running along the lakefront. What's not to love??
So this week, I looked into adopting Cassie, a cute black lab puppy. Sure, I originally thought I might foster first, but the timing was perfect. After all, I've got some time on my hands. But then I freaked out a bit.... First, she's a puppy. Second, she was black - and I've got this pretty CREAM Crate and Barrel couch that I've managed to not mangle for 10 years...and then there's the fact that I really do travel a lot...
So I was going back and forth, when my sister sent me the nicest email. Her version of a pro/con list, designed with me in mind. Liz had adopted a puppy not long ago, and she knew the drill...and shared her thoughts with me, just to make sure I had both eyes open. You know, the way sisters can do - with just enough truth to make you cringe....thus proving, too, that the older sister (that would be me) is not always the wisest one...
The thought running through your mind at this point may be…..Clearly a puppy can’t be that bad, I mean I have taken care of babies and they are far more difficult right?, or maybe this thought….oh my sister did it, and if she can do, I definitely can do it!
Why should I get a cute little puupy that needs a great home???
1) Clearly she would be a great companion (YES! BECAUSE WE KNOW I'M BORDERING ON SPINSTERHOOD AND L-O-N-E-L-Y)
2) She is going to listen to everything you have to say, and probably won’t argue back (EXCELLENT POINT)
3) She is a good reason to get out of the house and go to the dog park (do they have those in Chicago? ) (YES, AND IT'S CHEAPER THAN MATCH.COM)
4) You get to train her as opposed to receiving her already branded with commands you will never understand! (WOW. NEVER THOUGHT OF THAT)
5) Right now you can dress her up in fun clothes!! (OKAY, NOT MY FORTE. IS THERE A "WHAT NOT TO WEAR" FOR DOGS? WHAT IS THE WIDELEG PANT EQUIVALENT FOR DOGGIE SWEATERS?)
Why shouldn’t I get a cute puppy that is going to pee and poop all over my condo and shed all over my Crate and Barrel Couch??? (OH, I HADN'T EVEN GONE THERE...I WAS JUST ASSUMING THEY'D MOUTH IT LIKE A ONE YEAR LET LOOSE ON A SHOPPING CART...)
1) The first few nights are awful. Hopefully you have thick insulated walls so your neighbors won’t kill you or the new found addition! (LET'S JUST SAY, I CAN HEAR THE UPSTAIRS NEIGHBORS AND ASSUME THEY'D HEAR THE DOG, TOO) Although awful, you can do it! Just make sure you load up on your ear plugs!! (WAY AHEAD OF YOU, SISTER)
2) You can’t just up and go when you want. You have to arrange sitters and walkers! (RIGHT. LEGITIMATE ISSUE HERE. I LIKE TO FEEL SPONTANEOUS EVEN IF I'M NOT.)
3) You probably live in a state where you have to have seat belts for your pup!
(OMG.)
So, with my sister's advice fresh in mind (and the feedback of two of my very good friends, who also politely offered their non-opinions), I called back the woman I'd been speaking to about Cassie and said thanks, but I think I'm going to have to pass. She was pretty upset that I'd wasted her time, which I understand. But here's the thing: they (the all-knowing pet people) tell you that when you're thinking about adopting a pet, you really have to think long term. And you know, as much as I WANT to have a dog right now, I'm not sure that in six months, when I'm employed again and making money and wanting to travel - or worse, in three months, when the only job I can get requires regular travel - that I'm going to be able to deal with it.
So...I'm going to sign up to foster a dog instead. I'll see how it goes, and help out a local shelter, and have a more temporary commitment. It's a "best of all worlds" compromise. And it's very, very, me. It's temporary, I get to feel good about it, do something helpful, and everybody wins.
Even the cream colored couch.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
I didn't know I had those!
Just a quick post here to share a "day after" reckoning.
Yeah, you know how I said yesterday that my new workout was "one I could imagine doing on a regular basis"? Right. Well, I'm going to have to revise that slightly.
I can do it on a regular basis - so long as I won't be wearing any tee shirts, picking up my purse, or pulling up my covers within three days of said workout.
HOLY CRAP.
I am not sure which exercises are to blame for the things that hurt on me right now. I am no gym novice - sure, I'm sort of "born again" right now, but I'm not a total newbie - and yet, I had to hit the painkillers (Advil, please) as soon as I woke up this morning.
