RAK'd and other musings..

Time flies when you're surfing the web ...

I swear it is way more fun to do flying leap into infinity when you simply find a link.. then another.. and then another and before you know what you've done you are reading about butt acorns used to smuggle information from the Confederacy to its soldiers in the Civil War (why yes, I HEART you Smithsonian magazine)

So the bullet points -

I rang in my birthday at 218 pounds... translation?  If I stop working out and continue eating muffins and drinking beer for a year I will gain 15 pounds.  Sounds about right.  (I really like beer.... and muffins)

I ran for school board.  I find out in a few days if I got the gig.  I better have got the gig.  They need me.

I wrapped up Thanksgiving with an end zone run on Black Friday.  I dig on BF.   It's competitive shopping and (as with most things) I'm a bit competitive.  If it's easy - I probably will get bored.  Black Friday ups the ante a bit.  You gotta want to save $25 bitches...

Which brings me to Christmas.  I may suck at a lot of things all year but when it comes to Christmas, I got game.  Seriously.  Decorating, cooking, gifting... I love it all.  I love the music, and the sentiment and the colors and the lights.  Secular (maybe) but I think we can all agree that it is a GOOD thing to be nice to one another.   So... I'm trying something new this year.

Every day for the month of December I am doing one Random Act of Kindness.  So far, so good.  It can be a small thing but I am trying to make sure that the person I help is not someone I know.  I thought about making a list of the things I was doing but that seemingly violates the whole "random" thing from a different angle.    So...

I'm still big (my fat pants are tight)
I've offered to help in my community
I'm RAK'ing (random act of kindness) people daily

Christmas is about more than what can I get... it's about what you can give.

Do something nice out there - pay it forward...

I still heart radio...

Sometimes you forget who you are...

So I may be a little late to the party but I am totally loving I Heart Radio.  O.k. first of all,  lets agree it is the stupidest name ever.  Once you get over the complete weirdness of saying "I found it on I Heart Radio" you can get to the business end of some really rockin' radio stations.

For as long as I can remember, I was one of those chicks who grew up recording my favorite songs off the radio... waiting for the exact right moment when it started... diving across my bedroom floor and hitting record on my "boom box" and dancing around my room like the Solid Gold Dancers.  Yes, - I had legwarmers and.. yes, they matched my damn sweater. 

Fast forward to karaoke (minus the machine) with the radio on in the background and my girlfriends and I singing into an assortment of hairbrushes, perfume bottles and deodorant.  That really did happen.

One more leap in time and you are the girlfriend of the drummer.  You roll with ripped up stockings and the rest of the band.  You sit on the side of the stage... you drink and laugh and think it all may come to something - but it doesn't.

But my true love... the thing that makes me smile every. damned. time.  is college radio.  It's a little bit like the difference between the NFL and college football.  College radio still gives a shit.  They play all sorts of new music and the best of the old.  The DJ's make mistakes... they talk like I talk.  There's usually not much in the way of commercials.  I LOVE college radio. (and I've missed it for far too long)

Back in the day (20 years ago)  I had a professor who used to play the organ in a rock band in the 60's.  He was a train wreck of a professor but he used to let us smoke in our radio studio so we loved him.  We were all sitting around drinking coffee and bitching about having to grow up and get real jobs in radio and TV when he delivers one of  "truths" - "radio is a hot medium, TV is cold - I would rather be hot".   Bring on the tropical drinks Dr. Whaley.  I'm with you.  Radio wakes up your senses - music will move you.  

I do, indeed heart radio. I forgot that for a few years... but, I'm back.

Thinking Thursday this week

So.. the weekly update, eh?

It's "game on" with the writing this month. 

To completely understand, go HERE... and read about how I'm about to write myself into fame, fortune and a lifetime of leisurely lunches.  (rockin' the alliteration today - I may bust out a limerick soon).  I don't know about literary abandon but I can tell you I got started today and I'm a mere 500 words into a story that I want to tell that is quickly turning into something completely different.

For the uninitiated... I'm back in the saddle with Nanowrimo again this year.  The short version here is that you are supposed to write a novel (50,000 words) in a month.  Translation = you need to write 1667 words per day.  Ouch.  

They assure me that it does not need to make sense.  They assure me it does not need to be perfect.  And the point of the exercise is to get used to the idea of writing.  

Apparently, after a month of writing.  I will spend the month of December editing and then... I will have a book.  

It. Sounds. Simple.  

It will not be.

I'm excited....

Zombie Investment plans...

If I'm not busy my mind wanders like a video game character searching for the next level.

Seriously, in the course of today - I've thought (and actually believed) the following:

1.  I love my striped black and orange Halloween underwear.  Why did my mom never buy me those underwear with the names of the week on them?  Maybe it's a good thing she didn't, otherwise I may have spent too much time thinking about my vagina.

2. I am going to write a novel in the month of November.  How tough can it be?  

3. I think I saw some aliens at the local burger joint.  It was a Men in Black moment fo sho...  As they walked through the restaurant I was convinced their skin was about to peel off.  Spooky.

4. Speaking of spooky - Hatchetman, the movie.  I was going to offer to write their screenplay but then I found out it was already written. - bummer.

5.  The city where I live is looking for people to sit on their tourism board.  Maybe I should apply.

6.  I wonder if I should get my MBA?   Maybe go back to school to be a teacher instead?

7. If my husband bought a mountain in WV would I be bored or could I finally be the hippie healer witch I've always wanted to be.

8.  I need to fix my IPhone.

9. The NDAA and Obama's kill list. Ho.Ly. Shit.   If I wasn't scared enough before the Patriot Act, this little piece of legislation is enough to make me lose my lunch.  Wow - we're all screwed.  

10. DRIP investments and compound interest.  How much money can I make doing nothing but investing over the course of 20 years....

and finally

11. Zombie Walk.  Plans for this weekend include getting my makeup done and wandering around our local steel town .... and, its a fund raiser - with Michael Jackson dancers - how cool is that?

Are you the shoes you wear?

When you are little, adults like to make small talk by asking "what do you want to be when you grow up?"

It may be different for everyone but I think it changes a bit as you move through your childhood, and then your adolescence.  I distinctly remember saying (in this order as I got older) - a teacher, an actress, a radio station programmer.

