iPod. A baby iPod. It's really called a shuffle which is kind of like a temporary tattoo...a nice substitute to fake out the 3-11 fans until I can get the guts to have the bleeding heart that says 'Daddy's Girl' branded on my lower back (sidenote: Matt calls those tattoos 'targets' which I think is kind of funny) As soon as my ship comes in from the Federal government, I'm getting the real thing (iPod, not target tattoo). And now that I've tricked you with this light and airy blog topic....
I've been thinking a lot lately about being addictive. I have an addictive personality as evidenced by my current enrollment in a Fat People 12 step program also known as Weight Watchers. I am addicted to lots of things, mainly men and food and iPods. Here's the thing...the addiction to the iPod doesn't hurt anyone that I can figure, and the addiction to food only hurts myself and that pair of pants that ripped when I was on my mission. But the addiction to men....ahhhh...that is a different story.
I've discovered, I think, that I am addicted to the control that comes from trying to make men who aren't necessarily emotionally available pay attention to me. I exist in a world of potential, seeing them as I think they could someday be and working very hard to nurture them into wanting me as I currently am. Because you see, then I would be worthy of love. I see every unavailable man as an opportunity to win. To win affection, to win control, to win attention and approval. Maybe I thrive on the thrill of the hard won nod in my direction. Stemming from a belief that I am not enough in the real world? That an available man wouldn't really want me, so it must be my lot in life to work very hard to make the other kind of man choose me. And it's an addiction.
This is not some kind of feminist manifesto. Men are lovely. They are good and decent and strong and I want them in my life. I just want to be able to want them for the right reasons. I want to be content within myself enough to choose to be loved and believe love and not need to fix someone so that they can love me. I need to stop treating men as objects to win.
This is totally my punishment (and unfortunately yours) for spending 2 hours in the self-help section at Borders.
Thursday, December 29, 2005
Monday, December 26, 2005
Sonnet To Mary (Diet) Coke Boy REVEAL YOURSELF
Something that drives me insane is anonymous posters, especially ones who are witty. I can't stand the thought that there are cool people in the world that I don't know. I mean, maybe I do know you and maybe you are shy or ashamed to be reading a blog entitled, "This is for all the Normal Girls" when you're probably neither normal, nor a girl. Perhaps you are of another linguistic culture...one in which the characters of your name are unable to be captured by the available letters on a keyboard. I guess it COULD be as simple as an unwillingness to set up one of these blogspot accounts as McOllie and others have discovered requires you to have a blog of your own. Whatever the reason, dear anonymous commenters, I believe we can work through it.... together.
Unless you enjoy torturing me with days of dutiful speculation and nights of restless sleep patterns, I implore you... Reveal yourselves. Come clean and be free of the mask of anonymity.
Unless you enjoy torturing me with days of dutiful speculation and nights of restless sleep patterns, I implore you... Reveal yourselves. Come clean and be free of the mask of anonymity.
Friday, December 16, 2005
and Ninny wept
here is what I feel like today...LA LA LA!!!!!! Painfully happy-go-lucky. I think it's because I have been spending time doing things and being with people who spiritually uplift me.
Last Saturday I went to the Dandy Warhols show with some friends...we concert danced, we were concert fondled (you know how you have to stand so close to everyone that you can't help but get some accidental concert action?), we even almost got in a concert fight. THE MOST FUN I'VE HAD IN YEARS.
The next morning on Sunday, Crystal and I went to the Conference Center to listen to the taping of music and the spoken word with Renee Fleming and MoTab. I cried. It was so beautiful and uplifting and didn't involve ANY inappropriate bodily rubbing. I was reminded that the larger part of my soul really is LESS ROCKSTAR more MORMON. I needed that reminder yet again.
Wednesday night I saw the Sabastio Salgado photography exhibit at the Leonardo. Between giggling about the naked boobies of the indigenous people and recoiling in horror as we attempted to go against the counter clockwise museum culture current (note to self: There is nothing funny about refugees. I repeat. Nothing funny about refugees.) it might have been hard to get the full gist of the photographs. BUT, I was touched, especially by the final part of the exhibit...40 portraits of the children of refugees. Old eyes staring out from these little bodies. Eyes that have seen more in their brief lifetime than I will ever see and somehow, they still laugh and play and choose to be children. I cried. I wondered at my own ability to choose life, to choose hope and to help others choose the same fate. I was reminded of the peace that life takes and the peace that God gives. I want to be peace.
Thursday, I got a beautiful email from Lumina (her blog: www.luminainfinite.blogspot.com) and was reminded that I am an idealist and the I like being an idealist. I cried at my computer screen right there at work.
Then I saw the movie, "The Chronicles of Narnia". And guess what???? I cried. The world can be so gray, so smokey and so full of doubt. But there is no small portion of excitement and beauty. I'm tapping into the doubt occassionally so that I can exist in the beauty without reservation. And there is hope. LALALLALALALLAAAAAAA!!!!
Last Saturday I went to the Dandy Warhols show with some friends...we concert danced, we were concert fondled (you know how you have to stand so close to everyone that you can't help but get some accidental concert action?), we even almost got in a concert fight. THE MOST FUN I'VE HAD IN YEARS.
The next morning on Sunday, Crystal and I went to the Conference Center to listen to the taping of music and the spoken word with Renee Fleming and MoTab. I cried. It was so beautiful and uplifting and didn't involve ANY inappropriate bodily rubbing. I was reminded that the larger part of my soul really is LESS ROCKSTAR more MORMON. I needed that reminder yet again.
Wednesday night I saw the Sabastio Salgado photography exhibit at the Leonardo. Between giggling about the naked boobies of the indigenous people and recoiling in horror as we attempted to go against the counter clockwise museum culture current (note to self: There is nothing funny about refugees. I repeat. Nothing funny about refugees.) it might have been hard to get the full gist of the photographs. BUT, I was touched, especially by the final part of the exhibit...40 portraits of the children of refugees. Old eyes staring out from these little bodies. Eyes that have seen more in their brief lifetime than I will ever see and somehow, they still laugh and play and choose to be children. I cried. I wondered at my own ability to choose life, to choose hope and to help others choose the same fate. I was reminded of the peace that life takes and the peace that God gives. I want to be peace.
Thursday, I got a beautiful email from Lumina (her blog: www.luminainfinite.blogspot.com) and was reminded that I am an idealist and the I like being an idealist. I cried at my computer screen right there at work.
Then I saw the movie, "The Chronicles of Narnia". And guess what???? I cried. The world can be so gray, so smokey and so full of doubt. But there is no small portion of excitement and beauty. I'm tapping into the doubt occassionally so that I can exist in the beauty without reservation. And there is hope. LALALLALALALLAAAAAAA!!!!
Friday, December 09, 2005
What Bumble says to Bumble in the shower
Update on the every other day hair washing experiment (because I know you've been dying to hear):
I think I've finally become used to moderately greasy hair on day 2. We've (my roommate and I) acquired a showercap and it seems to be helping immensely. I also find that just briefly alluding to what day it is at the start of every interpersonal communication helps cut down on the embarrassing hair discussions. Like, I say, "Hi Jill, It's day 2. Do you think you could help me find this particular transaction on the revenue statistics report?" Then we are free to move beyond my dirty hair and get to the business at hand. I've always been preemptive that way. Which brings me nicely back to the shower cap.
It's a bumble and bumble shower cap that my roommate received when she purchased some WAY overpriced hair stuff from Trev and his pirate cohorts at the salon. I stare at it every other day when my head is not in it and it says in BOLD! SASSY! letters, "Goddess...Bella Donna...Hot Mama....Sexy...blah blah blah" but it also says, "curl conscious, not self-conscious" as though juxtaposing that to Hot Mamamammaamamama is going to help me understand being a woman that much better. I started to wonder when being SELF-CONSCIOUS became a derogatory thing. The literal idea of Self-consciousness seems like a godly trait, right? So why is it better to be curl conscious than self conscious? This isn't just Bumble and Bumble's fault...there seems to be a societal connotation that's been ascribed to the the words "self" and "conscious" when used together. So much so that we feel bad about ourselves if someone describes us as self-conscious EVER.
www.M-w.com defines self-conscious thusly:
1. Aware of oneself as an individual or of one's own being, actions, or thoughts.
That sounds pretty appealing to me...and I would guess that most of us who choose to live on a higher level of consciousness would describe ourselves as such. The idea of being aware, being alive to yourself and choosing to be awake during your existence here on earth should be something to aspire to. I WANT to be better and I think that most of the time I achieve this sort of balanced internal insight, so what pushes me over the edge to the category 2 and 3 self-consciousness (which definitely happens!)?
2. Socially ill at ease: The self-conscious teenager sat alone during lunch.
3. Excessively conscious of one's appearance or manner: The self-conscious actor kept fixing his hair.
Notice the sentence examples! teenagers, lunch (food), actors (I'm sure this refers to Angelina Jolie), and HAIR...all things that I talk about like, every day of my life. So I guess I am self-conscious !???!?!???!???! and not self.........conscious. I think it's self-critique that takes us to the BAD consciousness place. If I could somehow learn to be complete in my self, then looking at me wouldn't be such a harrowing experience...and I could throw out the shower cap and be proudly self-conscious. I could say that Bumble and Bumble are wrong and that I would rather be self-conscious than curl conscious. So that's my lifelong process to become definition 1 of self-conscious... But until I nail it, I guess I am going to continue my preemptive strikes...breaking up with people before they can break up with me, pointing out that my hair is kind of greasy and trying to mind-read when I'm not quite sure what others are thinking. blah blah blah.
I think I've finally become used to moderately greasy hair on day 2. We've (my roommate and I) acquired a showercap and it seems to be helping immensely. I also find that just briefly alluding to what day it is at the start of every interpersonal communication helps cut down on the embarrassing hair discussions. Like, I say, "Hi Jill, It's day 2. Do you think you could help me find this particular transaction on the revenue statistics report?" Then we are free to move beyond my dirty hair and get to the business at hand. I've always been preemptive that way. Which brings me nicely back to the shower cap.
It's a bumble and bumble shower cap that my roommate received when she purchased some WAY overpriced hair stuff from Trev and his pirate cohorts at the salon. I stare at it every other day when my head is not in it and it says in BOLD! SASSY! letters, "Goddess...Bella Donna...Hot Mama....Sexy...blah blah blah" but it also says, "curl conscious, not self-conscious" as though juxtaposing that to Hot Mamamammaamamama is going to help me understand being a woman that much better. I started to wonder when being SELF-CONSCIOUS became a derogatory thing. The literal idea of Self-consciousness seems like a godly trait, right? So why is it better to be curl conscious than self conscious? This isn't just Bumble and Bumble's fault...there seems to be a societal connotation that's been ascribed to the the words "self" and "conscious" when used together. So much so that we feel bad about ourselves if someone describes us as self-conscious EVER.
www.M-w.com defines self-conscious thusly:
1. Aware of oneself as an individual or of one's own being, actions, or thoughts.
That sounds pretty appealing to me...and I would guess that most of us who choose to live on a higher level of consciousness would describe ourselves as such. The idea of being aware, being alive to yourself and choosing to be awake during your existence here on earth should be something to aspire to. I WANT to be better and I think that most of the time I achieve this sort of balanced internal insight, so what pushes me over the edge to the category 2 and 3 self-consciousness (which definitely happens!)?
2. Socially ill at ease: The self-conscious teenager sat alone during lunch.
3. Excessively conscious of one's appearance or manner: The self-conscious actor kept fixing his hair.
Notice the sentence examples! teenagers, lunch (food), actors (I'm sure this refers to Angelina Jolie), and HAIR...all things that I talk about like, every day of my life. So I guess I am self-conscious !???!?!???!???! and not self.........conscious. I think it's self-critique that takes us to the BAD consciousness place. If I could somehow learn to be complete in my self, then looking at me wouldn't be such a harrowing experience...and I could throw out the shower cap and be proudly self-conscious. I could say that Bumble and Bumble are wrong and that I would rather be self-conscious than curl conscious. So that's my lifelong process to become definition 1 of self-conscious... But until I nail it, I guess I am going to continue my preemptive strikes...breaking up with people before they can break up with me, pointing out that my hair is kind of greasy and trying to mind-read when I'm not quite sure what others are thinking. blah blah blah.
Tuesday, December 06, 2005
A Christmas Blog
I was about to write one of those gratuitous Christmas letters for family and friends when I realized I could just write a blog entry and print it, thus leading interested parties to the underbelly of my outwardly normal existence by providing them with information and a direct link to my weblog (aka BLOG). This is my blog and here is a blog recap of my life over the last year. Please fasten your seatbelts.
January: I think it snowed during this month. Played my first "Gig" in Tuscon at a TNC conference. Got my very first (and currently) only dollar tip in my guitar case from a butch woman who worked at the hotel.
February: I'm pretty sure it snowed this month too. Oh yeah, it was cold too and still got dark too early. But I did get up to go to the gym I think like, twice, so this was a great month for me.
March: The snow began to melt (are you starting to see a theme??? I promise it gets better as soon as we get past this whole winter thing)
April: I went home to Portland to visit my family and see my new nephew Keegan. I quickly gained a reputation as "the baby whisperer" cementing the mystique surrounding the question, "now, why isn't she married????"