(Right, which might have been sort of late....that whole insomnia thing? Not fun.)
Anyway, moral of this story: don't brag about the workout till the two day delay has passed.
The other good news is that I've devised an ingeneous self reward plan to help me continue building good habits. Since I've used the last of the sugar in my house (and have decided not to buy any more for at least a month, thus avoiding any baking temptations), I had to stick to a non-caloric reward.
It occurred to me that I have all these medals from races I've done. I keep them sort of put away, but sort of close at hand, to remind myself of the things I CAN do when I put my mind to it. Anyway, for each day where I successfully log the food (the "cornerstone" - aka "torturous come to Jesus moment" of any good weight loss plan), AND exercise in a given day, I am pulling out a medal and hanging it somewhere I'll see it.
So far, that's just one (the 2008 Chicago Distance Classic medal, for a 1/2 marathon this summer). I didn't work out today, so no medal...but the food log is a HUGE start, and I just need to keep doing it.
It gives me a chance to reinforce what I'm doing - and remind myself of those "hidden reserves" - and no, we don't mean there's oil in them there fields!
Okay, it's late and I'm clearly delusional. Off to bed. But if you're where I'm at - for anything this new year, I recommend that reward system. I'm not sure what Ruby's reward might have been (mom? Aunt J?) but I firmly believe she would have liked the concept of digging out something old and repurposing it. It's a very grandmotherly thing to do....
Yeah, you know how I said yesterday that my new workout was "one I could imagine doing on a regular basis"? Right. Well, I'm going to have to revise that slightly.
I can do it on a regular basis - so long as I won't be wearing any tee shirts, picking up my purse, or pulling up my covers within three days of said workout.
HOLY CRAP.
I am not sure which exercises are to blame for the things that hurt on me right now. I am no gym novice - sure, I'm sort of "born again" right now, but I'm not a total newbie - and yet, I had to hit the painkillers (Advil, please) as soon as I woke up this morning.
(Right, which might have been sort of late....that whole insomnia thing? Not fun.)
Anyway, moral of this story: don't brag about the workout till the two day delay has passed.
The other good news is that I've devised an ingeneous self reward plan to help me continue building good habits. Since I've used the last of the sugar in my house (and have decided not to buy any more for at least a month, thus avoiding any baking temptations), I had to stick to a non-caloric reward.
It occurred to me that I have all these medals from races I've done. I keep them sort of put away, but sort of close at hand, to remind myself of the things I CAN do when I put my mind to it. Anyway, for each day where I successfully log the food (the "cornerstone" - aka "torturous come to Jesus moment" of any good weight loss plan), AND exercise in a given day, I am pulling out a medal and hanging it somewhere I'll see it.
So far, that's just one (the 2008 Chicago Distance Classic medal, for a 1/2 marathon this summer). I didn't work out today, so no medal...but the food log is a HUGE start, and I just need to keep doing it.
It gives me a chance to reinforce what I'm doing - and remind myself of those "hidden reserves" - and no, we don't mean there's oil in them there fields!
Okay, it's late and I'm clearly delusional. Off to bed. But if you're where I'm at - for anything this new year, I recommend that reward system. I'm not sure what Ruby's reward might have been (mom? Aunt J?) but I firmly believe she would have liked the concept of digging out something old and repurposing it. It's a very grandmotherly thing to do....
Monday, January 5, 2009
Losing Cindy Crawford
Weightwatchers Online sometimes provides entertainment I could not dream of. Today, it was Losing Kelly Rippa.
For those not familiar with Weightwatchers Online, it's a website with insprirational articles, manageable weight loss activities, recipe exchanges, and tools (i.e. places to write down how much you are (or are not) doing). There are also black holes of time and space known as The Message Boards.
The Message Boards come in many varieties. Are you a slacker who needs other people to hold you accountable to a fitness goal? Go to Fitness Challenge. Getting hitched and need to fit into that skinny dress? Go to The Bridal Party to see what the other desperados are doing to shed the weight. Got 50 pounds to lose? Visit the 50+ Pounds to Lose Board. Got 100+ Pounds to Lose and think you were just caught on one of those news program B rolls of fat people walking in the street? Commiserate at the 100+ Pounds to Lose Board.