I did two of those things... kindof.  The local theatre company counts I suppose, but I never got paid.  I was on the radio and worked in tv for years but I never got really paid.  I'm trying to decide if I should just go full circle back to my 8 year old self.  I'm thinking about being a teacher. 

I can officially say I believe I am having a bit of a mid life crisis.  I always thought I would get to this point in my life and be the "big fish in a little sea".  I decided long ago that I did not need to be in charge of the world but I had hoped that I would be in charge of something.  Anything really that I cared about.  Turns out I am not.  I am just your average girl, doing an average job who (by my standards) is making very little impact on the community as a whole.  I suppose I thought I would be some kind of public servant or in someway work to make my little corner of the world better.  I'm not so sure that is how things turned out... and for that I am sad.

Here's what I do know. 
I want to be happy to do what I do. 
I'm not sure how. - note to self, define "what I do"
The not knowing how pisses me off.
Good Lord... I'm whining again.  UGGHH!

Non fat people calling themselves fat

The older I get the more accustomed I've become to hearing skinny people call themselves fat.
And, just because I understand why they would (that is an entirely separate post) - does not mean I can stand it.

It absolutely, positively drives me fucking crazy.

There appears to be some discrepancy about what defines a "fat" woman these days - I will take a few moments to give you a short bullet list. 

• If you can shop in a the misses or juniors section of any given store at any given time - YOU ARE NOT FAT
• If it has never occurred to you to be nervous that you are taking up too much room on the bench seat of the booth at the restaurant you are sharing - YOU ARE NOT FAT
• If you've never squeezed your ass into an airplane seat and then had to adjust the hand rests because they are wiggling up over the course of your flight due to your giggly hips - YOU ARE NOT FAT
• If you've never been eyeballed at: the bakery, the fast food store, the liquor store or the ice cream shop by a thin person who appears to be questioning your choices - YOU ARE NOT FAT
• If you've never been worried about breaking a weak looking chair or other piece of furniture - YOU ARE NOT FAT
• If you've never avoided sitting on someone else's lap because you are afraid you're going to hurt them - YOU ARE NOT FAT.

This list could go on, and on, and on and on..... 

Here's the short version.  I think I may explode the next time some size 6 pixie stick is looking to me for support because she "just can't believe" she's going to eat another Twix bar.  Kiss my size 18 ass, bitch. 

And yes - I feel bad for you body dysmorphic sisters who are bulimic and anorexic and all the rest... but fuck you into next week if you think your poor body image even compares with the level of ridicule and disgust that a truly large size woman has to deal with on a weekly daily basis. 

It is infuriating to hear a normal (read size 10-14) woman bitch about being fat.  It makes my blood actually boil to hear a size 4 woman dare to do it.  

Content critique

I'm a blog rookie.  I don't really write to an audience - but secretly wish I had one.
I won't be going out into the world anytime soon on a book tour. Until I write one.
And, I put my thoughts here so they don't spill out into my real world (which can be a bit tricky to navigate most days)

The very first time I had the ..."umph" (yes, that's the technical term and a bit more lady like than balls) to comment on another blog I reached out to a woman who made me laugh - runrollrepeat . 
Turns out Cyndi was recently slammed by a group of catwomen at a site called Get off my Internets. 

Of course, I had never heard of them before so I wanted to try to understand who these people were, what they do and more specifically what they did.   Whoa...  "catty" doesn't even begin to 'splain it Lucy.

Life is really just an extended high school.  Regardless of where you are in your life there is a social hierarchy that exists in it's own right.  I swear to God (or the goddess) - John Hughes hit the nail on the head back in the 80's with the Breakfast Club.   In any given situation, you can break it down to the popular/princess, the jock, the criminal, the geek and the basket case.  And - because I like to put a bow on everything like Johnny boy - we all have a bit of each.

Turns out some of the princesses in the microcosm of blogosphere regularly decide who is cool and who is not.  I'm glad they've got that covered, I wouldn't want the pressure. There will always be bitchy/mean people (in fact, I can be one - I speak from experience). 

Should my blog ever get read by anyone other than me, maybe someday - I too, will get flamed.  I suppose in the nanosecond where I am judged by a mysterious psuedo-anonymous screen bitch I will feel hurt and upset.  Then, I will realize that this blog and the microcosm that surrounds it is just part of my life and that they can't hurt me unless I give them power to. 

I am a criminal, a princess, a jock, a geek and a basket case.  So as a preemptive strike against those who would rail - fuck you ahead of time.

trinkets and things..

Shit, I missed another Thursday... 

That being said, let me tell you a little story about yet another wonderful moment on my path to enlightenment - also known as "shit that I like".

Somehow or another, I have ended up with a world filled with things.  Some of them I bought, some of them were given to me and some of them I outright stole. Of course most of the things I have bought - I needed for one reason or another and I have no emotional connection to most of it.  Of the things that have been gifted, I keep only what I need and I re-gift the rest.. (I'm a giver, don't judge).  But there exist in my life, a series of random things- emotional things, that - I am sad to say - are stolen.  

Case in point -
My 1962 Levi Strauss jean jacket.
Stolen - 1989, NYC 
From - my best friend Karen who was studying Art History at Fordham University while we rode the Subway trolling for booze.  Said jacket was the rightful property of her long gone, alcoholic father who rocked the jacket for years before moving out of her house.  It's rumored the jacket made it to Woodstock and back.  It is ripped beyond repair in the sleeves, is stained and patched and has a few beads sewn into the collar.   K let me wear it one night and I never gave it back.  It rode the subway back to the safety of Long Island and eventually back to western NY, through multiple states and ended up in Ohio.  She asked for it back about 15 years ago.  I told her no.  I love her, and I love the jacket and unfortunately for her - it's mine now.  I reminds me of her, of freedom, and it looks cool as hell.