May: Went back to Portland for my little brother Marc's wedding to Holly. I beheld my first ipod close up and personal. I finally understood what my friends alie and Caitlyn meant when they said, "You think you're happy and then you get an ipod". Enter severe ipod lust.
June: The sun was shining in Salt Lake City EVERYDAY. I spent my lunch breaks under a tree reading The Outlander Series (by diana gabaldon), cleaned my closets and answered the question "Why isn't she married" when I discovered a large, monsterous roach the size of zimbabwe crawling out of my underwear drawer.
July: Started participating in what we call the "Impressive Ladies Informational Sessions" with my friends Sarah, Celeste and Keri. We decided to invite women we admire to our living rooms and grill them about their particular path in life and their relationship to God and Family. We started having planning meetings and working on a book that will hopefully chronicle this experience and inspire other groups of women to seek a clear purpose and path in their life. It's honestly one of the most exciting and fulfilling things I've ever been involved in. Also started new position at work.
August: Went to DC for the Temple wedding of a girl that I taught on my mission in West Virginia. That was freaking cool. I Finally converted to the ripe old age of 28...my late 20's. Ack!
September: picked fresh vegetables at a farm, incurred a nasty eye condition called iritis, spent more time under trees reading trashy highland romances. Worked like crazy at the Great Salt Lake Shorelands Preserve teaching 4th graders about the importance of wetlands.
October: Organized the very first Ward Re-Prom and discovered that you really Can't Touch This with 75 of my closest friends. My brother Bryan visited and we had a jolly time doing all kinds of stuff. I discovered the joys of arthritis and took enough(medically prescribed) steriods to keep a small russian community in Olympic gymnasts for a few years.
November: Went to Philadelphia to visit family, sing a Stevie Wonder song at a college friend's wedding and eat some scrapple. Stopped by New York to visit friends and buy some new shoes and a pashmina from a street vendor...you know, the usual. Came back and sang at my best friend alie's wedding (are you seeing a pattern here????) and had a SPAT (Single. People. Alone. Together) Thanksgiving dinner for all my friends.
December: Guess what!!!???? It's snowing AS WE SPEAK and I just found out that I have another NIECE named Jenna . I guess this means the year has come full circle. I will spend December celebrating the birth of My Savior Jesus Christ, enjoying the beauty and the promise of a year to come. I know that God lives and that each year, every day gives us an opportunity to be renewed and to experience CHANGE. I hope you have love love love in the year to come. That is my Christmas Wish...well, that...and I hope Elvis Costello comes to do a show in Salt Lake...and I hope I get an ipod in the year to come...and that's all.
January: I think it snowed during this month. Played my first "Gig" in Tuscon at a TNC conference. Got my very first (and currently) only dollar tip in my guitar case from a butch woman who worked at the hotel.
February: I'm pretty sure it snowed this month too. Oh yeah, it was cold too and still got dark too early. But I did get up to go to the gym I think like, twice, so this was a great month for me.
March: The snow began to melt (are you starting to see a theme??? I promise it gets better as soon as we get past this whole winter thing)
April: I went home to Portland to visit my family and see my new nephew Keegan. I quickly gained a reputation as "the baby whisperer" cementing the mystique surrounding the question, "now, why isn't she married????"
May: Went back to Portland for my little brother Marc's wedding to Holly. I beheld my first ipod close up and personal. I finally understood what my friends alie and Caitlyn meant when they said, "You think you're happy and then you get an ipod". Enter severe ipod lust.
June: The sun was shining in Salt Lake City EVERYDAY. I spent my lunch breaks under a tree reading The Outlander Series (by diana gabaldon), cleaned my closets and answered the question "Why isn't she married" when I discovered a large, monsterous roach the size of zimbabwe crawling out of my underwear drawer.
July: Started participating in what we call the "Impressive Ladies Informational Sessions" with my friends Sarah, Celeste and Keri. We decided to invite women we admire to our living rooms and grill them about their particular path in life and their relationship to God and Family. We started having planning meetings and working on a book that will hopefully chronicle this experience and inspire other groups of women to seek a clear purpose and path in their life. It's honestly one of the most exciting and fulfilling things I've ever been involved in. Also started new position at work.
August: Went to DC for the Temple wedding of a girl that I taught on my mission in West Virginia. That was freaking cool. I Finally converted to the ripe old age of 28...my late 20's. Ack!
September: picked fresh vegetables at a farm, incurred a nasty eye condition called iritis, spent more time under trees reading trashy highland romances. Worked like crazy at the Great Salt Lake Shorelands Preserve teaching 4th graders about the importance of wetlands.
October: Organized the very first Ward Re-Prom and discovered that you really Can't Touch This with 75 of my closest friends. My brother Bryan visited and we had a jolly time doing all kinds of stuff. I discovered the joys of arthritis and took enough(medically prescribed) steriods to keep a small russian community in Olympic gymnasts for a few years.
November: Went to Philadelphia to visit family, sing a Stevie Wonder song at a college friend's wedding and eat some scrapple. Stopped by New York to visit friends and buy some new shoes and a pashmina from a street vendor...you know, the usual. Came back and sang at my best friend alie's wedding (are you seeing a pattern here????) and had a SPAT (Single. People. Alone. Together) Thanksgiving dinner for all my friends.
December: Guess what!!!???? It's snowing AS WE SPEAK and I just found out that I have another NIECE named Jenna . I guess this means the year has come full circle. I will spend December celebrating the birth of My Savior Jesus Christ, enjoying the beauty and the promise of a year to come. I know that God lives and that each year, every day gives us an opportunity to be renewed and to experience CHANGE. I hope you have love love love in the year to come. That is my Christmas Wish...well, that...and I hope Elvis Costello comes to do a show in Salt Lake...and I hope I get an ipod in the year to come...and that's all.
Friday, December 02, 2005
What if Ron and Hermione have already had sex...
and JK Rowling just doesn't even know that.... that's why they're so hostile towards each other in book 6. I mean the average age for sexual experiences has gone down drastically in the last 10 years after all.
Adam says (check out his blog... www.bigguywhokills.blogspot.com) that adults who are into Harry Potter freak him out and if I recall correctly, they should be cowwrangled into mass group detox and forced to watch the musical "1776" 30 times in a row as penence... That 'll teach em to stop dressing up as 16 year old fictional brit wizards with a God complex and pimples.
I don't dress up as HP characters, but I did "accidently" see the movie two times during the THanksgiving break AND I just finished book 6. I'm finding ways to reference HP in more ways than I care to admit here, but my favorite is that I have decided to award points to the things that are good. A friend of mine at one of the weddings I recently attended said that he has started giving himself points after each particularly witty comeback during fights with his girl-friend (I'm sure they're still together...I'm just sure of it!)...ex:
Girlfriend: I don't like Harry Potter movies.
Paco: Well Harry Potter movies don't like you. 10 points Gryffindor!!!!
Ok, so here is my list of things that deserve points recently.
10 points to actual snow...not because I love snow but because it's MUCH better than drizzling sleety rain that we've been having. It's supposed to snow tonight. YAY!
45 points to getting stuff checked off your list at work. I mean the kinds of things you've been MEANING to do for a long time, but you don't ever and then you do it and you feel great!
62 points to finding mikasa plates that go with your set at DI on a saturday.
2 points to the scale at weight watchers...not exactly high earning, but at least deserving of an academy nod.
476 points to my girls for exemplary fortitude in the face of repetition. It's hard and it's scary, but they never cease to listen to my stories over and over and over again and give me needed advice!
5,000,000 points to IM. It makes my days bearable. It makes me less productive, but it keeps me socially connected.
-111 points to that lady who does the "human interest" stories on the fox channel in the mornings while I'm running on the treadmill. She's annoying and has stripey hair. I want her job.
-2 billion points to the leftovers from thanksgiving. That's all I'm going to say about that.
-3010 points to the jackasses who stole my friend's car and his ipod while we were hanging out on saturday night.
-22 points to me for being just a tiny bit vindicated when the ipod got stolen...just because I don't have one.
1909898987897898756645 points to God who knows my heart, my secret wishes and will certainly make santa give me an ipod for Christmas...I know it, I can feel it in my bones.
I don't know if God is really ok with me giving him points, but so far he's racked up a pretty high surplus...so maybe if the lady from fox is desperate, he can transfer a couple of points her way?
Just a thought.
Adam says (check out his blog... www.bigguywhokills.blogspot.com) that adults who are into Harry Potter freak him out and if I recall correctly, they should be cowwrangled into mass group detox and forced to watch the musical "1776" 30 times in a row as penence... That 'll teach em to stop dressing up as 16 year old fictional brit wizards with a God complex and pimples.
I don't dress up as HP characters, but I did "accidently" see the movie two times during the THanksgiving break AND I just finished book 6. I'm finding ways to reference HP in more ways than I care to admit here, but my favorite is that I have decided to award points to the things that are good. A friend of mine at one of the weddings I recently attended said that he has started giving himself points after each particularly witty comeback during fights with his girl-friend (I'm sure they're still together...I'm just sure of it!)...ex:
Girlfriend: I don't like Harry Potter movies.
Paco: Well Harry Potter movies don't like you. 10 points Gryffindor!!!!
Ok, so here is my list of things that deserve points recently.
10 points to actual snow...not because I love snow but because it's MUCH better than drizzling sleety rain that we've been having. It's supposed to snow tonight. YAY!
45 points to getting stuff checked off your list at work. I mean the kinds of things you've been MEANING to do for a long time, but you don't ever and then you do it and you feel great!
62 points to finding mikasa plates that go with your set at DI on a saturday.
2 points to the scale at weight watchers...not exactly high earning, but at least deserving of an academy nod.
476 points to my girls for exemplary fortitude in the face of repetition. It's hard and it's scary, but they never cease to listen to my stories over and over and over again and give me needed advice!
5,000,000 points to IM. It makes my days bearable. It makes me less productive, but it keeps me socially connected.
-111 points to that lady who does the "human interest" stories on the fox channel in the mornings while I'm running on the treadmill. She's annoying and has stripey hair. I want her job.
-2 billion points to the leftovers from thanksgiving. That's all I'm going to say about that.
-3010 points to the jackasses who stole my friend's car and his ipod while we were hanging out on saturday night.
-22 points to me for being just a tiny bit vindicated when the ipod got stolen...just because I don't have one.
1909898987897898756645 points to God who knows my heart, my secret wishes and will certainly make santa give me an ipod for Christmas...I know it, I can feel it in my bones.
I don't know if God is really ok with me giving him points, but so far he's racked up a pretty high surplus...so maybe if the lady from fox is desperate, he can transfer a couple of points her way?
Just a thought.
Thursday, December 01, 2005
When "talking" isn't just talking
Sometimes I just talk to talk. And sometimes I "TALK" to get clarity. And other times I have "talks" to try to make someone say something that I want them to say. I am not, by nature a manipulator, but I've found myself recently leaning toward the category three type of talk. Blame it on my penchant for poetry, but I've been loading my words, creating meaning in levels and layers and BEGGING for correct interpretation.
I've been reading a book (we'll call it "THE BOOK" as it has attained that level of sanctity in my mind recently) about passive-aggressive behavior. I was reading it mainly to understand my relationship patterns. You see, I'm on a quest to divulge myself of reoccuring life-themes...one of which is passive-aggressive relationships...you know the kind that are Full of frustration, full of winding words and poor communication and big promises with no follow-through. The road leading nowhere completely paved with un-expressed anger and hidden meaning.
So what do I do? I read THE BOOK which gives me a deeper understanding of exactly how passive-aggressive communication takes place in relationships. I get it. I see it finally for what it is...but rather than extracting myself from the fray, I jump in. (and here I apologize for the following gratuitous HP analogy...I"M SORRY. I"M SORRY...which apology,incidently, is very NOT passive agressive as PA people never take responsibility for their actions) I'm like the auror who gets ahold of Voldemort's spell book in order to defeat him, but instead is seduced by the promise of power and WINNING by the dark side. I'm a freaking traitor.
So for those of you who've experienced this unwelcome change...from open hostility to veiled desperation ..(uh, is that really unwelcome? maybe you LIKE me like this?) I'm sorry. (ah the paradox) but I think I have to stay away from diagnostic self-help books, or I may really turn into the "woman who loves too much" or the like.
I think I think too much. I know I talk too much.
I've been reading a book (we'll call it "THE BOOK" as it has attained that level of sanctity in my mind recently) about passive-aggressive behavior. I was reading it mainly to understand my relationship patterns. You see, I'm on a quest to divulge myself of reoccuring life-themes...one of which is passive-aggressive relationships...you know the kind that are Full of frustration, full of winding words and poor communication and big promises with no follow-through. The road leading nowhere completely paved with un-expressed anger and hidden meaning.
So what do I do? I read THE BOOK which gives me a deeper understanding of exactly how passive-aggressive communication takes place in relationships. I get it. I see it finally for what it is...but rather than extracting myself from the fray, I jump in. (and here I apologize for the following gratuitous HP analogy...I"M SORRY. I"M SORRY...which apology,incidently, is very NOT passive agressive as PA people never take responsibility for their actions) I'm like the auror who gets ahold of Voldemort's spell book in order to defeat him, but instead is seduced by the promise of power and WINNING by the dark side. I'm a freaking traitor.