As much as it pains me to admit it, I'm in the category of weight where, in fact, I do have 100+ pounds to lose. And as much as I'd also like to take advantage of that Lap Band surgery that all those fat people keep talking about (they're like a hit squad on daytime TV!!! I swear they're on every five minutes, along with the Snuggie and ShamWOW people..), anyway, as much as I'd like to take the easy way out, I'm not.
I am going to do this the old fashioned way - improve my diet and exercise more.
But that doesn't mean I can't have some fun.
Like all message boards, you have to pick a screen name in order to post something. I'm a sharer (shocking!) so I have one (Salligator, if you must know, and yes, I know it's completely lame). But today, I saw the best.screenname.ever.
Literally, this woman had named herself: LosingKellyRippa.
Because, you know, Kelly only weighs about 90 pounds. So this woman, bless her heart, put it out there. She's losing Kelly Rippa. Now how's THAT for a visual???
And, I gotta tell you, my new goal: Losing Cindy Crawford. WOW. That really makes you want to hit the gym, right? After contemplating the frightening reality that I am carrying an extra adult human being around (albeit a slightly skinny one) I slotted in that Biggest Loser DVD for the first time tonight. Nothing like a little extra human on your back to get you sweating.
And speaking of sweating....
Let me just share that I started the "warmup" - a 5 minute thingy - with the front window open about an inch.
Immediately after the warmup, I dashed through the dining room to open it up another inch.
Two minutes later and I was seeking serious cross ventilation. Plus the kitchen was closer - window open - AND LUNGE, two and three and four!
One set of lunges and a sweaty set of downward dogs later, and I was back in the dining room, had jacked the front window open a full TWELVE inches (did I mention it's 10 degrees with the windchill here?) as the sweat dripped off my brow and I began to second guess the effectiveness of my deodorant.
Once the place was sufficiently ventilated, I realized I could get through this. It's actually a pretty short workout (you add to it once you get through two weeks) but it was worth it. I got through the first Jillian Ass Kicking (JAK as we're calling it) and no emergency medical assistance was required. (Thank God because I would have had to write the Dove people and explain to them that they were directly responsible for my offending the Hot EMT when said Dove Deodorant failed. But again, another story.)
So here I stand. Five years ago, I completed an Olympic distance triathlon. And I struggled, but I trained and I did it. Now, I'm really, truly starting over. And when I do Lose Cindy Crawford, well, that will be worth every single ounce of effort.
Hm. Why is it so cold in here?
For those not familiar with Weightwatchers Online, it's a website with insprirational articles, manageable weight loss activities, recipe exchanges, and tools (i.e. places to write down how much you are (or are not) doing). There are also black holes of time and space known as The Message Boards.
The Message Boards come in many varieties. Are you a slacker who needs other people to hold you accountable to a fitness goal? Go to Fitness Challenge. Getting hitched and need to fit into that skinny dress? Go to The Bridal Party to see what the other desperados are doing to shed the weight. Got 50 pounds to lose? Visit the 50+ Pounds to Lose Board. Got 100+ Pounds to Lose and think you were just caught on one of those news program B rolls of fat people walking in the street? Commiserate at the 100+ Pounds to Lose Board.
As much as it pains me to admit it, I'm in the category of weight where, in fact, I do have 100+ pounds to lose. And as much as I'd also like to take advantage of that Lap Band surgery that all those fat people keep talking about (they're like a hit squad on daytime TV!!! I swear they're on every five minutes, along with the Snuggie and ShamWOW people..), anyway, as much as I'd like to take the easy way out, I'm not.
I am going to do this the old fashioned way - improve my diet and exercise more.
But that doesn't mean I can't have some fun.
Like all message boards, you have to pick a screen name in order to post something. I'm a sharer (shocking!) so I have one (Salligator, if you must know, and yes, I know it's completely lame). But today, I saw the best.screenname.ever.
Literally, this woman had named herself: LosingKellyRippa.
Because, you know, Kelly only weighs about 90 pounds. So this woman, bless her heart, put it out there. She's losing Kelly Rippa. Now how's THAT for a visual???