Case #2-
Ralph Lauren Bath Towel (you know, one of those really, really big ones that wraps around you a bunch of times)
Stolen - 2009, Jamboree in the Hills
From -  "the Cinci" crew during a final cleanup of our campsite.  So, for the uninitiated, there is a huge country music festival in the hills of Ohio every summer.  This 4 day party includes mucho drinking, dancing and cavorting with like minded hillbillies who all grew up and can afford the overpriced camping and entrance fees.  Years ago my local friends and I met another group from Cincinnati (didn't you ever wonder why one of the most conservative cities in the country sounds like "sin city").  There is always a kiddie pool and water fights and beer pong and food.  One year while we were cleaning up, one of the women left her towel on my truck.  I tried to return it to her at the time but she was distracted with other things and rather than interrupt her - I kept it for myself.  It was soft, and fluffy and more expensive than anything I would ever buy for myself...  (she's a pharmaceutical rep for christsakes - she can afford a damn nice towel).  I still use this towel.  I love this towel.  It wraps around me twice.  It is white.  It reminds me of the beautiful things she told me about myself over one too many shitty American beers.  I cannot give this towel back.  I told her I had it, she told me to keep it.  I used this towel on Thursday and thought of her.

Case #3
Hand Can Opener
Stolen - 1993, College Street House - Kent, Ohio
From - Matt (I can't remember his last name).  Through divine intervention (and a friend named Mike), I ended up sharing a rooming house with about 7 other people in college.  Like all marriages of convenience, we were a motley crew joined by our college rock affiliations and our propensity to wield sarcasm like swords.   All 8 of us shared a bathroom and a kitchen in the basement.  The rotating cast of characters that went in and out of the house (both as residents and guests) would be enough to write a rock anthem movie. 
Anyway, after years in the house my soon to be husband moves in with a virtual kitchen in a box.  He's got knives and plates and cups and kitchen tools and strainers and pots and pans and.... well, all the things you would actually need to cook with.  As these items were sorely lacking before his arrival, we were all quite pleased to make room in the kitchen for his things.  Many made grand gestures of moving chemistry projects, jig saws, paint etc.. to make room for a real kitchen.  Then - we ate.. real food.  Whoa. 
As I mentioned the "college house for wayward rock stars startups " was the perfect place for parties and after one particularly raucous evening my soon to be husband flipped his shit when he went down into the kitchen to see his precious knives and tools scattered all over the kitchen.  When he discovered that someone had used one of his knives to pry up the kitchen counter - it was all over. 
Everything got packed up and locked - yes LOCKED- into a trunk never to be shared again.  One of the things that got locked into the kitchen trunk, may not have been ours.  In fact, it definitely wasn't (a hand held can opener with the name Matt written on it in black sharpie marker).  We stole it.  I stole it.  Matt asked for it but we denied knowing what happened to it.  We kept the opener.  And even now I use it every week... almost 20 years later.  Matt's can opener reminds me of the fun we had, and the trouble we could cause and what it was like to learn to get along with people.

I love some of the things I have stolen.  They make me happy.  Am I the only one?

Off the charts... literally

Although I had every intention of posting every Thursday - I completely lost track of the fact that yesterday was, indeed, Thursday. 

I am not kidding when I say I am the person who truly forgets how old I am, what day of the week it is and everybodys birthday/anniversary/special day - etc.  It's like my brain is ratcheting up for other things and I am so overtired that I really lose sight of things most people know cold.

So, yesterday I was busy.  And I heard (for the first time in my life) the following:

Office cat lady:  "I have to redo all the sales charts"
Me: "Oh, that's got to stink.. sorry to hear that"
Office cat lady:  "well - congratulations - it's your fault"
Me:  "Really?"
OCL:  "You are off the charts"
Me:  "You mean my sales?"
OCL:  "Yeah, you sold so much this month that it won't fit on the charts I normally make so I have to re-do them to make room for your monthly sales"
Me:  "Oh.. well, I suppose that's a pretty good problem for the company to have"
OCL:  "Yeah, it is - congratulations"

And the super shitty thing here is that although I had a wonder woman moment for about 10 seconds...  I didn't care.  The joy was fleeting and I was back at my desk surfing the web for graduate schools, new jobs and funny blogs about 20 minutes later.  WTF?  Is this what depression feels like? 

I was watching the movie Fight Club the other night and there is a scene where the main character (oh how I love thee Edward Norton) is having a conversation with his alter-ego.  In it, the alter tells him "God does not love you, you are not special.  And once you get over that, you will finally be free" 

I think I am in a mid life freak out.  I had an idyllic childhood.  My parents were the ones who told me I could be president, or a rock star or... anything...  and I believed them.   Now - I am 40 and I am not famous or rich or powerful.  I am however "off the charts" with no passion for my pursuits. 

I am whining...
I hate whiners...
I need a plan and I hope it involves being thin, rich and powerful.  Is that too much to ask?

***********************
No sooner do I get done writing this - I go to check my horoscope (because it's fun, don't judge) and this is mine for today...

Friday, Sep 28th, 2012 -- You have spent a lot of time analyzing the possibilities and thinking about where you want your life to go. Although your grand scheme may remain unchanged, your plan to create your ideal future continues to undergo radical change because of unexpected opportunities that have not yet come to fruition. It's difficult to know whether or not they are real, which, in turn, makes it harder to fix on one strategy now. Be patient; the truth is out there for you to find.

Jesus, I sure as shit hope so, because this mood I am in is driving me nutty.  All I currently want to do is read bad fiction novels and get drunk...  

Ode to Thursday..

Which is by and far the greatest day of the week.
"Why?"  you say, well because it is - in fact - the real beginning of the weekend. 

Here's the deal.
By Thursday, you are starting to finalize your plans for Friday night, laying out the plan for Saturday and figuring out what you're going to do on Sunday. 

If you grew up in the 80's Thursday night kicked off three days of freedom with the NBC television line up.
Seinfeld, Friends, ER.  Then you hip hoppity through Friday to the Friday night party.. etc, etc.

I love Thursdays.  They sound like Thor - who is a badass (regardless of the stupid move version where the pointy nosed black swan star wars chick whined the whole time.)  Thor swings a monster bat.  Speaking softly and carrying a big bat is cool, ergo Thor is cool, ergo Thursday.  For those of you who aspire to win on Jeopardy - read this.

So if Thursday makes me smile - and it usually does-  I've decided Thursdays will be a must post day.

Heretofore known as:  Thursday Thunder  (which loosely translates into -my fucking rant of the week). 

And - because I am in a major funk for no apparent reason- I solemnly swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth (as I see it) so help me God(dess). 