So for those of you who've experienced this unwelcome change...from open hostility to veiled desperation ..(uh, is that really unwelcome? maybe you LIKE me like this?) I'm sorry. (ah the paradox) but I think I have to stay away from diagnostic self-help books, or I may really turn into the "woman who loves too much" or the like.
I think I think too much. I know I talk too much.
Tuesday, November 29, 2005
It's an Arabic thing...you wouldn't understand.
صئ تط سسس غضع"
That is arabic. It's very hard to read...it's even harder to write...I am not arabic, but I have decided that I am going to only write in arabic (starting RIGHT after I finish this blog post...of course)
This is an attempt to take back my soul from this blog. When white producers and money men started to steal jazz from the black artists who created it and water it down for mass white consumption as big band, BE BOP was invented...a musical form that was based on convoluted note structures (sometimes the exact same note "recipe" as a more popular counterpart but newly minted with more improv and MORE notes), smaller instrumental groupings and freer rhythmic patterns, ensuring that the music industry henchmen couldn't reproduce this music as easily as they had earlier jazz.
This is still happening today in Hip Hop culture. Fo Shizzle. The oppressed taking back what they created and tweaking it to represent them once more.
Because people read my blog, I am sometimes a little less apt to post what I am really feeling. I write about things that will amuse the masses to feed my little ego demon. But I think I need this blog to be a place where I can write about sad things, nay, depressing things...things that break my heart and experiences that I can't get rid of with just a pen and paper. Things that are so big in my soul that they require the vastness of cyberspace to contain them...lest my head implode. I want to write about God, bad dates, new crushes, old love that breaks me, my family, my job...things I shouldn't write about if other people are going to read it...things that I should filter. Things that I do filter.
Hence I will write only in arabic. It may take a year, but be-bop wasn't born in a day. I'm taking back my blog...and if you get bored or offended...so be it. And if you go out with me or care about me, I ask your forgiveness in advance.
That is arabic. It's very hard to read...it's even harder to write...I am not arabic, but I have decided that I am going to only write in arabic (starting RIGHT after I finish this blog post...of course)
This is an attempt to take back my soul from this blog. When white producers and money men started to steal jazz from the black artists who created it and water it down for mass white consumption as big band, BE BOP was invented...a musical form that was based on convoluted note structures (sometimes the exact same note "recipe" as a more popular counterpart but newly minted with more improv and MORE notes), smaller instrumental groupings and freer rhythmic patterns, ensuring that the music industry henchmen couldn't reproduce this music as easily as they had earlier jazz.
This is still happening today in Hip Hop culture. Fo Shizzle. The oppressed taking back what they created and tweaking it to represent them once more.
Because people read my blog, I am sometimes a little less apt to post what I am really feeling. I write about things that will amuse the masses to feed my little ego demon. But I think I need this blog to be a place where I can write about sad things, nay, depressing things...things that break my heart and experiences that I can't get rid of with just a pen and paper. Things that are so big in my soul that they require the vastness of cyberspace to contain them...lest my head implode. I want to write about God, bad dates, new crushes, old love that breaks me, my family, my job...things I shouldn't write about if other people are going to read it...things that I should filter. Things that I do filter.
Hence I will write only in arabic. It may take a year, but be-bop wasn't born in a day. I'm taking back my blog...and if you get bored or offended...so be it. And if you go out with me or care about me, I ask your forgiveness in advance.
Wednesday, November 23, 2005
Please Forward
What better way to celebrate the Thanksgiving Holiday than by starting a NEW THANKSGIVING CHAIN E-MAIL FORWARD????!!!!! That's what I'm doing right here, right now to show my gratitude to God for all good things in the world. That's right...A Chain e-mail for giving to those you are thankful for.
Here it goes:
I'm so thankful for so many things.
(picture of person praying)
and this is my prayer of thanksgiving.
I am thankful for money. Lots and Lots of money. I wish you would give me some money. Then I could be thankful for money AND YOU!
(picture of me swimming in money ala Scrooge McDuck)
I am thankful for Love. I am thankful for kittens. I am thankful for kittens in love.
(picture of two kittens holding hands)
I am thankful for the Weight Watchers holiday cookbook that will make me feel completely satisfied without losing precious weightloss ground. You'll see a little less of me next year...haha.
(picture of me ingesting an entire pumpkin pie in one fell swoop)
I am thankful for crystal light, caffeine free diet dr. pepper, and a whole host of other diet beverages that make each day just a little bit better.
(picture of me running to the bathroom 10 times a day, thus breaking up my work day into manageable bite sized pieces)
I am thankful for family. Especially my stripper sister-in-law and my nanny and pappy for giving me stories that I may entertain at cocktail parties.
(picture of nanny and pappy cage dancing)
I am thankful to God for inventing ipods. Although I can't afford an ipod yet (please see 1st thankful item on list) it feels like I should still be thankful that the promise of one exists in the world.
(picture of me and God giving you a big hug with caption "you really shouldn't have...it's much too extravagant a gift for little ol me...but now at least God loves you...so that's good!")
I am thankful for friends. Friends don't let friends drive drunk or with a cell phone in one hand and a diet coke in the other.
Please forward this list to 32 of your closest friends and family or someone will get hit by a bus in the next year.
Happy Thanksgiving!!!!!!
Here it goes:
I'm so thankful for so many things.
and this is my prayer of thanksgiving.
I am thankful for money. Lots and Lots of money. I wish you would give me some money. Then I could be thankful for money AND YOU!
I am thankful for Love. I am thankful for kittens. I am thankful for kittens in love.
I am thankful for the Weight Watchers holiday cookbook that will make me feel completely satisfied without losing precious weightloss ground. You'll see a little less of me next year...haha.
I am thankful for crystal light, caffeine free diet dr. pepper, and a whole host of other diet beverages that make each day just a little bit better.
I am thankful for family. Especially my stripper sister-in-law and my nanny and pappy for giving me stories that I may entertain at cocktail parties.
I am thankful to God for inventing ipods. Although I can't afford an ipod yet (please see 1st thankful item on list) it feels like I should still be thankful that the promise of one exists in the world.
I am thankful for friends. Friends don't let friends drive drunk or with a cell phone in one hand and a diet coke in the other.
Please forward this list to 32 of your closest friends and family or someone will get hit by a bus in the next year.
Happy Thanksgiving!!!!!!
Monday, November 21, 2005
My Best Friend's Wedding
My very best friend in the whole wide world got married this weekend. And contrary to seemingly popular premonition, I didn't pull ONE julia roberts weasely hollywood move to try to stop the wedding...I love her new husband, and although I was a little teary eyed at the thought of the end of our Reign as the Park Terrace Triumverate, I was so excited to see her in love, in love, in love.
In fact, I was suprised to find that I didn't have any prickly feelings of jealousy or a desire to be anywhere other than where I am right now. This is a milestone for me. I am a hopeless romantic and ALWAYS want to be madly in love with someone, something ANYTHING. And here I am content. Not aching for anything that I don't currently have. Is something wrong with me? Or am I just growing up?
Her new sister-in-law, who likes to tell people that she hand-picked my friend for her husband, informed me at the reception that I am her next matchmaking project. My friend's older brother couldn't believe I wasn't married and said I was the kind of girl that would be fun to go with to the grocery store. My point: Everyone else is more concerned with my single status than I am right now. A cute boy(we'll call him my wedding party boyfriend) flirted with me at the wedding and at bowling afterward. He sat too close, he made me feel beautiful and acted like I belonged to him. 5 minutes later, another wedding party boyfriend leaned over and whispered in my ear, "Next time, don't tease me...". I'm just discovering how to be THIS girl. I feel like I just won the cheerleader tryouts and I am finally allowed to wear the GIRL uniform. I think I'd like to live it up for just a little bit longer and maybe get this out of my system. BUT of course I'm saying this now when I'm not in love with someone...so give me another week and I'll be singing the song of the committed, dreaming of wedding dresses and sales at the target pregnant lady department.
In fact, I was suprised to find that I didn't have any prickly feelings of jealousy or a desire to be anywhere other than where I am right now. This is a milestone for me. I am a hopeless romantic and ALWAYS want to be madly in love with someone, something ANYTHING. And here I am content. Not aching for anything that I don't currently have. Is something wrong with me? Or am I just growing up?
Her new sister-in-law, who likes to tell people that she hand-picked my friend for her husband, informed me at the reception that I am her next matchmaking project. My friend's older brother couldn't believe I wasn't married and said I was the kind of girl that would be fun to go with to the grocery store. My point: Everyone else is more concerned with my single status than I am right now. A cute boy(we'll call him my wedding party boyfriend) flirted with me at the wedding and at bowling afterward. He sat too close, he made me feel beautiful and acted like I belonged to him. 5 minutes later, another wedding party boyfriend leaned over and whispered in my ear, "Next time, don't tease me...". I'm just discovering how to be THIS girl. I feel like I just won the cheerleader tryouts and I am finally allowed to wear the GIRL uniform. I think I'd like to live it up for just a little bit longer and maybe get this out of my system. BUT of course I'm saying this now when I'm not in love with someone...so give me another week and I'll be singing the song of the committed, dreaming of wedding dresses and sales at the target pregnant lady department.
Thursday, November 17, 2005
Mockery is the Sincerest Form of Flattery
You may have noticed I've been gone. But you shouldn't feel bad...I swear it wasn't you...it was ME. I took many hiatuses (is that how you spell that?) during the beginning of the month of November...I stopped counting my weight watchers points, I stopped answering my telephone or returning most calls, I stopped doing my work at work, I stopped cooking (viva la microwaveable corn dogs), I stopped ironing my clothes, I stopped having crushes, I stopped cleaning ANYTHING and I think I may have even stopped breathing once or twice (mostly right after walking up the 4 flights of stairs to my apartment but whatever...). Most recently, I stopped physically being in Salt Lake City. I just got back from my most dramatic hiatus which was a trip to the Mother Land also known as the East Coast.
After eating my way through Pennsylvania and New York City (scrapple and tastykakes and thin crust pizza...oh MY!) I am back and ready to once again share my life with anyone and everyone who may wish to read about it. My renewal is complete. I was offered an upgraded position at work, I have a new interest in my "Women with Significant Lives" project and I am once again in love with my blog, men and life in general.
A "FAN" just sent me a little send up of my blog style that has encouraged me to continue per usual...I've copied it here for your enjoyment:
"Ninny Beth's Blog Style: As I walked to work today from B Street to G street I saw a homeless man and wondered how such a person could arrive in such a state of existence. When I was attending school at Penn (Ivy League) I was part of a theatrical group where I actually played the part of a homeless person. Given, I have never been homeless (although I once spent the night in a car), I did have some idea of what it must be like to be homeless. The sun was beautiful as it rose above the mountains. I HATE boys."
I'm either flattered or offended...but it's pretty accurate except that I never ONCE slept in a car all night. Either way, I'll start writing again even if it is only to vindicate myself from such slander. I love you, blog! I do!!!!
After eating my way through Pennsylvania and New York City (scrapple and tastykakes and thin crust pizza...oh MY!) I am back and ready to once again share my life with anyone and everyone who may wish to read about it. My renewal is complete. I was offered an upgraded position at work, I have a new interest in my "Women with Significant Lives" project and I am once again in love with my blog, men and life in general.
A "FAN" just sent me a little send up of my blog style that has encouraged me to continue per usual...I've copied it here for your enjoyment:
"Ninny Beth's Blog Style: As I walked to work today from B Street to G street I saw a homeless man and wondered how such a person could arrive in such a state of existence. When I was attending school at Penn (Ivy League) I was part of a theatrical group where I actually played the part of a homeless person. Given, I have never been homeless (although I once spent the night in a car), I did have some idea of what it must be like to be homeless. The sun was beautiful as it rose above the mountains. I HATE boys."
I'm either flattered or offended...but it's pretty accurate except that I never ONCE slept in a car all night. Either way, I'll start writing again even if it is only to vindicate myself from such slander. I love you, blog! I do!!!!
Friday, October 28, 2005
Platonic Boy Friends
This post is not, as I had originally intimated, about Arrested Development (season Two).
Instead, I would like to address a very serious and tragifying phenomenon in my life and the lives of my girl friends..."THE PLATONIC BOY FRIEND EXPLOSION" and it's subsequent effect known commonly as "BACK DOOR DATING". Let me first recognize that several of my consistent readers are of the male persuasion and I in no way intend to incriminate them. If you see yourself in the disturbing descriptions that follow (and you may...you've all done it at one point or another), please know that I will not condemn you, but am available to help you re-direct your efforts.
"THE PLATONIC BOY FRIEND EXPLOSION" happens to girls like me in fits and waves. Here's how it evolves in my world. I meet a boy. He's cute. He flirts and is flirty. We banter. There's some touching that would indicate mutual attraction. I smile. He smiles. We find out we both drool over swedish fish and David Sedaris books. SOmething is exchanged...email, phone number, bodily fluids (haha, not REALLY!!!! that would change the title of this phenomenon, now WOULDN"T it?) Then there is some other form of goofing off over IM or email or in person and just as I'm picking out wedding invitations....BAM. I get the email or the phone call that IS the "PLATONIC BOY FRIEND EXPLOSION" and leads to an attempt at "BACK DOOR DATING"....sample:
UNDEFINED RELATIONSHIP BOY: blah blah blah...inside joke 1...inside joke 2...you're so cool...um, so that girl you were talking to the other day, what's her story? A "friend" of mine wants to know. She's pretty hot.