And, I gotta tell you, my new goal: Losing Cindy Crawford. WOW. That really makes you want to hit the gym, right? After contemplating the frightening reality that I am carrying an extra adult human being around (albeit a slightly skinny one) I slotted in that Biggest Loser DVD for the first time tonight. Nothing like a little extra human on your back to get you sweating.
And speaking of sweating....
Let me just share that I started the "warmup" - a 5 minute thingy - with the front window open about an inch.
Immediately after the warmup, I dashed through the dining room to open it up another inch.
Two minutes later and I was seeking serious cross ventilation. Plus the kitchen was closer - window open - AND LUNGE, two and three and four!
One set of lunges and a sweaty set of downward dogs later, and I was back in the dining room, had jacked the front window open a full TWELVE inches (did I mention it's 10 degrees with the windchill here?) as the sweat dripped off my brow and I began to second guess the effectiveness of my deodorant.
Once the place was sufficiently ventilated, I realized I could get through this. It's actually a pretty short workout (you add to it once you get through two weeks) but it was worth it. I got through the first Jillian Ass Kicking (JAK as we're calling it) and no emergency medical assistance was required. (Thank God because I would have had to write the Dove people and explain to them that they were directly responsible for my offending the Hot EMT when said Dove Deodorant failed. But again, another story.)
So here I stand. Five years ago, I completed an Olympic distance triathlon. And I struggled, but I trained and I did it. Now, I'm really, truly starting over. And when I do Lose Cindy Crawford, well, that will be worth every single ounce of effort.
Hm. Why is it so cold in here?
Saturday, January 3, 2009
The Ho Ho Wagon
Okay, it's resolution time. We've talked about this before (well, I have.) It's a new year. All things are possible. All things are waiting for you. Oprah says you can be happy with yourself, and therefore YOU CAN.
So I'm taking a page from the last year, and I'm channeling my inner Democrat, my inner Oprah fan, my inner fat girl, and I am kicking some fat bootay.
Well, starting tomorrow.
((There was still Pizza left in my freezer. I couldn't throw it away! I'm being frugal!!!))
So I sort of started today with The New Me. I did laundry (some of it). I cleaned my kitchen (some of it). And I posted inspirational notes all over my home (some of it).
"Yes you can!!" yells at me from on top of my television. On the way out my front door. In front of my refrigerator. On the spice shelf. In my cooking pantry. On my bedroom mirror. Above my scale. On my bathroom mirror. And on my full-length mirror (ew - the one I currently avoid like the scary puddle in the subway.)
Actually, they don't all say "Yes You Can!" Some of them say "Uh huh - you!". Or "Whatchyou talkin 'bout, Willis?" (Okay, I made that one up.)
But, inspired by one of my cousins (who shall remain nameless but who called me yesterday with tales of selective grocery purchasing and cabinet purging) I am down to my last bag of cookies in the cabinet, and my last excuse for not doing anything to this flabby but.
So I'm not going to be all cliche and create a bad New Year's Resolution. Instead, I'm just going to, in the words of that famous Weightwatcher Jeanine Garafolo, "work the program". If I can write 250 words a day here, how hard can writing down what I eat be??? Really? It can't be that bad....
Check back with me in a week and see if I've fallen off the Ho Ho wagon. I'll let you know how it's going...
Toodles!!!
So I'm taking a page from the last year, and I'm channeling my inner Democrat, my inner Oprah fan, my inner fat girl, and I am kicking some fat bootay.
Well, starting tomorrow.
((There was still Pizza left in my freezer. I couldn't throw it away! I'm being frugal!!!))
So I sort of started today with The New Me. I did laundry (some of it). I cleaned my kitchen (some of it). And I posted inspirational notes all over my home (some of it).
"Yes you can!!" yells at me from on top of my television. On the way out my front door. In front of my refrigerator. On the spice shelf. In my cooking pantry. On my bedroom mirror. Above my scale. On my bathroom mirror. And on my full-length mirror (ew - the one I currently avoid like the scary puddle in the subway.)
Actually, they don't all say "Yes You Can!" Some of them say "Uh huh - you!". Or "Whatchyou talkin 'bout, Willis?" (Okay, I made that one up.)