Old gay man waiters
What the fuck is your problem.  Do I smell? Is there a reason you saunter to my table with such disdain?  Do you believe that because I am somewhat overweight I will require you to do some kind of extra work?  Do you have any idea how much of a foodie I really am and regardless of your own training I could likely school ya' on a few things even though right now I look a bit like a laid out Wal-mart version of a 4th grade teacher.  Fuck you, old man gay waiter.  You chose this gig as your career - not me.  Bring me my micro brew fruit infused beer with a fucking smile before I split your lip (or tip you less than the 20% you think you are entitled to)

Skinny jean wearing Euroamericans
Just like we have white trash in America, there exists in the world no small number of Eurotrash that trot the globe.  The difference is, Eurotrash is rich (otherwise they could not afford 3 week vacations in the states).  Should you think you have seen one in your local major metropolitan airport - you probably have. Here's some clues: 
1. there is a strange mix of expensive cologne and body odor
2. jeans - skinny jeans, set low on the waist, usually being pulled down by an ipod strategically placed so that you can see just the top - and know they paid for it
3. Adidas or some other sport wear brand top, shoes etc. paired with a big expensive bag
4. grimy hair
I want to like them for coming to America and spending their money.  They just kind of smell.

Young love with no future
Have you ever found yourself looking in the paper on Sunday morning at the wedding and engagement announcements?  Sometimes you can see on their faces that it is just not going to work.  Sometimes it really was not meant to be.  I so want to warn them.

Shaving my legs - why or why not?
Is it really necessary to have your legs shaved all the time.  Even when you're wearing jeans for a few days and you are not in the mood for sex?  Naw... I didn't think so.  Is it also true that you generally only shave your legs when you want to get laid or are wearing a dress?  Yep.... me too.

Twitter stalking
I freely admit to using social networking to stalk my kids.  They are teenage boys for christsakes.  Getting information out of them can be trickier than pulling gum out of your hair (and equally as messy).

Is behavior, belief?

Monday morning.

I catch up on my email, read through a bunch of FB posts, and think about starting work.

Except... there is no work to be done.  No phone calls to be made, no orders to enter, no quotes to take care of.  Nothing real. 

Lots of speculation though - reports that will get thrown in the trash, requests for funds that will get filed in a drawer and marketing forecasts that will have coffee spilled on them (and then get thrown in the trash).

A couple of months ago an acquaintance of mine stopped by the house to say hi.  He lives about an hour away so I really only kept in touch with him through FB.  I seriously, do not even have his phone number.  So as we are chatting it up, he tells me he had to get off FB and all of his social networking sites because he was starting to feel inconsequential.  He could not help comparing himself to others and he felt like he wasn't matching up.  He shut the whole thing down in an effort to get back to focusing on his family and his own life.

I suppose I get it. 

I can't help comparing myself to my perceptions about other people's lives.  Are they as bored as me?  Unchallenged?  Sad?   To take a page out of my friend's book - no.  They look busy and happy and healthy.  I don't believe it though..  not really. 

I think most of us are stuck in a rut.  Not knowing the right steps to get out.  Fear manipulating our choices.  Boredom blocking our way.  I never thought I would be apathetic... but here I am. 

All I want to do is be snarky and negative
All I really need to do is positive and move forward.

I heard on NPR today that the best way to manipulate your belief is change your behavior  (some teacher study on working with problem students). 

This is an ongoing theme that my head hears but my heart just can't seem to deliver...

My demon is a demanding bitch...

Whether you've actually seen the Twilight movies or not - you may have seen the trailer where Edward looks at Bella and says.. "you are my own special brand of heroin." 

And that my dears... is my relationship with food. 

I love it.  I need it.  I think about it hundreds of times a day. 

What am I going to eat? When? Where? With who?

I eat when I'm happy, confused, depressed, hungry, not hungry, anxious, sick, bored and busy. 

I love healthy food, bad food, restaurants, food trucks, eating at home, eating at parties and everything in between. 

The trouble is - when you are addicted to the one thing that has the propensity to kill you it's hard to know when to stop. 

My entire life revolves around food.  I exercise so I can have an excuse to feed my demon.  When I don't, I feed the fucker anyway and then bitch when my jeans are too tight.  I justify my menu because I believe I deserve to have some happiness. 

I play games with myself and my diet depending on my mood of the minute/hour/day/month.

I am so very tired of cutting deals with myself over my obsession with food. 

I am tired and don't want to think about it anymore....  except that I am in love with her... my demon...  and I don't know how to just eat enough to survive instead of enough to sooth my soul. 

Pigtails on women are silly

Stop the madness!

If you are over 40, nay 20 - there is no reason I can understand why you would ever need or choose to wear your hair in pigtails or, better yet, braided pigtails.

Truly, help me understand.  I get that you went to a few Grateful Dead shows in college... tried to follow Phish but decided that was a far stretch from the real thing.. and finally, gave up and turned to some "cat fish blue" on the weekends.

I get that you love healthy, sustainable, organic agriculture.  I appreciate that you still own and buy Birkenstocks.  I realize you still have a jingly ankle bracelet in your jewelry box, an old Guatemalan pouch filled with shake from about 15 years ago and your tarot cards upstairs wrapped in a silk scarf. (oh, wait, is that just me??)

But, why - in the name of Jerry and the boys- do you need pigtails?  Oh.. and a pioneer woman scarf?  I little babushka feel, really.

I can rock an old school hippie vibe with my hair pulled back in a simple ponytail.

Just sayin...

Washing walls

Who in the hell washes their walls?

Left to my own devices I would drink beer and listen to country music while reading a Dan Brown-esque novel and getting a tan.  hmmm.. maybe this weekend?

I have always worked.  At 15 my mom used to drop me off in the summer at the local no-tel mo-tel so I could clean rooms for the folks who owned the place. (for 20 years I could NOT stand the smell of curry) 
At 16 I did exactly 3 days a McDonalds.
I worked through high school at the True Value hawking lumber and toilet bowl parts to my friends' parents.
College is a dizzying array of waitressing gigs and radio. First shift, third shift.. you name it.  I secretly fashioned myself a modern day Flo from Alice's Diner... 
After school - it was real world radio and tv jobs.
During babies - it was teaching aerobics
After babies - it was the family fence business
Now - it's somebody else's manufacturing business

And at no point through any of this did it ever once occur to me that I should spend a day of my life washing the walls of my house/apartment/condo.  I work all the time...