BAM. that's the explosion. now UNDEFINED RELATIONSHIP BOY becomes PLATONIC BOY FRIEND. which in and of its self is not the real problem. The problem is that the explosion almost always leads to attempted "BACK DOOR DATING" which is the act of getting the girl that you've just become platonic friends with to cruise direct your social life as though you are a character on the Love Boat. The boy always wants me to host a party, organize an event, recommend them to the hot girl or set them up with said girl...just call me Love Boat Julie and hand me an F-ing clip board for hell's sake. And UNDEFINED RELATIONSHIP BOY goes from PLATONIC BOY FRIEND to ASS in 3 seconds flat.
Do I sound bitter? I'm not...I'm just 28 and I have what one man recently told me was a plethura of platonic boy friends. I know I am a good friend. I'm easy to be around as are most of my highly educated, witty and talented girlfriends that experience this same thing. I'm just advocating for one thing. If you decide that after flirting and getting to know me that you don't want to date me, kiss me or molest me in some way...please have the decency to extract yourself from the "BACK DOOR DATERS"...you will win my respect and save yourself an unsavory name calling session at the next Girls' Night.
Just an idea.
Instead, I would like to address a very serious and tragifying phenomenon in my life and the lives of my girl friends..."THE PLATONIC BOY FRIEND EXPLOSION" and it's subsequent effect known commonly as "BACK DOOR DATING". Let me first recognize that several of my consistent readers are of the male persuasion and I in no way intend to incriminate them. If you see yourself in the disturbing descriptions that follow (and you may...you've all done it at one point or another), please know that I will not condemn you, but am available to help you re-direct your efforts.
"THE PLATONIC BOY FRIEND EXPLOSION" happens to girls like me in fits and waves. Here's how it evolves in my world. I meet a boy. He's cute. He flirts and is flirty. We banter. There's some touching that would indicate mutual attraction. I smile. He smiles. We find out we both drool over swedish fish and David Sedaris books. SOmething is exchanged...email, phone number, bodily fluids (haha, not REALLY!!!! that would change the title of this phenomenon, now WOULDN"T it?) Then there is some other form of goofing off over IM or email or in person and just as I'm picking out wedding invitations....BAM. I get the email or the phone call that IS the "PLATONIC BOY FRIEND EXPLOSION" and leads to an attempt at "BACK DOOR DATING"....sample:
UNDEFINED RELATIONSHIP BOY: blah blah blah...inside joke 1...inside joke 2...you're so cool...um, so that girl you were talking to the other day, what's her story? A "friend" of mine wants to know. She's pretty hot.
BAM. that's the explosion. now UNDEFINED RELATIONSHIP BOY becomes PLATONIC BOY FRIEND. which in and of its self is not the real problem. The problem is that the explosion almost always leads to attempted "BACK DOOR DATING" which is the act of getting the girl that you've just become platonic friends with to cruise direct your social life as though you are a character on the Love Boat. The boy always wants me to host a party, organize an event, recommend them to the hot girl or set them up with said girl...just call me Love Boat Julie and hand me an F-ing clip board for hell's sake. And UNDEFINED RELATIONSHIP BOY goes from PLATONIC BOY FRIEND to ASS in 3 seconds flat.
Do I sound bitter? I'm not...I'm just 28 and I have what one man recently told me was a plethura of platonic boy friends. I know I am a good friend. I'm easy to be around as are most of my highly educated, witty and talented girlfriends that experience this same thing. I'm just advocating for one thing. If you decide that after flirting and getting to know me that you don't want to date me, kiss me or molest me in some way...please have the decency to extract yourself from the "BACK DOOR DATERS"...you will win my respect and save yourself an unsavory name calling session at the next Girls' Night.
Just an idea.
Wednesday, October 26, 2005
Tuesday, October 25, 2005
OK, computer and Camera and ipod
I used to be a literati, now I am a digirati. I bought a digital camera this weekend and now I am obsessed. I have pictures of my hand, pictures of my feet, pictures of the prom, documentation of the mess that is my room, pictures of homeless people outside my apartment, pictures of the dead plants in my office...you name it, I'm capturing it in digital.
Since I bought the camera, my desire for an ipod has increased exponentially. I realize that for the amount I spent on the camera, memory stick and such (such being the second season of arrested development which I will have to give it's own blog since it is such a beautiful thing) , that I could have been 2/3 of the way to the true happiness of digital music. I also acquired 2 new cd's this weekend that I feel would be better served via ipod. The bands are called, Magnet and Spoon, (I'm not sure when bands started naming themselves after Dora the Explorer characters, but at least it makes it easy to scream them when you are at the concert! Try screaming SPPPPPOOOOOON as opposed to Orchestral Manuevers in the Daaaaaaaarrrrrkkkk!!!)
Anyway, I'm getting an ipod with my tax return assuming I haven't LEPT into a new tax bracket with my non-profit job raise...haha. UM. And life will be digital all over the place. Dreamy. Enjoy the prom pictures!
Since I bought the camera, my desire for an ipod has increased exponentially. I realize that for the amount I spent on the camera, memory stick and such (such being the second season of arrested development which I will have to give it's own blog since it is such a beautiful thing) , that I could have been 2/3 of the way to the true happiness of digital music. I also acquired 2 new cd's this weekend that I feel would be better served via ipod. The bands are called, Magnet and Spoon, (I'm not sure when bands started naming themselves after Dora the Explorer characters, but at least it makes it easy to scream them when you are at the concert! Try screaming SPPPPPOOOOOON as opposed to Orchestral Manuevers in the Daaaaaaaarrrrrkkkk!!!)
Anyway, I'm getting an ipod with my tax return assuming I haven't LEPT into a new tax bracket with my non-profit job raise...haha. UM. And life will be digital all over the place. Dreamy. Enjoy the prom pictures!
Friday, October 14, 2005
I date, you date, we all date
So why do I make such a big deal out of going on a date? EVERYONE DOES IT. I was sitting on a first date recently wondering if everyone else in the place knew that I was on a first date. I think that this is because when I go to a restaurant, I like to look at the couples and assess what level of intimacy they are at. It's a game that I play with myself or whomever else I am with...I like to ask the question, "What do you think their relationship is?" and then we speculate for a few minutes about whether they are roommates, lesbian lovers, old married couple who've been estranged for 10 years and are meeting up to discuss the children, business partners who have just filed bankruptcy, members of a poetry group or sigh, first daters. If you are in a group, this game can take hours...complete with eavesdropping and pointed bathroom walk-bys as you try to ascertain the truth.
But this last time, I realized that I am the person that I was hiding from. I was waiting for the obnoxious blond girl trying to entertain her friends to stand up in the corner of the Cocoa Caffe and point and scream, "FIRST DATE, everybody!!!! LOOK over there, it's a first date! Don't they look awkward and completely unsure of how they feel about each other? That's what I'm talking about!!!!!"
And I wanted to crawl under the table and call an ex-boyfriend. I wanted familiarity and a sure sense of what the relationship was, even if it made me feel sad. That is the problem with dating...other people are trying to figure out what the relationship is, while you are trying to figure out what the relationship is IN PUBLIC. I'm going to start taking all of my dates to a bombshelter so we can play the game in relative obscurity. Maybe then I could get some action too!
But this last time, I realized that I am the person that I was hiding from. I was waiting for the obnoxious blond girl trying to entertain her friends to stand up in the corner of the Cocoa Caffe and point and scream, "FIRST DATE, everybody!!!! LOOK over there, it's a first date! Don't they look awkward and completely unsure of how they feel about each other? That's what I'm talking about!!!!!"
And I wanted to crawl under the table and call an ex-boyfriend. I wanted familiarity and a sure sense of what the relationship was, even if it made me feel sad. That is the problem with dating...other people are trying to figure out what the relationship is, while you are trying to figure out what the relationship is IN PUBLIC. I'm going to start taking all of my dates to a bombshelter so we can play the game in relative obscurity. Maybe then I could get some action too!
Tuesday, October 11, 2005
Comedy of Terrors or Bittersweet Symphony?
Two thoughts brought on by this weekend's mis-adventures:
Got free tickets to the symphony Friday night...Dvorak's 6th, complete with unhairy German violin prodigy. I realized as I tried to make myself as small as humanly possible so as not to invade the arm rest space of the wine-drunk man next to me, that THIS IS LIFE.. The symphony is life...or at least the way that I want to live life. In movements but with a common theme. Sometimes, it's like cellos carry the theme and they soar and I soar and I can't breathe with the beauty of it all. Other times, I feel like I'm living a staccato nightmare in an eastern bloc nationalist anthem. But somewhere underneath is the common theme of peace and love and belief and hope and choice. I love Dvorak. And I need a life that involves symphonies and wine-drunk neighbors.
Also went to Rocky Point Haunted House on Saturday. If my ideal life is symphonic in nature, The haunted house represents what it could be if I let set designers and the kids from my arts magnet highschool run my life. Dark hobbit holes and winding rooms with uneven floors and people grabbing at my ankles. This is what "The Dark Side" wants me to think life is like. A never-ending near escape from actors wearing masks and brandishing fake chainsaws. They would have us believe that our fear is what keeps us running through the rat infested insane asylum and that the only thing we have to look forward to, is one more room full of zombies and blood sucking beautiful undeads.
But the key to this is that it is FAKE. It's not real. The next room is not always a funeral parlor or a bloody camp bathroom. Fear is NOT real. It is a terrible substitute for allowing the hand of God to let your life unfold in it's movements. I'm going to the symphony again.
Got free tickets to the symphony Friday night...Dvorak's 6th, complete with unhairy German violin prodigy. I realized as I tried to make myself as small as humanly possible so as not to invade the arm rest space of the wine-drunk man next to me, that THIS IS LIFE.. The symphony is life...or at least the way that I want to live life. In movements but with a common theme. Sometimes, it's like cellos carry the theme and they soar and I soar and I can't breathe with the beauty of it all. Other times, I feel like I'm living a staccato nightmare in an eastern bloc nationalist anthem. But somewhere underneath is the common theme of peace and love and belief and hope and choice. I love Dvorak. And I need a life that involves symphonies and wine-drunk neighbors.
Also went to Rocky Point Haunted House on Saturday. If my ideal life is symphonic in nature, The haunted house represents what it could be if I let set designers and the kids from my arts magnet highschool run my life. Dark hobbit holes and winding rooms with uneven floors and people grabbing at my ankles. This is what "The Dark Side" wants me to think life is like. A never-ending near escape from actors wearing masks and brandishing fake chainsaws. They would have us believe that our fear is what keeps us running through the rat infested insane asylum and that the only thing we have to look forward to, is one more room full of zombies and blood sucking beautiful undeads.
But the key to this is that it is FAKE. It's not real. The next room is not always a funeral parlor or a bloody camp bathroom. Fear is NOT real. It is a terrible substitute for allowing the hand of God to let your life unfold in it's movements. I'm going to the symphony again.
Friday, October 07, 2005
Ninny's Got A Brand New Bag
I don't know when it happened, but I became that lady with the bag the size of montana. It's a black canvas give-away from the PBS fund drives and represents a never-ending pit of scary items. Usually one or more of the following can be found at the bottom of my bag: 1. Hair brush (WHY??? I don't brush my hair) 2. lip gloss that I can never find when I need it 3. loose change 4. all my gum that has fallen out of the packet mixed with 5. some random dirt that seems to have no source...I'm not chucking handfuls of the front lawn in my bag...so where is the dirt coming from? 6. a piece of fruit or a sweet potato that I keep thinking I should eat instead of the doritos on top of the work refrigerator 7. sticky notes stuck to everything else (see 3., 4., and 5) and finally 8. another bag, usually a purse.
I don't really understand why I have a bag inside a bag, but I do. Cute purses become swallowed up in the vacuum that is the PBS bag. I seriously carry the cute purse in the PBS bag with the hope that I will have to get something out of my wallet or write a check so people will SEE the cute purse. THIS MAKES NO SENSE!!!! Why not dispense with the slimy fruit and erstwhile lipgloss and just carry the cute purse? Then I can be a cute purse girl instead of a large canvas bag lady. I baffle myself.
BUT, I have something that may help me change. I just traded in my gross leather laptop bag for an adorable black and lime green one...much cuter and much more user friendly. I can carry papers, my cell phone...other necessities in this cute bag AND a purse will NOT fit inside...so I will look both professional and trendy. Granted, now I have to take my laptop EVERYWHERE I go, but whatever. I'm already a slave to the thing...and now I will at least be free of the PBS bag.
I don't really understand why I have a bag inside a bag, but I do. Cute purses become swallowed up in the vacuum that is the PBS bag. I seriously carry the cute purse in the PBS bag with the hope that I will have to get something out of my wallet or write a check so people will SEE the cute purse. THIS MAKES NO SENSE!!!! Why not dispense with the slimy fruit and erstwhile lipgloss and just carry the cute purse? Then I can be a cute purse girl instead of a large canvas bag lady. I baffle myself.