But, inspired by one of my cousins (who shall remain nameless but who called me yesterday with tales of selective grocery purchasing and cabinet purging) I am down to my last bag of cookies in the cabinet, and my last excuse for not doing anything to this flabby but.
So I'm not going to be all cliche and create a bad New Year's Resolution. Instead, I'm just going to, in the words of that famous Weightwatcher Jeanine Garafolo, "work the program". If I can write 250 words a day here, how hard can writing down what I eat be??? Really? It can't be that bad....
Check back with me in a week and see if I've fallen off the Ho Ho wagon. I'll let you know how it's going...
Toodles!!!
Thursday, January 1, 2009
A Thin Line
New Year's Eve always brings a little drama. The cab doesn't come on time. That one guy at the party can't keep his hands to himself. The girl on the corner doesn't have NEARLY enough clothes on. And then there's that moment when you wonder - should I have done THAT?
Last night, I had the best New Year's Eve in a really, really long time. I attended a dinner party full of funny people -and I was the only "stranger" in the group. The host cooked a great dinner - and by the end of the night, we were all a little tipsy - and very full. More fun, our host became a younger, much better looking James Lipton (from Inside the Actor's Studio). If you're not familiar with the show, this guy gets any actor worth his salt (and some not) to come on his show and he asks a variety of "probing" questions. He also recently appeared in a GEICO commercial, but that's another story.
In any case, the host asked us each to answer five simple questions - after the New Year had been welcomed. Many were tipsy; some were not; but the sharing was pretty funny. Curious? Thought so:
1) Favorite curseword: Maybe I shouldn't have started with this one. It's neither ladylike nor original, and I'm eradicating it in the new year. Maybe we'll just leave it at that?
2) Biggest turn-on: Outdoor adventures. (Surprised? Probably not.) Why that one? Well, it's true, and "a strong jawline and good hair" didn't seem to make the grade. You think you could do better on the spot? Please!!! You answer in a room full of people with something enigmatic and yet alluring -it's like trying to make a low-fat chocolate chip cookie - it's too much effort and doesn't taste nearly as good...
3) Biggest turn-off: Neediness - which I thought beat out another girl's "farting".
4) Favorite sound: I'll admit it was lame - the sound of a golf club hitting a golf ball perfectly square. I did not imply or otherwise warrant that I was capable of producing the sound, but it doesn't mean I don't like it.
5) Least favorite sound: At 1:30, when I was answering this question, it was the sound of my neighbors shoveling. That changed four hours later to "neighbors buzzing strangers into building." Keep reading.
Now, maybe the karmic gods were laughing at me (oxymoron with the karmic gods?). Or maybe, per usual, I said a bit too much. It is, after all, a thin line between being entertaining at a party, and being the annoying and mildly stupid guy who says his favorite word is "LEINIES!!!" (the Wisconsin beer). Anyway, not long after my lackluster sharing, I headed home. I was completely sober (alarmingly so), but very lazy when I rolled into bed.
"Self", I said, "You should double check to make sure that the door is locked."
I responded: "Self, it's cold, and you're all snug as a bug in a rug. I'm sure you locked it." Uh huh. I decided it was most likely I HAD locked the door. Despite the fact said door is a mere SEVEN feet from my bed, I rolled back over and fell asleep.
And then, Mr. Karma paid a visit. At 5:30, I woke to someone buzzing all the doors in our building. A tried and true tactic of homeless folks trying to find a warm cubby on a cold night, I wasn't surprised. It was probably close to zero with the wind chill. The guy was probably cold. But since only IDIOTS buzz someone into a building at 5:30 they aren't expecting, I figured I was safe. Right?
Well, partly right. I found out when one of my neighbors decided to BUZZ HIM IN.
ACK. LEAPING OUT OF BED (ME (let's just say, not fully dressed.) WHIPPING THE itsy bitsy keychain lock (the kind I once ripped off my college dorm door when late to class, flinging the lock across my apartment). PANTING, STANDING AGAINST THE DOOR.
He shuffles up to the landing....and then, of course, because Karma has a sense of humor, he TRIES MY DOOR HANDLE.
"Go away!!!" I yell. "Wrong door!" He tries again, and because I have no peep hole, I can't figure out if he's 5'4" or 6'2" and I'm not sure if the flippy lock is locked because I can't tell in the dark, and if I unflip it, what if I DID lock it and so I just leave it alone and try not to throw up because that would REALLY suck.