Normally my house looks pretty clean.  It doesn't smell and you can easily pull the "5 second rule" on a dropped hot dog without a trip to the bathroom or the emergency room 8 hours later.   What I can't figure out though is how to make enough time in my life to wash the walls.  WTF?  Here's how the wall washing would play out in my world (and my justification for not doing it).

"I am going to wash the walls today"
"I suppose I should do it one room at a time"
"I will start in my bedroom and work down through the house"
"I should dust everything first"
"Those louver doors are going to take about 45 minutes to detail them and get it right"
"If I am doing the louver doors, I should probably clean out the closet"
"I need to go get some new vacuum cleaner bags so after I get everything pulled out I can clean the floor under all the shoes"
"I need to donate those shoes and the clothes to Goodwill - I should pick up some garbage bags too.."

So... 4 hours later clothes sorted and louvers dusted it's half way through the day and I would not have even washed walls in ONE room.

I really want to tell myself that if you're going to do it - do it right - one time - that'll hold.
What I think really choose to do is - look the other way.

I am very good at looking the other way - I wish I was better at doing it right.

I'm back.. with a LONG damn list

So...  I've been away awhile.  Kind of a long while actually, for no other reason than I've been damn lazy and distracted. 

Back in the day I started this as a way to keep myself on track with the "I want to get healthy" thing.  In reality,  all the "I want to get healthy" thing really means is: "I want to look smokin' hot in those jeans." Don't lie - you know it's true.

For the record I am back on the health tip but it's going to start taking a backseat to the screaming in my head.  I don't know if it's because I am getting older or meaner but my patience for the world is waning.  Never fear my dears... I still get all hearts and rainbows every now and again but the shiznit I have seen over the summer has got me ready to bitch slap the next size 2 soccer mom who calls herself fat.  

Angst?  Yep.  Frustration?  You bet.

I've done a whole summer of beach vacations and parties so I am ready to get this thing started again...Here's the coming attractions - (so I can take them off Evernote on my phone)

Old gay man waiters
Skinny jean wearing Euroamericans
Young love with no future
Why bud light may, in fact, be the worst beer ever foisted upon Americans
Cheese people
Washing walls
Shaving my legs - why or why not?
Overeating to compensate for feelings of inferiority
Expectations and disappointments..
Twitter stalking
20 somethings

Yes - I can see where this going.  I may be one of the nicest people you ever meet in real life - but here, in this space,  I am going to tell my version of the truth... and it won't be pretty or edited for television. 

I need to purge so grab a bucket. 

Black butterfly day -

Today is a dark day (not outside, it's beautiful).

Work is for shit and I am seriously questioning my life choices again.  When I am super busy I simply do NOT have time to kvetch about anything.  It's one thing, to the next, to the next... with no down time to think about anything else.

When things get slow I start questioning everything...
Am I good at what I do?
Do I like what I do?
Shouldn't I be grateful that I have a job?

Grateful my ass... grateful to who?  I spend everyday doing what I think I should instead of what I want and create little games with myself to distract myself from the real dirt.  I am currently in a 6 week competition with a chick at work to see who can stay on plan long enough to lose 40 pounds... No, I am not going to lose 40 pounds in 6 weeks - shit, I will be lucky to lose 10.  In reality we are both hoping for 40 by August which a much more reasonable goal.  The "goal" however is merely a distraction from life. 

I get up every morning and go through the motions.  So does everyone I know.  What makes me so special that I think I deserve more. 

About a year ago I was at a work function and after a day of seminars and what-not, a few folks met up for drinks.  After about 2 martinis I start to talk and before I know it things are loud and everyone is laughing and having a great time.  One of the people we were with is a successful businessman who was telling us about his new home in Tuscany - yes, Italy.  (Bastard).  Anyway, houses in Tuscany led to politics and politics found me the lone Democrat in a room of Republicans.  It's hard to stop my mouth and after a few semi-heated exchanges, said businessman told me... wait for it... that I was "average - in every way."

WTF?  "average in every way", me? Really?  Whoa...  I hadn't had a blow to my psyche like that since about 7th grade.  Seriously....   average?  OK.   Clearly - it threw me for a loop because in some ways I've always wanted to be average.  Average size so I can shop in normal stores.  But not just average....   I really think I was put here to be more than average.  To do good work - to help people - to inspire - to excel - to be more than average.

Which brings me back to today.  Do I really deserve more for myself.  I do if I want to be better than average, right?  So in the middle of all this existential thinking about what to do with my life I get hit with a series of problems with my customers.  One right after the other - bang, bang, bang.  I have to go out back into our industrial shop to fix one of them and in the middle of my "am I an average shithead" conversation with myself I find a black butterfly.  In the middle of a manufacturing shop.  On my product.  Looking at me.

When I reached out to touch it, it did not fly away - it jumped on to my finger.  And stayed.  A long time. 10 minutes or more while I showed a friend of mine.   

Because I am always looking for symbolism  - here is what a quick google search came up with:

"Herein lies the deepest symbolic lesson of the butterfly. She asks us to accept the changes in our lives as casually as she does. The butterfly unquestioningly embraces the changes of her environment and her body.
This unwavering acceptance of her metamorphosis is also symbolic of faith. Here the butterfly beckons us to keep our faith as we undergo transitions in our lives. She understands that our toiling, fretting and anger are useless against the turning tides of nature – she asks us to recognize the same. "

Now what... my "average" brain is having trouble processing... suggestions?

I miss the girl

The issue is, that I thought there would be more. 

When you are 17, there is a world of opportunity and things you could be.  Some people are content with what I thought were pretty pedestrian plans (yes, at 17 I was a judgemental bitch).  I was convinced I would change the world.  I wasn't scared of standing up, or yelling loud or demanding more.

Now, not so much.

At 40, I don't know where that girl went... and that, I'm convinced, is the problem.  She is still inside screaming and kvetching and whining all the time that there has to be more.  More fun, more money, more fame, more power... more, more, more.   But instead, the woman she became is grown up and responsible and truly disappointed in herself. 

Because everything is a "give and take" - she took the compromises.  She no longer demands more.  She no longer is willing to take the same kind of risks.  

I miss the girl.  I can't believe she won't fight her way back.  I'm rooting for her.  I'm rooting for me. 

Snappy

Most of the time, I try to keep my mouth closed... no, I mean really.  100% of the time I have an opinion on whatever is under discussion..