BUT, I have something that may help me change. I just traded in my gross leather laptop bag for an adorable black and lime green one...much cuter and much more user friendly. I can carry papers, my cell phone...other necessities in this cute bag AND a purse will NOT fit inside...so I will look both professional and trendy. Granted, now I have to take my laptop EVERYWHERE I go, but whatever. I'm already a slave to the thing...and now I will at least be free of the PBS bag.
Wednesday, October 05, 2005
hot flashes and weather toes
Today one of my coworkers told me that I am turning into an old lady. At approximately 4pm today, I had my first hot flash. Yesterday it was raining and my newly minted arthritis was in full bloom. I'm waiting for the gray hair and sour breath to finish me off.
Actually, I think the hot flash was caused by several things, none of which is "The Change of Life". My best friend's mom, who is a beautiful nut, always makes fun of skinny girls who are always cold, belting out this little mantra whenever someone skinny requires a sweater: "I'm so skinny and I'm so cold (while hugging herself and wrinkling her nose in cute skinny girl fashion), so cold because I'm soooooooooo skinny." Al and I laugh laugh laugh and join in the fun. Maybe it's the weight watchers, but this morning I woke up and I was sooooooo cold. It's only october and it's only moderately cold outside...but I wore a skinny girl cold sweater...turtle neck wool jcrew number....and I was cold all morning, but by afternoon I was flush and feverish...ready to peel off the sweater and go to web-ex meetings in my skivvies with a devil may care attitude. I had to change my mantra from, "I'm so skinny and So cold" to "Get this damn sweater off me, I'm not made for such blasting heat and if I don't get a fan going, I'm going to roast like a goat on a spit."...All illusions shattered. I don't get to be that girl quite yet.
I also think that I was having heat flashes because of my new medication...which my doctor assures me, WILL turn off my ability to recognize when I am full. His advice for being successful on WW while still quelling my "disease that will be named later" with buckets of prednisone? Resist the urge to GRAZE. Are you kidding me???? RESIST THE URGE TO GRAZE!!! yeah, that's really easy. I've only been struggling with that one since BIRTH. Did I mention roasting like a GOAT on a spit? Goats GRAZE. SO I've decided to blame everything on the medication. Heat Flashes, etc.
The only good news is that in the future with my new weather toes and storm hands, also a product of the "auto-immune process" that is my new legacy...I'll be able to tell when cold weather is a-coming and will hopefully dress appropriately for hot flashes on those days.
PS. TO all would be psychologists who do not think it appropriate for me to mock my new medical excitement...if I don't talk about it and laugh about it, you will have to be the one who holds my head over the toilet while I vomit from excessive crying. I mean, the kind with hick-ups and shallow crying breath. NOT pretty. Be glad I'm laughing...and still typing.
Actually, I think the hot flash was caused by several things, none of which is "The Change of Life". My best friend's mom, who is a beautiful nut, always makes fun of skinny girls who are always cold, belting out this little mantra whenever someone skinny requires a sweater: "I'm so skinny and I'm so cold (while hugging herself and wrinkling her nose in cute skinny girl fashion), so cold because I'm soooooooooo skinny." Al and I laugh laugh laugh and join in the fun. Maybe it's the weight watchers, but this morning I woke up and I was sooooooo cold. It's only october and it's only moderately cold outside...but I wore a skinny girl cold sweater...turtle neck wool jcrew number....and I was cold all morning, but by afternoon I was flush and feverish...ready to peel off the sweater and go to web-ex meetings in my skivvies with a devil may care attitude. I had to change my mantra from, "I'm so skinny and So cold" to "Get this damn sweater off me, I'm not made for such blasting heat and if I don't get a fan going, I'm going to roast like a goat on a spit."...All illusions shattered. I don't get to be that girl quite yet.
I also think that I was having heat flashes because of my new medication...which my doctor assures me, WILL turn off my ability to recognize when I am full. His advice for being successful on WW while still quelling my "disease that will be named later" with buckets of prednisone? Resist the urge to GRAZE. Are you kidding me???? RESIST THE URGE TO GRAZE!!! yeah, that's really easy. I've only been struggling with that one since BIRTH. Did I mention roasting like a GOAT on a spit? Goats GRAZE. SO I've decided to blame everything on the medication. Heat Flashes, etc.
The only good news is that in the future with my new weather toes and storm hands, also a product of the "auto-immune process" that is my new legacy...I'll be able to tell when cold weather is a-coming and will hopefully dress appropriately for hot flashes on those days.
PS. TO all would be psychologists who do not think it appropriate for me to mock my new medical excitement...if I don't talk about it and laugh about it, you will have to be the one who holds my head over the toilet while I vomit from excessive crying. I mean, the kind with hick-ups and shallow crying breath. NOT pretty. Be glad I'm laughing...and still typing.
Thursday, September 29, 2005
My collections
Here is an inconclusive list of some things I collect:
- Porcelain Dolls (JUST KIDDING!!!)
- hardbound, unlined journals
- quotes
- old books
- poetry books
- really... any books
- vintage coats
- Mikasa plates
- jadite dinnerware
- costume jewels
- my mother's jewels
- friends
- internet boyfriends
- pre-boyfriends
- gay boyfriends
- other people's boyfriends (kidding again...um...sort of)
- accents
- Daniel Day Lewis movies
- General Conference talks
- madonna and child post cards
- information about humanitarian non-profits that I someday want to run
- information about humanitarian non-profits that I think should run me
- other people's blogs
- useless pop culture facts
- weight watchers recipes
- black and white jazz photographs
Friday, September 23, 2005
Some Girls Are Bigger Than Others
Ahhhh...the Smiths. I've always known that Morrissey was meant to be my soul mate. "The More you ignore me, the closer I get..." I think he's lived my life or at least had a bad dream one time about it. Sometimes, I imagine that Morrissey has written a song specifically for me....loveable losers who stalk people and have to sign up on internet dating sites to meet men...yep, it sounds vaguely morrissey-esque.
It's true. I'm back on-line. I took a little internet-love hiatus after a serious run-in with a deranged donald duck impersonator...but it's time to get back on the wagon. This time, I've decided to put all my cards on the table. I changed my profile to say that I am not a naturally thin girl but that I value strength and health and am working hard to acheive that goal...I think that's pretty honest. I also hope to avoid the anxiety of meeting someone for the first time by being painfully truthful. Not in a self-depricating way (although, if I'm being painfully honest, that is a problem of mine) but I think there is deep merit in telling it like it is.
Here is a sample IM conversation with my next internet boyfriend if I have my way:
DB (dream boy): Your picture is cute.
NB (NinnyBeth): Thank you. My thighs are genetically predisposed to cellulite.
DB: I love cellulite.
NB: I will call you 5 times a day and demand your attention, although it will be done in a completely endearing, non-scary way.
DB: I have unlimited cell phone minutes and never screen my calls.
NB: You should screen your calls.
DB: I like to be surprised.
NB: My family is moderately crazy but very close and supportive.
DB: I have no family of my own as I was raised by trained artistic wolves who were put to sleep after a particularly bad gallery show. I will learn the ways of your people and we will be as one.
NB: I like to have parties and will probably ignore you while I make the rounds, handing out cream puffs on toothpicks and flirting with party guests.
DB: Marry Me.
If the internet fails to yield this exchange, I am finding morrissey in his adorable cardigan and converting him to Mormonism (and overt heterosexuality for that matter). Then we may be hated for loving, but we will be happy together.
It's true. I'm back on-line. I took a little internet-love hiatus after a serious run-in with a deranged donald duck impersonator...but it's time to get back on the wagon. This time, I've decided to put all my cards on the table. I changed my profile to say that I am not a naturally thin girl but that I value strength and health and am working hard to acheive that goal...I think that's pretty honest. I also hope to avoid the anxiety of meeting someone for the first time by being painfully truthful. Not in a self-depricating way (although, if I'm being painfully honest, that is a problem of mine) but I think there is deep merit in telling it like it is.
Here is a sample IM conversation with my next internet boyfriend if I have my way:
DB (dream boy): Your picture is cute.
NB (NinnyBeth): Thank you. My thighs are genetically predisposed to cellulite.
DB: I love cellulite.
NB: I will call you 5 times a day and demand your attention, although it will be done in a completely endearing, non-scary way.
DB: I have unlimited cell phone minutes and never screen my calls.
NB: You should screen your calls.
DB: I like to be surprised.
NB: My family is moderately crazy but very close and supportive.
DB: I have no family of my own as I was raised by trained artistic wolves who were put to sleep after a particularly bad gallery show. I will learn the ways of your people and we will be as one.
NB: I like to have parties and will probably ignore you while I make the rounds, handing out cream puffs on toothpicks and flirting with party guests.
DB: Marry Me.
If the internet fails to yield this exchange, I am finding morrissey in his adorable cardigan and converting him to Mormonism (and overt heterosexuality for that matter). Then we may be hated for loving, but we will be happy together.
Wednesday, September 21, 2005
My disease is back
I'm fighting off another episode of the pox. It' s really starting to piss me off. I woke up this morning after a rather fitful night of moderate sleep to a puffy left eye with the tell-tale signs of IRITIS. Damnit. This means I have to go to the doctor and get tested for rheumatoid arthritis and lupus. Don't I feel too young to have some weird chronic illness? I think this is a sad punctuation to my earlier post about my genetic failings. I'm trying not to freak out. Everyone in the office is being so kind about it...but I feel like a freak. People get bad diagnoses all the time. my little brother just found out that he has scoliosis. sis's and itis's and any other latin etemological suffixes for flair ups and disease BITE. I think I am going to boycott itis's. Hopefully they will boycott me too.
Tuesday, September 20, 2005
Sweat
I got up this morning at 6:10am. It was still dark outside, but I was there in my gym pants, sports bra and running shoes...bleary eyed, but present. And I went to the gymnasium. The gym and I have always SORT of gotten along. I did ok in the squatting weight class and I survived the "incident" with the treadmill with only moderate scarring...but I have a new problem.
When I went to Trevor, my new STYLIST (so fun to say that) last week, I was chastized for washing my hair everyday. This is a not news to me...I understand that it's supposed to be healthy for your hair to soak in their own greasy juices at least every other day. I get it. But just because I get it doesn't mean I have to like it or do it. Honestly, when I was a scary adolescent, I used to get in TROUBLE for not washing my hair. In fact, my mother still likes to point out that I had to be told to wash my long stringy hair...if only my mom had known that I was really not hygenically challenged...I was FASHION FORWARD!
Ok, so a lifetime of being told to wash your hair can not easily be reversed. But I'm trying. I've been promised by Those Who Wash Every Other Day that my hair will adjust and even out. I have faith in Their words. So I'm making it happen...but this coincides challengingly with my new gym schedule. I'm not sure if massive amounts of sweat is the same thing as normally occuring hair grease and I'm afraid that I'm moving into the realm of "just plain disgusting". Trevor suggested that I use baby powder to cut the grease on my "day off" but that seems so highschool dreadlock wannabe. Can healthy hair and a healthy body co-exist peacefully? I used to actually like sweat before it became a harbinger of bad hair. I guess we'll just have to wait and see which vanity wins out?
When I went to Trevor, my new STYLIST (so fun to say that) last week, I was chastized for washing my hair everyday. This is a not news to me...I understand that it's supposed to be healthy for your hair to soak in their own greasy juices at least every other day. I get it. But just because I get it doesn't mean I have to like it or do it. Honestly, when I was a scary adolescent, I used to get in TROUBLE for not washing my hair. In fact, my mother still likes to point out that I had to be told to wash my long stringy hair...if only my mom had known that I was really not hygenically challenged...I was FASHION FORWARD!
Ok, so a lifetime of being told to wash your hair can not easily be reversed. But I'm trying. I've been promised by Those Who Wash Every Other Day that my hair will adjust and even out. I have faith in Their words. So I'm making it happen...but this coincides challengingly with my new gym schedule. I'm not sure if massive amounts of sweat is the same thing as normally occuring hair grease and I'm afraid that I'm moving into the realm of "just plain disgusting". Trevor suggested that I use baby powder to cut the grease on my "day off" but that seems so highschool dreadlock wannabe. Can healthy hair and a healthy body co-exist peacefully? I used to actually like sweat before it became a harbinger of bad hair. I guess we'll just have to wait and see which vanity wins out?
Monday, September 19, 2005
I got a timebomb in my mind, Mom.
I've been listening to Timebomb by the Old 97's. I think this song is appropriate considering the fact that I am a genetic timebomb. Bad teeth, heart failure, scoliosis, arthritis, macular degeneration, diabetes, obesity, clinical depression, male pattern baldness. THe list goes on and on...I'm sadly reminded of my ancestral failings everytime I go to the doctor...and I realize that this is my anti-dowery.