After moments of pure panic, adrenaline pumping hard enough that I'm pretty sure I'm going to throw up, I hear him descend the three stairs to the front door. And, finally, he leaves. I hear the front door open and close, and I open the door and make sure it IS locked and PHEW.
I run to the bathroom (hey, I had a lot of water at that party) and AS SOON AS I FLUSH he's buzzing again, like he gave me time for my personal potty break, and now I'm going to welcome him with tea and crumpets.
I don pants, (no comments from the peanut gallery), and start talking to him through the intercom, telling him to go away or we'll call the police, when my itsy bitsy neighbor from upstairs comes running down (in her SO cute striped socks and christmas jammies) and takes one look at the guy (who I've still not opened the door to see.)
"He looks harmless" she says, checking out the 5'1" Hispanic dude in the puffy black coat, bombed out of his mind. We wave him off. He goes nowhere.
"Go away!!" we yell. He just stares at us.
She agrees, I should just call 911. So I do, and ten minutes later, they arrive. Now, the best part is that between his departure and their arrival, I've watched him in the street.
He's not only hammered, he's bouncing like a human pinball from car to car - almost as if they're electrified. And he's also not saying ANYTHING. Which is wierd. He's clearly taken care of, and put together. But then - he turns around, and the dude (who looks to be in his late 20s, early 30s) has a Bob the Builder backpack on his back. Yes, I'm being serious.
So now, I feel terrible. Is he a drunk irresponsible adult, or is he a drunk irresponsible adult who acts like a child? Is he maybe developmentally delayed or is he just stealing kids backpacks? I don't know, but when he heads down the next alley, I keep an eye on him. And tell the two chic cops who show up that he could probably use some help....
I'm not sure whether they found him that night. I hope they did - it was cold, and he was in no shape. And like a lot of moments in big city life, you find yourself wondering if you did the right thing. Should I have given the guy $10 and put him in a cab? Should I have followed him down the alley to keep watch over him? Should I keep a nine iron by the front door?
No matter what decision you make, there's a thin line between doing what's best for someone else - and getting yourself into trouble. As a single woman in the city, that line moves depending on the time of day, state of mind, and charitable view through which I'm seeing things. And while I hope that story turns out alright in the end, I probably did the best I could under the circumstances.
And if I learned nothing else, it's that you should always have pants on standby. Oh, and check the locks before you go to bed.
Happy New Year!!!
Last night, I had the best New Year's Eve in a really, really long time. I attended a dinner party full of funny people -and I was the only "stranger" in the group. The host cooked a great dinner - and by the end of the night, we were all a little tipsy - and very full. More fun, our host became a younger, much better looking James Lipton (from Inside the Actor's Studio). If you're not familiar with the show, this guy gets any actor worth his salt (and some not) to come on his show and he asks a variety of "probing" questions. He also recently appeared in a GEICO commercial, but that's another story.
In any case, the host asked us each to answer five simple questions - after the New Year had been welcomed. Many were tipsy; some were not; but the sharing was pretty funny. Curious? Thought so:
1) Favorite curseword: Maybe I shouldn't have started with this one. It's neither ladylike nor original, and I'm eradicating it in the new year. Maybe we'll just leave it at that?
2) Biggest turn-on: Outdoor adventures. (Surprised? Probably not.) Why that one? Well, it's true, and "a strong jawline and good hair" didn't seem to make the grade. You think you could do better on the spot? Please!!! You answer in a room full of people with something enigmatic and yet alluring -it's like trying to make a low-fat chocolate chip cookie - it's too much effort and doesn't taste nearly as good...
3) Biggest turn-off: Neediness - which I thought beat out another girl's "farting".
4) Favorite sound: I'll admit it was lame - the sound of a golf club hitting a golf ball perfectly square. I did not imply or otherwise warrant that I was capable of producing the sound, but it doesn't mean I don't like it.
5) Least favorite sound: At 1:30, when I was answering this question, it was the sound of my neighbors shoveling. That changed four hours later to "neighbors buzzing strangers into building." Keep reading.