"Do you think we should go out to dinner?"  - Yes, of course.
"Which pair of shoes goes with the dress better?" - the blue ones.
"Can you believe what Jane did last night?" - no
"Can you get over .... blah, blah, blah... - no, yes and only on Fridays.

I have an opinion about absolutely fucking everything. Again, most  sometimes I keep my opinions to myself because I am the person that says out loud what everyone else in the room is thinking. 

This, my friends, is both a blessing and a curse.  A blessing because there is no MAYBE with me.  You will know if I like you, you will know if I approve, and you can damn well bet that if I tell you something looks, tastes or sounds fabulous... I am not lying.

On the flip side of this coin I often find myself with my foot in my mouth.  Enter... today's story.

So...
Like nearly everyone else I know I have a Facebook page.  I will openly admit I use it to spy on my kids and their friends.  This... is every parents job.  If you have a teenager and you are not following them on Facebook, you suck.  I also go on Facebook for the following reasons:
1.  I live vicariously through the lives of other people.
2. I am a voyeur.  I've come to terms with it.  Watching people is more fun than watching TV.  You simply cannot make up some of the shit you see on FB.
3. Sometimes I really like the stupid sayings people post.  They make me smile.

Anyway I creep all the time.  This (in my vernacular) means that I read all about people and rarely post a thing.  I do not brag about my kids or my husband or whine about bad days or laundry list the sicknesses that are going through my house.  I just click around looking for links to interesting stuff... then click away.

Today however (for no real reason) I did not slam on the brakes fast enough and before I could stop myself - I typed.  You see, although I am used to putting my foot in my mouth in a room full of strangers or calling out the white elephant... I forgot that on Facebook, the room is REALLY big and white elephant has cousins.

HO-LY-SHIT. 

Check out this picture:

I think this color combo is ridiculous.  Truly I do.  I am simply not a fan.  I call this one the "shocktop".  (WTH were you thinking... )
I know several people who go with this style and change the colors with the seasons.  Unless you are current rock star, I'm just not feelin' it for you.

So.. when a long time acquaintance from high school (seriously I probably spoke to her a total of 15 times back in 1988)  (and yes, no idea why I originally accepted her friend request) wants to know...

"do you think I should cut and color my hair like this?"
It took me a mind numbing 2 seconds to tell her the truth..
"Hell no, not unless you want to start whoring or have recently signed a deal to play SXSW."

oops... the filter came off.  And her band of merry men ran off the rails to her defense.  Apparently this style and color is extremely popular in small town Alabama.  Who knew?

Frankly, it may actually match the camo and pink sweatshirt that reads "Jesus loves me" that I saw her wearing (on fb) last week.   My bad. 

Listen - if you don't really want someones opinion.  Don't ask for it.  I'm pretty sure I just got "unfriended".

Travels - the bracelet

So I think I was late to the party that is the Travelling Red Dress.

Like everything, I had this brilliant idea about two years ago to send a piece of jewelry to some of the fabulous women who have made an impact on my life.  I think somewhere along the line, I heard about the pair of jeans book.  In high school, my friends and I shared scarves, and jewelry and sweaters...  so now that I am an adult, I suppose I wanted to try to live that all over again with a piece of jewelry.  But before I could send off the bracelet that I had chosen - it broke while I was wearing it.  In my world of fate and kooky consequences it was clear to me that a broken bracelet was no way to start this weave into the world. I needed to wait until I had something solid.  Something that was good for me, something I loved, that would not break.   Fast forward two years to about a month ago.

Wasting away another day at the computer I stumbled across the story of the Travelling Red Dress.  Ay' Carumba!  There were (of course) other people who had the same fabulous idea as me.  They chose to get it started with a red dress... which turned into several red dresses... which turned into a bit of a movement.  It was time to find a bracelet and on a much smaller scale, send it into the world.

Every year my mother and I hit the same artisan craft show in the summer.  And, every year she buys me a bracelet from this little old man who weaves these beautiful gold and silver knots into sparkly, bangly bands that I simply cannot get enough of.  At the time, I thought I was simply drawn to how they looked.  In retrospect (and after pulling out my stockpile) I realized there was much, much more to his signature style.  Different materials, and different knots all add to the beauty of these things.  The super bonus was they were big enough to look fabulous dangling from my plus size wrist. 

So, I chose one.  It was not my favorite one but instead one that I thought I could part with.  One that has been worn all over the world (they slide right through metal detectors at the airport).  One that was beautiful enough to be given away and one that was sturdy enough to endure some additional travel and abuse.  I put together a little package with the bracelet including a small notebook and a card.  The card explained why I was sending the bracelet and what you were supposed to do with it when you were done.  The book was for writing a brief story if you choose.

My next step was deciding who would get this bracelet first.  I have always been very lucky to surround myself at different times in my life with people who seemed the perfect match.  I knew it had to be Jules.  This is the woman who talked me off a ledge back when I needed it at 19 years old.  Upset and frustrated with my weight and my decisions, I was talking out loud about my life and my choices.  Of course this was back in the day where depression was never diagnosed let alone talked about and anti-depression drugs weren't popping up like Pez.  I didn't realize I was depressed at the time but I was.  I went to some ineffective on-campus counseling and as I chain smoked my way through a bottle of Absolut, Jules said the one thing to me that I will never, ever forget.  " I would never hurt myself because I can't wait to see what happens next."   HO-LY-SHIT.  In just one short sentence she helped to shape the rest of my life - "you never know what is going to happen next."

So, Jules it is.  Today I put the bracelet in an envelope and mailed it off to her.  She does not know it is coming.  I know she will wear it well, follow the directions and send it on.   It may never make it back to me and if it doesn't, that's OK.  I did good in the world today.  I reached out and sent my love on to someone who may or may not know why.  I truly believe in the God that weaves us all together.  Some obvious and some not.  

p.s. - I want a red dress.

Stripped down and smug pups

213 this morning by the trusty new scale. 

Although at first glance it appear as if this was a no carb week of shocking losses, the truth is I stripped all my clothes off and got on the bastard buck neked in the morning right after I peed.  (I probably would have shaved my legs if I thought that might help the process along too... )

I did not do what I said I was going to do with the alternating low carb and high carb days.  Really?  Yeah, really. 