In the good old days, fathers would bring gold, cases of expensive whisky and cows to the potential husbands of their daughters...in essence buying them a "good" match. What would my father have to offer? They would take one look at my medical history and run out of the room realizing that I can offer nothing more than pain and a future of waiting for the floor to drop out. They can expect to wake up one morning to a bald, blind hunchback, crying uncontrollably and going into convulsions from low blood sugar. Our children will be fat snaggle toothed cripples who can't play soccer because of their heart condition. Don't you want to marry me???
I realize this is a little over the top, but I blame it on my penchant for drama...oh, did I forget to add that to the list??? Honestly, it's going to take a strong man to get past my genetics and I wonder if that is possible. This is the hidden stuff...the quiet truths that have prompted men to say, "look at her mother if you want to see what the woman you marry will be like in 20 years". And you wonder why I'm NOT against genetic engineering?????
In the good old days, fathers would bring gold, cases of expensive whisky and cows to the potential husbands of their daughters...in essence buying them a "good" match. What would my father have to offer? They would take one look at my medical history and run out of the room realizing that I can offer nothing more than pain and a future of waiting for the floor to drop out. They can expect to wake up one morning to a bald, blind hunchback, crying uncontrollably and going into convulsions from low blood sugar. Our children will be fat snaggle toothed cripples who can't play soccer because of their heart condition. Don't you want to marry me???
I realize this is a little over the top, but I blame it on my penchant for drama...oh, did I forget to add that to the list??? Honestly, it's going to take a strong man to get past my genetics and I wonder if that is possible. This is the hidden stuff...the quiet truths that have prompted men to say, "look at her mother if you want to see what the woman you marry will be like in 20 years". And you wonder why I'm NOT against genetic engineering?????
Friday, September 16, 2005
OH what a world...what a WORLD
I am a farmer. I farm. Or rather, I pick the fruits/vegetables of the farmer's labor...so I guess I'm more like a farm-vampire. Last Saturday, I went with my friend Lena to the Day Farms in Layton and we picked like 400 pounds of tomatoes and some eggplants and peppers. There is nothing more beautiful than washing your green stained hands and watching the dirt of real work circle down the drain of your inner-city sink.
Now some of you know that I hate the suburbs. You've heard my rendition of "welcome welcome suburban morning" and know that the versatility of the colors beige,eccru, eggshell and the like are a personal affront to my spirit. The truth is, that if I can't live IN the city, then I want to be as far out of it as I can. I think I'm a rare half-breed, part hipster, part hippy. Farms and ranches have always been intriguing to me...living on the land, sustainably, growing your own food, learning how to not kill all things green. Maybe a sheep or a goat or something that eats clothes on your clothesline. Simplicity. It seems like a quirky enough existence to keep you interested. And your kids would at least be unique...maybe a little weird but I can't decide if being a weird artist commune mom is worse or better than soccer mom. I don't know. All I know is that sometimes the idea of escaping the reality of societal living is so tempting.
After my faux farming day, we got in the car and listened to NPR all the way home...it was a current events quiz show called, "Wait, Wait...I know the answer" or something like that. Lena was rattling off answers and would certainly have won had she been on the show. I on the otherhand was abysmal. My complete lack of awareness of current events forced me to admit to Lena that I rarely pay attention to the news. I mean, I just don't read, listen to or watch it. I'm not ignorant and I'm certainly not stupid (uh, except when it comes to men, then I'm positively daft) but I think I'm too idealistic to handle the day to day traumas of politics, missing children and natural disasters. I'm consciously unconscious. What I mean to say is that I'd rather get to know the people that are living these news-worthy lives than read about it in the paper. I want to change the world one person at a time and if my optimism is to survive the barrage of horrifying images, then I will continue to stay away from the press.
This is exactly why I will never purposely live in the suburbs. The suburbs are the newspapers of america. THey are voyuers, the readers, the listeners. I want to be all or nothing. Far-away- from- it- all farmer or in-the-trenches city girl. But never anesthetized watching it all go down around me while I mow the front lawn. Maybe this is too much of a generalization and maybe I'm wrong to not read the paper. I certainly know more about Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes Scientological relationship than I know about Hurricane Katrina...so maybe I am a hypocrite. And maybe you think I'm completely wrong. And maybe I will be sorry someday...but for right now, I'll eat my tomatoes in my 4th floor apartment overlooking downtown Salt Lake and try to think of ways to change the world without having to turn on the Television.
Now some of you know that I hate the suburbs. You've heard my rendition of "welcome welcome suburban morning" and know that the versatility of the colors beige,eccru, eggshell and the like are a personal affront to my spirit. The truth is, that if I can't live IN the city, then I want to be as far out of it as I can. I think I'm a rare half-breed, part hipster, part hippy. Farms and ranches have always been intriguing to me...living on the land, sustainably, growing your own food, learning how to not kill all things green. Maybe a sheep or a goat or something that eats clothes on your clothesline. Simplicity. It seems like a quirky enough existence to keep you interested. And your kids would at least be unique...maybe a little weird but I can't decide if being a weird artist commune mom is worse or better than soccer mom. I don't know. All I know is that sometimes the idea of escaping the reality of societal living is so tempting.
After my faux farming day, we got in the car and listened to NPR all the way home...it was a current events quiz show called, "Wait, Wait...I know the answer" or something like that. Lena was rattling off answers and would certainly have won had she been on the show. I on the otherhand was abysmal. My complete lack of awareness of current events forced me to admit to Lena that I rarely pay attention to the news. I mean, I just don't read, listen to or watch it. I'm not ignorant and I'm certainly not stupid (uh, except when it comes to men, then I'm positively daft) but I think I'm too idealistic to handle the day to day traumas of politics, missing children and natural disasters. I'm consciously unconscious. What I mean to say is that I'd rather get to know the people that are living these news-worthy lives than read about it in the paper. I want to change the world one person at a time and if my optimism is to survive the barrage of horrifying images, then I will continue to stay away from the press.
This is exactly why I will never purposely live in the suburbs. The suburbs are the newspapers of america. THey are voyuers, the readers, the listeners. I want to be all or nothing. Far-away- from- it- all farmer or in-the-trenches city girl. But never anesthetized watching it all go down around me while I mow the front lawn. Maybe this is too much of a generalization and maybe I'm wrong to not read the paper. I certainly know more about Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes Scientological relationship than I know about Hurricane Katrina...so maybe I am a hypocrite. And maybe you think I'm completely wrong. And maybe I will be sorry someday...but for right now, I'll eat my tomatoes in my 4th floor apartment overlooking downtown Salt Lake and try to think of ways to change the world without having to turn on the Television.
Friday, September 09, 2005
Addictive Personalities Make Better Stalkers
THis is going to be my new bumper sticker....
I went to weight watchers last night and found out that I lost 2.2 pounds. Yay for me!!! There is something really cool about being in a room that looks like a jehovah's witness kingdom hall (no windows) with a bunch of chubby people all admitting that when the breadbasket gets passed to them, they CAN NOT say NO. No one gets up and says their first name. No one gets a keychain if they go 30 days without dessert, but the idea is the same. We're food junkies and we get together to support each other in our quest to be moderate in the face of Godiva Chocolates, 18 inch pizzas and all things fried.
I talked to my mom about the fact that I was really depressed lately, and she blamed it on my diet...excuse me, I mean...MY NEW HEALTHY LIFESTYLE. She pointed out that I use food to comfort me and now that I am counting every point, I no longer CAN use food as my reward or panacea for my emotional blah blah blah. I agree to some extent. It's all about finding substitutes, so instead of eating a canoli, I call people. I text them three or four times in a row. I take a drive to peer through their windows right at dusk when the blinds are still open and the lights are now on. JUST KIDDING, but the impetus behind it is true...I've found that without my food crutches, I need people more than before. I need distractions and I need support. I need to talk about food and no food and not having that piece of pozza that I really really just wanted to scarf even though it had been in someone's refrigerator for a month and was no longer even really edible. I need something to fill the hole left by 1/2 a cup of brown rice and steamed vegetables.
So this is why weight watchers is group therapy for fat people and why that is so freaking necessary. Last night in my meeting, I was talking about the lack of control I exhibited the last time I went out to eat with my friends. They ordered calamari. Fried Squid, people. I don't even love it. I like it, but I don't LLLLLLOOOOOVVVVEEEE it. And as I was eating my like 8th piece, I was chewing the rubbery circle of squid and thinking...why can't I just say no???? What should I have done???? The cute lady sitting behind me, a veteran in the food addiction war, said, "next time the calamari comes near you, tip your water into the basket, ruin it!!!!" I laughed and laughed and realized that this really is WAR and even my friends and their appetizers can not be spared.
I want to be healthy. I want to be moderate. I want to be happy about my body since it is the only one I'm getting and I won't be whole until I can accept it and love it. This morning I woke up and realized that 9.2 pounds of fat (which is the total amount I've lost thus far) is like heaving around a newborn baby all the time. A big newborn. I am feeling lighter. My heart can beat just a little slower. I can breathe just a little bit better. I can't guarantee that I'll stop filling my food need with people, so you might prepare yourself for a few extra texts and calls these next few months, but I promise it will be the best thing for all of us. I'm good at what I do.
I went to weight watchers last night and found out that I lost 2.2 pounds. Yay for me!!! There is something really cool about being in a room that looks like a jehovah's witness kingdom hall (no windows) with a bunch of chubby people all admitting that when the breadbasket gets passed to them, they CAN NOT say NO. No one gets up and says their first name. No one gets a keychain if they go 30 days without dessert, but the idea is the same. We're food junkies and we get together to support each other in our quest to be moderate in the face of Godiva Chocolates, 18 inch pizzas and all things fried.
I talked to my mom about the fact that I was really depressed lately, and she blamed it on my diet...excuse me, I mean...MY NEW HEALTHY LIFESTYLE. She pointed out that I use food to comfort me and now that I am counting every point, I no longer CAN use food as my reward or panacea for my emotional blah blah blah. I agree to some extent. It's all about finding substitutes, so instead of eating a canoli, I call people. I text them three or four times in a row. I take a drive to peer through their windows right at dusk when the blinds are still open and the lights are now on. JUST KIDDING, but the impetus behind it is true...I've found that without my food crutches, I need people more than before. I need distractions and I need support. I need to talk about food and no food and not having that piece of pozza that I really really just wanted to scarf even though it had been in someone's refrigerator for a month and was no longer even really edible. I need something to fill the hole left by 1/2 a cup of brown rice and steamed vegetables.
So this is why weight watchers is group therapy for fat people and why that is so freaking necessary. Last night in my meeting, I was talking about the lack of control I exhibited the last time I went out to eat with my friends. They ordered calamari. Fried Squid, people. I don't even love it. I like it, but I don't LLLLLLOOOOOVVVVEEEE it. And as I was eating my like 8th piece, I was chewing the rubbery circle of squid and thinking...why can't I just say no???? What should I have done???? The cute lady sitting behind me, a veteran in the food addiction war, said, "next time the calamari comes near you, tip your water into the basket, ruin it!!!!" I laughed and laughed and realized that this really is WAR and even my friends and their appetizers can not be spared.
I want to be healthy. I want to be moderate. I want to be happy about my body since it is the only one I'm getting and I won't be whole until I can accept it and love it. This morning I woke up and realized that 9.2 pounds of fat (which is the total amount I've lost thus far) is like heaving around a newborn baby all the time. A big newborn. I am feeling lighter. My heart can beat just a little slower. I can breathe just a little bit better. I can't guarantee that I'll stop filling my food need with people, so you might prepare yourself for a few extra texts and calls these next few months, but I promise it will be the best thing for all of us. I'm good at what I do.
Thursday, September 08, 2005
another day, another dollar
My 28th year goal is to become more fiscally responsible. By the time I am thirty, I would like to be able to purchase a home. Saying this openly is supposed to be a motivation for me to stop dreaming about the ipod I will never have and stop coveting things that I want, but certainly don't need.
In the same vein, I don't think it's unreasonable for me to take steps toward my fiscal responsibility and goal of home ownership that are a little less than conventional. Necessity is the mother of invention. Therefore, this blog is dedicated to my continued search of a man willing to help me become the trophywife that I was born to be. I have the blond hair. I have the appreciation of small dogs and large diamonds. I am willing to acquire "altered" body parts if someone else is willing to pay for it. I am open to lazy afternoons of shopping with someone else's money, dropping the 2.5 children off at daycare while I get my manicure and running errands like telling the help to get a pint of ben and jerry's while they are out grabbing dinner. I don't mind being the one to suggest couples therapy and hypnotism when things aren't going so well. I think I would be amazing.
So if you are able to help me reach my goals, please email me. I can't promise much in return...just some arm candy to make your squash buddies jealous, countless opportunities to be told how to dress better and maybe if you're lucky, less than 3 crying/pouting freak-outs a week....
In the same vein, I don't think it's unreasonable for me to take steps toward my fiscal responsibility and goal of home ownership that are a little less than conventional. Necessity is the mother of invention. Therefore, this blog is dedicated to my continued search of a man willing to help me become the trophywife that I was born to be. I have the blond hair. I have the appreciation of small dogs and large diamonds. I am willing to acquire "altered" body parts if someone else is willing to pay for it. I am open to lazy afternoons of shopping with someone else's money, dropping the 2.5 children off at daycare while I get my manicure and running errands like telling the help to get a pint of ben and jerry's while they are out grabbing dinner. I don't mind being the one to suggest couples therapy and hypnotism when things aren't going so well. I think I would be amazing.