Now, maybe the karmic gods were laughing at me (oxymoron with the karmic gods?). Or maybe, per usual, I said a bit too much. It is, after all, a thin line between being entertaining at a party, and being the annoying and mildly stupid guy who says his favorite word is "LEINIES!!!" (the Wisconsin beer). Anyway, not long after my lackluster sharing, I headed home. I was completely sober (alarmingly so), but very lazy when I rolled into bed.
"Self", I said, "You should double check to make sure that the door is locked."
I responded: "Self, it's cold, and you're all snug as a bug in a rug. I'm sure you locked it." Uh huh. I decided it was most likely I HAD locked the door. Despite the fact said door is a mere SEVEN feet from my bed, I rolled back over and fell asleep.
And then, Mr. Karma paid a visit. At 5:30, I woke to someone buzzing all the doors in our building. A tried and true tactic of homeless folks trying to find a warm cubby on a cold night, I wasn't surprised. It was probably close to zero with the wind chill. The guy was probably cold. But since only IDIOTS buzz someone into a building at 5:30 they aren't expecting, I figured I was safe. Right?
Well, partly right. I found out when one of my neighbors decided to BUZZ HIM IN.
ACK. LEAPING OUT OF BED (ME (let's just say, not fully dressed.) WHIPPING THE itsy bitsy keychain lock (the kind I once ripped off my college dorm door when late to class, flinging the lock across my apartment). PANTING, STANDING AGAINST THE DOOR.
He shuffles up to the landing....and then, of course, because Karma has a sense of humor, he TRIES MY DOOR HANDLE.
"Go away!!!" I yell. "Wrong door!" He tries again, and because I have no peep hole, I can't figure out if he's 5'4" or 6'2" and I'm not sure if the flippy lock is locked because I can't tell in the dark, and if I unflip it, what if I DID lock it and so I just leave it alone and try not to throw up because that would REALLY suck.
After moments of pure panic, adrenaline pumping hard enough that I'm pretty sure I'm going to throw up, I hear him descend the three stairs to the front door. And, finally, he leaves. I hear the front door open and close, and I open the door and make sure it IS locked and PHEW.
I run to the bathroom (hey, I had a lot of water at that party) and AS SOON AS I FLUSH he's buzzing again, like he gave me time for my personal potty break, and now I'm going to welcome him with tea and crumpets.
I don pants, (no comments from the peanut gallery), and start talking to him through the intercom, telling him to go away or we'll call the police, when my itsy bitsy neighbor from upstairs comes running down (in her SO cute striped socks and christmas jammies) and takes one look at the guy (who I've still not opened the door to see.)
"He looks harmless" she says, checking out the 5'1" Hispanic dude in the puffy black coat, bombed out of his mind. We wave him off. He goes nowhere.
"Go away!!" we yell. He just stares at us.
She agrees, I should just call 911. So I do, and ten minutes later, they arrive. Now, the best part is that between his departure and their arrival, I've watched him in the street.
He's not only hammered, he's bouncing like a human pinball from car to car - almost as if they're electrified. And he's also not saying ANYTHING. Which is wierd. He's clearly taken care of, and put together. But then - he turns around, and the dude (who looks to be in his late 20s, early 30s) has a Bob the Builder backpack on his back. Yes, I'm being serious.
So now, I feel terrible. Is he a drunk irresponsible adult, or is he a drunk irresponsible adult who acts like a child? Is he maybe developmentally delayed or is he just stealing kids backpacks? I don't know, but when he heads down the next alley, I keep an eye on him. And tell the two chic cops who show up that he could probably use some help....
I'm not sure whether they found him that night. I hope they did - it was cold, and he was in no shape. And like a lot of moments in big city life, you find yourself wondering if you did the right thing. Should I have given the guy $10 and put him in a cab? Should I have followed him down the alley to keep watch over him? Should I keep a nine iron by the front door?
No matter what decision you make, there's a thin line between doing what's best for someone else - and getting yourself into trouble. As a single woman in the city, that line moves depending on the time of day, state of mind, and charitable view through which I'm seeing things. And while I hope that story turns out alright in the end, I probably did the best I could under the circumstances.
And if I learned nothing else, it's that you should always have pants on standby. Oh, and check the locks before you go to bed.
Happy New Year!!!
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