Spent most of the weekend moving for a friend who died in a tragic accident last October.  It was horrible for the family - and very sad.  We talked a lot about time and death and life over the weekend and this morning I woke up absolutely convinced I was going to eat well - and be nice to people.  These were the only two rules.

By 10:30am I had broke both.  (What the hell is wrong with me?)

By 10:30 am I ate two oatmeal cookies and told the intern at work he was a son of a bitch.  Yep.  True story.  There is absolutely no way I can be nice to this kid (20's) with a shit eating grin who is 4 credit hours light from fucking up someone else's life...  sounds like there is a story there, huh?  OK - fine, if you insist...

Let me preface this by saying I have no initial issue with engineers.  I find them to be lazy and categorically limited in their range to accept and understand anything that is not within their speciality.  My problem with several engineers I deal with on weekly basis is the fact they are smug and believe that because they are engineers, they are smarter than everyone else in the room.  I get extra raw when the little pup is but 21, and can't follow simple instructions.

Said pup and I are engaged in a project to re-work a series of drawings for our company's website.  He keeps telling me they are done and I keep finding errors.  This has gone on now for 6 weeks.  On Friday I realized that the easiest way to keep most of his work was for me to make a change to the design specification.  A major change.  A change that I explained in detail on Friday afternoon.  Turns out smug pup isn't so playful on Monday morning.

A fair amount of whining to the wrong people and I'm left to justify the changes.  Unfortunately, this did not go well for him.  Long story short - I was right, he was embarrassed and I my best guess it will be another 6 weeks before I get everything done.  Lesson to all smug pup intern engineers... do NOT fuck with a fat Midwestern mom first thing Monday morning unless you want bitch slapped into place. 

Oh, and bring me my coffee... with Splenda, if you please.

Who are the people who read the business section?

A detour at lunch today led me to Wendy's.  Who doesn't absolutely love the chili?  I mean really, really great for $1.59 and just over 200 calories.

With very limited time and completely alone I sat quietly and ate alone.  It took me 10 minutes.

I am not one of those people who is intimidated by eating alone or going out alone or going to the movies alone.  I like the anonymity of the whole thing.  In fact going to the movies by myself (especially a matinee) with a tub of popcorn and a stack to tissues is one of my most favorite things.... but I digress.

So, sitting in the now wifi enhanced Wendy's sucking down my chili, I was looking around the restaurant to check out the surroundings.  Here, in no particular order, are the group of misfits I discovered -

A.  50 ish overweight businessman.  Reading the business section of the Plain Dealer.  Who does this, really?  I don't understand what is in the business section that means anything to me.  I have never had a job where there is even one headline I care about let alone one I'm going to act on.  Shit, I barely even understand what they talking about and I've had write ups in the damn business section.   Who reads the business section? and what EXACTLY are they looking for?   Sometimes I wish I was important enough to need to read it.

B. 40 something dad.  With a hoodie on.  With the hood up.  With his laptop open to facebook and not eating or drinking anything but watching CNN on the big screen TV and seemingly actually caring about what the talking head Blondie was carrying on about.  Again, really?  You're sitting in a Wendy's during the middle of the day on a Thursday.  Are you really planning on getting a piece of the Facebook IPO?  and why in all that is holy did you have your hood up?

C. 40 something mom and her teenage daughter.  OK Stop.  There is absolutely no reason I can ever see or understand that explains why you would want to wear sweatpants with words on your ass.  What the shiznit is that all about?  I don't care how old or young you are there is absolutely no reason to do it.  Ever.  Are "juicy" sweatpants and Ugg boots de'rigeur everywhere or just in the hell that is Ohio.  (p.s. - did you know that all the world's freakiest serial killers are from Ohio? - look it up)

D.  20 something goth couple.  I got hand it to these world of warcraft kids.  They rock the style, right?  Huge guy, fairy girl, both dyed black hair and smelling of smoke.  Laptops open, gaming while enjoying their fries.  I think they should probably be working or something but... they are in their 20's so - whatever.

E.F.G.and H.  The senior patrol.  Apparently after you get to be a card carrying member of the AARP you get free "senior drinks" at Wendy's.  In the whole of my existence I never understood drinking coffee with a hamburger but I think something may switch when you get older and constantly need caffeine.  Hamburgers don't taste good with coffee.  I've tried it.  They don't.  This group of go-getters have set up shop in the Wendy's similar to the breakfast crowd at any given McDonalds on any given morning.  They are scattered throughout the building in a way that allows them to talk to one another without actually having to commit.  They wear the most comfortable shoes.  They know the value menu by heart and can get in and out at lunch for under three bucks.  I love these guys.  They rock.

Backhanded assholes

Last week I needed to travel to a national trade show for the industry I work in.   While there, I did the usual chit chat and hand shaking associated with sales.  We all smile and cross our fingers that somewhere down the line - someone will get in touch with you and you'll make a buck.

So, after a day of glad handing and a day of meetings I wrapped it up and headed back to Ohio.  Like the good girl I am, I followed up this week with a few of the folks that I really hoped would be solid leads for me.

This morning I received the following email -

"Thanks for the followup Stacey. I've sent your contact and capability info to my people and I hope we do business soon. You have a refreshing style and I enjoyed our brief discussion. Good luck this season."

Are you fucking kidding me?  I don't even know how to react to this.  And, as usual - I overreact. 

Am I reading this wrong or did this tight lipped, tie wearing, self important prick just tell me to go fuck myself?  "refreshing style" - what the hell does that mean?  (although I suppose I could guess)**

         **REFRESHING STYLE (def) :  Chooses not to lie, chooses to be forthcoming and honest, chooses not to put on airs or pretend to be something other than they are.  Usually does not fit in with liars, "business professionals" or assholes.**

Of course, this may not be the case.  Instead, I may really be a crazy person that truly doesn't know just how off base I am.  I can tell you this - I am not rude and I am not mean. I don't lie and I laugh and smile alot.  Isn't that enough in this world anymore?

I know I should not give a rats ass about this or about what other people think of me but honestly, it is very rare that someone will actually tell you either.   I'm not totally convinced I understand what this fuck was trying to say....  


"refreshing style" 
Okay - I'll take that.
I think.

Choosing to make it a good day

Somedays I feel like crap.  Today is not one one of those days.  Today, I choose to be happy.

After much ado with my broken scale I found one on the cheap and bought it on Saturday.  What this means of course is that I got on a scale for the first time since November and what I saw made me want to throw up.  Literally.