So if you are able to help me reach my goals, please email me. I can't promise much in return...just some arm candy to make your squash buddies jealous, countless opportunities to be told how to dress better and maybe if you're lucky, less than 3 crying/pouting freak-outs a week....
Wednesday, September 07, 2005
Lady bug, Lady bug
Last night I was doing dishes after a flurry of weight watchers cookbook creativity and I noticed a lady bug, legs up, flailing around in the dish water. I don't know what made me do it, since normally, I am a little less than altruistic to bugs, but I grabbed a spoon and scooped her (it's a "LADY" bug afterall) up and set her rightside down on the sink. I tried to blow on her to dry her off since I was not sure if bug wings retain water like people-hair...but I didn't want her to die. I watched her kind of twitch around a little, waterlogged and tenuous. I felt a little guilty for several reasons. 1. I didn't actually stop doing dishes. 2. I didn't think, if I had just had a near death experience that I would like to have someone leaning over me watching my life struggle. 3. I probably could have done more. I think she died, I havne't gone back to the sink since the dishes were done. I don't want to know.
I have a sort of sick affinity for lady bugs ever since I lived in South Carolina and had an existential moment in my attic bedroom watching what seemed like thousands of red and black dotted wings flying around the ceiling trying fruitlessly to mate with the bare lighbulb. I got their futility. I understood that feeling of bareness. I felt that heat that kills eminating from a need or a want that will never be filled. In short, I felt connected to their mating dance aimed at a false idea. That's me.
So you might be able to see why I had such a bizarre reaction to a drowning bug. Maybe this is a repetitive metaphor...lady bug death as a representation of my emotional state. Today I am drowning, flailing in soapy water that is supposed to clean not kill. Once again taken in by shiny objects only to find myself face down and stuck. I want flight. Everyone else is moving...London, New York, St Louis (ok, the list gets progressively less exotic, but it doesn't matter, it's movement, damnit!!!)...I'm in a pool of dishwater, trying to make my wings work.
When I moved to Salt Lake City, it was a miracle...things conspiring, congealing in a way that I didn't think possible to make me believe this was meant to be. Maybe it was childlike, but I could not escape the hand of God everywhere I looked. I think I need to rediscover that wonder. I have purpose here...it's not like my life is completely shiftless...I just don't have the wide eyes of amazement right now. And maybe there is a hand with a spoon willing to scoop me out of the dishwater if I just stop struggling long enough to allow that sort of salvation.
I have a sort of sick affinity for lady bugs ever since I lived in South Carolina and had an existential moment in my attic bedroom watching what seemed like thousands of red and black dotted wings flying around the ceiling trying fruitlessly to mate with the bare lighbulb. I got their futility. I understood that feeling of bareness. I felt that heat that kills eminating from a need or a want that will never be filled. In short, I felt connected to their mating dance aimed at a false idea. That's me.
So you might be able to see why I had such a bizarre reaction to a drowning bug. Maybe this is a repetitive metaphor...lady bug death as a representation of my emotional state. Today I am drowning, flailing in soapy water that is supposed to clean not kill. Once again taken in by shiny objects only to find myself face down and stuck. I want flight. Everyone else is moving...London, New York, St Louis (ok, the list gets progressively less exotic, but it doesn't matter, it's movement, damnit!!!)...I'm in a pool of dishwater, trying to make my wings work.
When I moved to Salt Lake City, it was a miracle...things conspiring, congealing in a way that I didn't think possible to make me believe this was meant to be. Maybe it was childlike, but I could not escape the hand of God everywhere I looked. I think I need to rediscover that wonder. I have purpose here...it's not like my life is completely shiftless...I just don't have the wide eyes of amazement right now. And maybe there is a hand with a spoon willing to scoop me out of the dishwater if I just stop struggling long enough to allow that sort of salvation.
Wednesday, August 31, 2005
Here's How Tired I Am...
I can't wake up in the mornings.
I can't concentrate on anything longer than 5 minutes.
I have a headache all the time.
I almost crashed my stupid car like 8 times this week, thus cementing my status as the 2nd worst driver in Utah.
I am mean to every person who works at department stores except that one cool lady at dillards who tried on the new shoes I accidently bought.
I accidently buy shoes.
I fall asleep in movies that I really enjoy.
I can't read my scriptures or say a prayer that lasts longer than 10.2 seconds.
Walking is a task beyond me and I'm thinking of acquiring a rascal as a walking replacement.
I almost dislike my job which normally I like.
I get parking tickets because I am just too tired to go put money in the meter.
I eat frozen dinners at 9:30 at night because I am too tired to cook and really too tired to eat, but damnit I paid in advance for weight watchers and I WILL succeed.
I honestly think Diet Coke is water.
I honestly think water is Diet Coke.
I don't even want to go to the library to pick up book 4 of my naughty highland romance series.
wiping down the counter is too much work.
Dishes are piling up and getting kind of smelly and I just don't give a ....well, you get it.
I can't even be nice to small children.
This is how tired I am.
I AM SO TIRED.
I can't concentrate on anything longer than 5 minutes.
I have a headache all the time.
I almost crashed my stupid car like 8 times this week, thus cementing my status as the 2nd worst driver in Utah.
I am mean to every person who works at department stores except that one cool lady at dillards who tried on the new shoes I accidently bought.
I accidently buy shoes.
I fall asleep in movies that I really enjoy.
I can't read my scriptures or say a prayer that lasts longer than 10.2 seconds.
Walking is a task beyond me and I'm thinking of acquiring a rascal as a walking replacement.
I almost dislike my job which normally I like.
I get parking tickets because I am just too tired to go put money in the meter.
I eat frozen dinners at 9:30 at night because I am too tired to cook and really too tired to eat, but damnit I paid in advance for weight watchers and I WILL succeed.
I honestly think Diet Coke is water.
I honestly think water is Diet Coke.
I don't even want to go to the library to pick up book 4 of my naughty highland romance series.
wiping down the counter is too much work.
Dishes are piling up and getting kind of smelly and I just don't give a ....well, you get it.
I can't even be nice to small children.
This is how tired I am.
I AM SO TIRED.
Saturday, August 20, 2005
Hello McFly?????Anybody Home????
Yes, I admit it. This post is completely gratuitous and all about me. Do you read this blog regularly? PLEASE POST A COMMENT to let me know. It can be anonymous!!!! I don't know if anyone is reading and I know it shouldn't make a difference, but I just got to thinkin' that it would be nice to know if I'm babbling to myself. If no one is reading this, I will continue anyway. It's a good writing exercise and seeing as how I ain't in the mood to write no poetry right now, I'll keep up the faux personal essays contained here-in. But if you are reading, give a girl a holla.
Friday, August 19, 2005
I have the pox
I've got a disease (well, maybe not a DISEASE so much as a temporary condition). It's called Iritis and lest you think that I made it up, google it...it's real! I know it's real because it makes my left eye feel like small cocktail swords are being poked into the retina everytime I look ANYWHERE. This is especially torturous when I look at the sun.
So I've been banished by the eye doctor (The real kind, not the eyeglasses guy) to the confines of my home which is currently being refered to as the BAT CAVE. I can not go outside during daylight hours until the heavy steroids start to do their magic. If I do, my left eye will get all puffy and start to water like my goldfish just died and I will be gripped with the sort of sharp shooting pain headache that only ex-boyfriends deserve. Ok, maybe the mandate to stay inside is my own interpretation of the doctors orders, but the pain part is true. My only salvation for the next two days is a pair of cataract sunglasses. You know, the kind that old men and women wear over their bi-focals after visiting the eye doctor? Yep, I have a pair. I can't wear my contacts for at least 3 more days and if I want to drive without hitting someone in a crosswalk, I'll have to donn the glasses once more. I did it once to get home this morning, and I promise you I will do it again if necessary. I finished book three of the Outlander series with one eye shut and I just completed the first disc of season one of "Six Feet Under" so I'm getting a little stircrazy. I can only calculate the weight watchers points on all my food items so many times before I get REALLY REALLY BORED.
To make it all worse, my roommate is at Lake Powell this weekend and I am home alone. Alone with the Iritis. Me and the Iritis. And I'm not talking to it because it's making me miss the Salt Lake County Fair. I suppose things will get better at some point this weekend. I will probably have to venture out to go to church. God will not let Iritis be an adequate excuse for my spiritual delinquency...cramps, yes...iritis, no. I may try to walk to blockbuster after the sun goes down...I think I should rent a vampire movie. It might comfort me to know that I am not alone in this.
So I've been banished by the eye doctor (The real kind, not the eyeglasses guy) to the confines of my home which is currently being refered to as the BAT CAVE. I can not go outside during daylight hours until the heavy steroids start to do their magic. If I do, my left eye will get all puffy and start to water like my goldfish just died and I will be gripped with the sort of sharp shooting pain headache that only ex-boyfriends deserve. Ok, maybe the mandate to stay inside is my own interpretation of the doctors orders, but the pain part is true. My only salvation for the next two days is a pair of cataract sunglasses. You know, the kind that old men and women wear over their bi-focals after visiting the eye doctor? Yep, I have a pair. I can't wear my contacts for at least 3 more days and if I want to drive without hitting someone in a crosswalk, I'll have to donn the glasses once more. I did it once to get home this morning, and I promise you I will do it again if necessary. I finished book three of the Outlander series with one eye shut and I just completed the first disc of season one of "Six Feet Under" so I'm getting a little stircrazy. I can only calculate the weight watchers points on all my food items so many times before I get REALLY REALLY BORED.
To make it all worse, my roommate is at Lake Powell this weekend and I am home alone. Alone with the Iritis. Me and the Iritis. And I'm not talking to it because it's making me miss the Salt Lake County Fair. I suppose things will get better at some point this weekend. I will probably have to venture out to go to church. God will not let Iritis be an adequate excuse for my spiritual delinquency...cramps, yes...iritis, no. I may try to walk to blockbuster after the sun goes down...I think I should rent a vampire movie. It might comfort me to know that I am not alone in this.
Thursday, August 11, 2005
The effect of other people's weddings on MY vacation time
This weekend will mark the second of three weddings that require the use of my precious vacation time. I am flying to Washington DC tomorrow morning and staying through monday to celebrate the wedding of a girl I taught while I was a missionary in Virginia. In november I'm headed to philadelphia to sing a stevie wonder song at another wedding. When this is all done, I will have NO VACATION LEFT. Not even one day to lounge about in my pajamas with my hair shooting out all over my unwashed head in some sick imitation of a mohawk while I watch 16 candles and day dream about being independently wealthy and never having to work again.
I shouldn't complain, this is the first time that I have ever had paid vacation...and THREE weeks of it to boot...but it just feels wrong when other people are planning their carribean cruises and week-long camping extravaganza's and I am browsing bridal registries and practicing my "so-very-happy-for-the-both-of-you" face.
All I have to say is that there had better be some serious karma when I finally tie the knot. I'm thinking a kitchenaid mixer or a new ipod. Don't come to the wedding...I'll let you have your vacation, just send me something expensive instead. (ok, obviously, this is not the way I really feel...please come to my hypothetical (re: mystical) wedding. By that time we'll all be in our late 80's anyway and you should be able to get some sort of senior discount and every day will be a vacation!)
I shouldn't complain, this is the first time that I have ever had paid vacation...and THREE weeks of it to boot...but it just feels wrong when other people are planning their carribean cruises and week-long camping extravaganza's and I am browsing bridal registries and practicing my "so-very-happy-for-the-both-of-you" face.
All I have to say is that there had better be some serious karma when I finally tie the knot. I'm thinking a kitchenaid mixer or a new ipod. Don't come to the wedding...I'll let you have your vacation, just send me something expensive instead. (ok, obviously, this is not the way I really feel...please come to my hypothetical (re: mystical) wedding. By that time we'll all be in our late 80's anyway and you should be able to get some sort of senior discount and every day will be a vacation!)
Monday, August 08, 2005
What I did on my summer vacation by Ninny Beth
Last summer was my first in Utah and despite the abounding options for recreation, I can't remember a single thing I did. I'm not really sure how any entire summer passed by me without ONE summer type memory, but I determined that this year would be different. So this weekend I went camping. Granted, there are some of you who think that my type of camping (tent, moderate electricity, 100 other people singing karaoke in the pavilion) is not really camping, but I don't care...I had a blast, ended up with only a mild case of hypothermia from the glacial lake and a touch of a sunburn on my nose.
Here's what I've done to rectify last summer's patheticly indoor experience: I've had two cases of severe sunburn, at least 3 very itchy bug bites and donned my new bathing suit 3 times now. I've almost died 2 times by water and once by excessive crowds at the farmers market. I've eaten fresh fruit, bought something looking like tacos from a street vendor and acquired a large bruise on my arm from paddling a canoe under duress. I've played my guitar around a campfire and I've gazed at the stars in the Uintah mountains. I've layed on a blanket reading a book during my lunch hour enjoying the juxtaposition of extreme airconditioning in my office and the real heat of the noon day sun. I've eaten outside at the Gateway, watching the crowds and pointing out poor fashion choices with my girls. I've gone to hot dog parties and various other cook outs and have had picnics at Liberty park. I've stayed up way too late just because the moon wasn't out yet and I've acquired a flashlight. THIS IS SUMMER, PEOPLE!!!!!