In two months I am up 16 lbs.  What ??!!  (obviously, this new scale must be broke)

Get off scale, get back on - up.  16lbs.

This, my friends, is a very large speed bump in my world.  Not a wall mind you, just a speed bump.  If I think back about how something like this happens it is certainly no surprise.  I can count on both hands the number of times over the past two months where I ate so much I nearly shit my pants (was that a song lyric?)

I remember drinking and eating and drinking some more.  I remember several times that I thought I would explode from all the food I had just ingested but "knowing" it would just fall back off if I drank alot of water and went running once a week.  FAIL. All of that is clearly not what happened.

What happened, is that my size 16 jeans (which I was convinced would one day be too big) are now so tight that I haven't worn them in a month.  My size 18 jeans cut into my stomach when I sit at work and make me annoyed that all my shirts look strange.  My size 20 jeans go on tight and then stretch out to the point where they are the only option for the weekends.    Yesterday in fact, I found myself piddling around the house in a size 22 stretchy jean.  Seriously.

But, for all the negative there, I still believe that this is just a winter build up.  I swear if I lived back in the days of dinosaurs and foraging for food I would clearly be the hottest chick at the fire ring.  My big ass can store fat like a squirrel putting away nuts for the winter and all the cavemen would want to get with the super mom who would be able to feed their hairy little offspring.  Alas, we are not cavemen and my big ass doesn't get me anything other a second glance from drunken sailor on shore leave.

So - with the best of intentions I head off into my next great adventure.  All weight loss projects in my world seem to start at the beginning of the month.  I look at them as grand experiments.  I have my favorites that I keep running through to various degrees of success.  I love it when a new one comes along that puts on twist on a oldie but a goodie. 

Enter my girlfriend Lisa.  So, she sees some show on TV (Dr. Oz - who has time to stay home during the day?) and buys the book of some guy who says "all you need to do....."  and we're in.
Apparently we are going to alternate low carb and high carb days.  We're going to drink water and exercise 30 minutes a day.  The exercise is going to be tough because of some scheduling issues with my sons this week but I think I can make it work most days.

Full report to follow in one week.  Dear god in heaven - let the scale NOT say 219 next Monday.

Lunch drinking

Unbeknown (is that a word?) to me - I've been drinking at lunch every Friday for the past couple of months.  Apparently, I always eat Mexican food on Friday too.  So say my co-workers who make sure I get to the damn restaurant every week.

I can't quite put into words why or how much I love the chips and salsa thing. I realize this is probably bad on some level, but I am here to tell you - nothing makes the afternoon mean less to me than a Corona Light and taco de carne asada.   Good God in heaven - the rest of the weekend starts kickin' when I get the tableside guacamole to go with it.  I think I may just need to move to Mexico.  

In fact, what the hell ever happened to casual drinking?  I don't really watch too much TV because I am a bit of a movie freak.  But, with somewhat limited options, I can get downright obsessive about a few television series every now and then.  I was crazy for Twin Peaks back in the day.. I got completely caught up in Lost.. and I still (yes, how many years later) want to be on Survivor.  

So, in that vein, the other day I decide it's finally time to find out what all the hype is about - so I go scouting through Netflix looking for Mad Men.  Holy happy hour batman!  What in THE hell, is that all about?  What happened to the days of cocktails after a big meeting and why don't we do that anymore?  Is it just where I live?  Is it the time in which I live? 

I am here to tell you if I could enjoy a cocktail and a smoke at work, I would probably treat this place like Google - move a bed in here and never leave.

Cheers to beers and tequila at lunch.  (I probably should not answer the phone this afternoon).

The three C's

Today I ate the greatest sandwich ever.  Hot, fried and spicy - all my faves wrapped up into one delicious lunch option of the gods.

Hello guilt?  Was the choice to scarf down that 800 calorie stack of goodness worth every bite?

Fuck if I know. 

Add to the calorie fest - the choice not to workout today, and it feels like my poor decision making is spiraling me down into a hole. 

The other day it occurred to me that I can only really control one thing at a time.  I can multi-task like a bitch but in the final analysis I can really only do one thing well.  Either kick ass at work or kick ass at home.  It is one or the other.  Every now and then I get to thinking that regardless of the fact that I am slowly dying at work every day - I could at least stay focused on the health thing.  Maybe lose a bunch of weight - turn into a super hottie and get a great new job.   The problem however,  is that when I decide that is what I am going to do - I don't do it.  I blow off my lunch time workout for a trip to DQ and to pick up my husband's glasses.  No workout time tonight = no workout today + chicken sandwich of the gods = guilt that I am not focusing on the get skinny plan.

Not focusing on the get skinny plan + still hating my job = me, not happy.

Something in this cycle needs to change.

I saw one of my friends post on FB today the three C's of life.  Choice, change, chance. 
If you make a choice to change you've got a chance at being more.

I think they forgot to add in the Chicken variable... fuck.

Really?

So, here's the rant of the day -

It pisses me off that I hate my job.
It pisses me off that I can't quite figure out a plan of escape.
It pisses me off when thin people tell me what I should do to be "healthy" while they carry a bag of fast food past me.
It pisses me off that I feel underappreciated.
It pisses me off that I am bored.

I wish that I was happy right now.  I wish I knew what I need to do to be happy.

I need a plan.

New Year, new me?

Every new year I tell myself I will refuse to make resolutions (they are always the same anyway). 

Eat healthy
Get some exercise
Stop smoking

And almost, as if the fates were trying to tell me something, I hear a report on NPR this morning talking about behaviors.. and why it is so difficult to make resolutions that stick without changing your behaviors.  One of the tricks to help you change your behavior (and keep your resolutions) was to change your environment.  Apparently there are triggers that our subconscious mind attaches to your environment that triggers certain behaviors.  For all the smokers in the room - read, coffee = cig or eat food, then smoke.  These triggers are so powerful that in essence, you are on autopilot. 

The trick then, is to force yourself off of autopilot.  Tough to do.  I've been thinking about this all day and I've decided that my NEW, new years resolution is going to try to live a deliberate life.  A life where I am NOT on autopilot.  A life I choose to live, not a life that chooses me. 

So, for the first of the year I resolve the following:

I will not live on autopilot.  I will live consciously.