Next up, Lagoon and a Kiss Your Summer Goodbye party which will, true to it's moniker, involve summer lovin' and summer flings...two indespensable parts of the season. I think I'm in love. Watch for the baby coming next spring. It's sure to look like Salt Lake City with a touch of the mountains.
Here's what I've done to rectify last summer's patheticly indoor experience: I've had two cases of severe sunburn, at least 3 very itchy bug bites and donned my new bathing suit 3 times now. I've almost died 2 times by water and once by excessive crowds at the farmers market. I've eaten fresh fruit, bought something looking like tacos from a street vendor and acquired a large bruise on my arm from paddling a canoe under duress. I've played my guitar around a campfire and I've gazed at the stars in the Uintah mountains. I've layed on a blanket reading a book during my lunch hour enjoying the juxtaposition of extreme airconditioning in my office and the real heat of the noon day sun. I've eaten outside at the Gateway, watching the crowds and pointing out poor fashion choices with my girls. I've gone to hot dog parties and various other cook outs and have had picnics at Liberty park. I've stayed up way too late just because the moon wasn't out yet and I've acquired a flashlight. THIS IS SUMMER, PEOPLE!!!!!
Next up, Lagoon and a Kiss Your Summer Goodbye party which will, true to it's moniker, involve summer lovin' and summer flings...two indespensable parts of the season. I think I'm in love. Watch for the baby coming next spring. It's sure to look like Salt Lake City with a touch of the mountains.
Wednesday, August 03, 2005
Death by Splenda
I can't get enough diet coke. I want to drink it every day, all day.
And I hate everyone.
I wonder if splenda is rotting my brain...or at least the part of my brain that allows me to love. I would blame it on the man who has been playing me for the last year and oh...3 months...but that doesn't make sense because I've been played before and have still been able to like people. It must be the splenda. or aspertame. or whatever else it is in DC that eats acid off car motors...
Ok, really, I'm not that angry. Hurt, yes...but if there is one thing that will remain my trademark through YET another disappointment it is OPTIMISM. I believe that you men are good inherently. I believe that men want long term committed, kind, honest relationships. I believe that even though we are all broken in our specific and perfect ways, we are still capable of accomplishing connections that last...as long as the foundation is the Savior. Being broken is not an excuse to treat people poorly. It should be an impetus to seek a higher level of kindness, beauty and goodness. I refuse to allow my negative experiences to taint my journey with anger and bitterness.
Maybe the diet coke is my salve. Fake sweetners and contrived bubbles to lighten my weary soul (wow, that was like, totally like, deep). Probably it's just a caffeine addiction, but whatever...at this point it's something to look forward to in my day. And it reminds me that it's the little things that really give us hope.
Thank you Diet Coke (specifically cherry diet coke and lime diet coke...you've always been there for me!)
And I hate everyone.
I wonder if splenda is rotting my brain...or at least the part of my brain that allows me to love. I would blame it on the man who has been playing me for the last year and oh...3 months...but that doesn't make sense because I've been played before and have still been able to like people. It must be the splenda. or aspertame. or whatever else it is in DC that eats acid off car motors...
Ok, really, I'm not that angry. Hurt, yes...but if there is one thing that will remain my trademark through YET another disappointment it is OPTIMISM. I believe that you men are good inherently. I believe that men want long term committed, kind, honest relationships. I believe that even though we are all broken in our specific and perfect ways, we are still capable of accomplishing connections that last...as long as the foundation is the Savior. Being broken is not an excuse to treat people poorly. It should be an impetus to seek a higher level of kindness, beauty and goodness. I refuse to allow my negative experiences to taint my journey with anger and bitterness.
Maybe the diet coke is my salve. Fake sweetners and contrived bubbles to lighten my weary soul (wow, that was like, totally like, deep). Probably it's just a caffeine addiction, but whatever...at this point it's something to look forward to in my day. And it reminds me that it's the little things that really give us hope.
Thank you Diet Coke (specifically cherry diet coke and lime diet coke...you've always been there for me!)
Friday, July 29, 2005
Friday, 5pm, still at work
I should be home finishing the dregs of my latest highland romance novel, but I'm still at work. Hence the title of this blog. So what?you say. Lots of people stay late at work on a friday...
YES I KNOW, but this is ME we're talking about and *I* am not a late at work on friday kind of girl...well at least I didn't used to be. But now I have a grown up job (or at least the semblence of one) and I am almost 28. ALMOST 28 which is like, practically, almost 30!!!!!! Do you know what this means???? I am like already almost 1/3* dead. So I've decided to stay late at work in order to stop thinking about the fact that I have already used up 5 of my 15 ride tickets at the carnival. I don't know why I think editing essays and sending out emails to volunteers is going to help my state of mind...obviously it hasn't really because here I am blogging about it all...
Anyway, I tried to convert to 28 shortly after my last birthday in preparation. I am mormon and although I wasn't willing to admit it then, I think I realized that moving into my late 20's and still being single was going to be a little traumatic. Early conversion was my only hope. IF I could get over the 28 hump before it actually happened, then I could just party like it was 2005 when the time came and not worry about what I was or wasn't. But I'm here to tell you that it doesn't work. I'm still feverish about August 25th. I'm still trying to hold it back, make it stay, wish it away. I don't know what I really want out of my 28th year, but what I don't want is for it to bring me closer to 29 and then 30 and 40 and then 50 and then....ahhhhhh......
I'm not really afraid of the future. I just can't see it and that's what makes me crazy. So I'm staying late at work on a friday...the only possible solution for staving off the end of another day which signifies the end of another week which means one year closer to pureed spinach and old people breath. I promise...eventually I will go home...eventually.
*assumes that I live to 70...in reality I could be 1/2 dead and not even realize it!
YES I KNOW, but this is ME we're talking about and *I* am not a late at work on friday kind of girl...well at least I didn't used to be. But now I have a grown up job (or at least the semblence of one) and I am almost 28. ALMOST 28 which is like, practically, almost 30!!!!!! Do you know what this means???? I am like already almost 1/3* dead. So I've decided to stay late at work in order to stop thinking about the fact that I have already used up 5 of my 15 ride tickets at the carnival. I don't know why I think editing essays and sending out emails to volunteers is going to help my state of mind...obviously it hasn't really because here I am blogging about it all...
Anyway, I tried to convert to 28 shortly after my last birthday in preparation. I am mormon and although I wasn't willing to admit it then, I think I realized that moving into my late 20's and still being single was going to be a little traumatic. Early conversion was my only hope. IF I could get over the 28 hump before it actually happened, then I could just party like it was 2005 when the time came and not worry about what I was or wasn't. But I'm here to tell you that it doesn't work. I'm still feverish about August 25th. I'm still trying to hold it back, make it stay, wish it away. I don't know what I really want out of my 28th year, but what I don't want is for it to bring me closer to 29 and then 30 and 40 and then 50 and then....ahhhhhh......
I'm not really afraid of the future. I just can't see it and that's what makes me crazy. So I'm staying late at work on a friday...the only possible solution for staving off the end of another day which signifies the end of another week which means one year closer to pureed spinach and old people breath. I promise...eventually I will go home...eventually.
*assumes that I live to 70...in reality I could be 1/2 dead and not even realize it!
Friday, July 22, 2005
Blog BLog BLOG...
it sounds like something my stomach does when I've eaten too much dairy and broccoli.
The thing is...I actually have a real journal...like the kind you use ink in and turn pages and stuff. I've had one since I was 12 and write in it pretty regularly, so I'm just not that into the dougie howser-ishness of this blog. I suppose it gives me an opportunity to publicly air my grievances, and it's like the 21st century version of Confessional Poetry, but I'm starting to wonder 1. whether I NEED to publicly say ANYTHING and 2. if I do need to publicly say something, is this blog even the place to say it...? I don't read any other blogs and I don't expect people to ever read this blog.
hmmm...so maybe I keep coming back to it because I'm bored at work and secretely I hope that someday someone is going to give a crap. Maybe I should suppliment my blog with some paid air time on NPR or something. And now, I have sullied my blog with a self-conscious rant about blogs...this is just great. just great.
In other news: I've been having some trouble focusing at work lately. I would rather be at home reading the OUtlander series (scottish highland historical romance fall through time dirty 18th century druid sex) eating baked cheetos in my airconditioning than writing emails to people that make me crazy. So I will settle for eating baked cheetos at my desk and carelessly wiping my cheese fingers on the keyboard as I write blog entries for no apparent reason. Viva la Friday.
The thing is...I actually have a real journal...like the kind you use ink in and turn pages and stuff. I've had one since I was 12 and write in it pretty regularly, so I'm just not that into the dougie howser-ishness of this blog. I suppose it gives me an opportunity to publicly air my grievances, and it's like the 21st century version of Confessional Poetry, but I'm starting to wonder 1. whether I NEED to publicly say ANYTHING and 2. if I do need to publicly say something, is this blog even the place to say it...? I don't read any other blogs and I don't expect people to ever read this blog.
hmmm...so maybe I keep coming back to it because I'm bored at work and secretely I hope that someday someone is going to give a crap. Maybe I should suppliment my blog with some paid air time on NPR or something. And now, I have sullied my blog with a self-conscious rant about blogs...this is just great. just great.
In other news: I've been having some trouble focusing at work lately. I would rather be at home reading the OUtlander series (scottish highland historical romance fall through time dirty 18th century druid sex) eating baked cheetos in my airconditioning than writing emails to people that make me crazy. So I will settle for eating baked cheetos at my desk and carelessly wiping my cheese fingers on the keyboard as I write blog entries for no apparent reason. Viva la Friday.
Saturday, June 04, 2005
Why Thriftstore Shopping is Better Than Most Men
You see, today I went for this really long walk at Liberty park. After my soul centering exercise, I took a bag of clothes to DI...clothes that honestly, I should have just thrown out. They had paint stains the color of my now living room, pit stains from the years of soul- centering exercise, and probably more than a few holes from just being loved a little too desperately. Then there were the pants that USED to fit me pre-mission overload and the shirts I bought because they were cheap and not necessarily because they would EVER look like anything other than garbage bags on me. It was a cornacopia (how do you spell that?) of disaster and I was taking it to be hung up by some well-meaning worker at the D.I...which to you east coasters is the Utah version of Goodwill and Sal Val.
After joyfully handing over the garbage bag that concealed my "donation" and graciously accepting the thank you from the workers (THEY don't need to know how sad my "donation" really was!!!!), my roommate and I proceeded to spend 2 hours wandering around the store, finding replacement CRAP for our house! We spent a whopping $48 on new old pajamas, new old frames, new old closet doors (that we are going to shabby chic into some room dividers!!!), new old plates and bowls (we now have like 50 of each...WE NEED THEM...WE HAVE LOTS OF um.....CEREAL PARTIES?) and new old books. It was awesome...and I must admit, we felt fulfilled. So fulfilled that we decided we deserved a cherry limeade after all our hard thrifting...our version of the cigarette after, well...you get it.
So it's easy to see why thrifting is better than having a boyfriend. You put your old junk in the back of your car. D. I. will take it no matter what kind of junk you have in your trunk (unlike most men). Then after they take your shit, they HELP YOU find something better. They take all major credit cards and not ONCE does anyone tell you that what you are buying is sloppy seconds.
But hey, maybe thrifting is LIKE loving men? You have to dig through piles and piles of crap to get to the hidden treasure. I don't know. This analogy has gone too far, but I had nothing better to write about. It was this or the hair clog in my sink that is slowly taking over the apartment and as much as I LOVE hair clogs....
After joyfully handing over the garbage bag that concealed my "donation" and graciously accepting the thank you from the workers (THEY don't need to know how sad my "donation" really was!!!!), my roommate and I proceeded to spend 2 hours wandering around the store, finding replacement CRAP for our house! We spent a whopping $48 on new old pajamas, new old frames, new old closet doors (that we are going to shabby chic into some room dividers!!!), new old plates and bowls (we now have like 50 of each...WE NEED THEM...WE HAVE LOTS OF um.....CEREAL PARTIES?) and new old books. It was awesome...and I must admit, we felt fulfilled. So fulfilled that we decided we deserved a cherry limeade after all our hard thrifting...our version of the cigarette after, well...you get it.
So it's easy to see why thrifting is better than having a boyfriend. You put your old junk in the back of your car. D. I. will take it no matter what kind of junk you have in your trunk (unlike most men). Then after they take your shit, they HELP YOU find something better. They take all major credit cards and not ONCE does anyone tell you that what you are buying is sloppy seconds.
But hey, maybe thrifting is LIKE loving men? You have to dig through piles and piles of crap to get to the hidden treasure. I don't know. This analogy has gone too far, but I had nothing better to write about. It was this or the hair clog in my sink that is slowly taking over the apartment and as much as I LOVE hair clogs....
Friday, June 03, 2005
Worst Friend EVER?????
I think I am the worst friend ever. I forgot one of my best friends birthdays. This post is mostly to create a public shaming for myself. I subscribe to the Hester Pryne school of repentence...Only instead of a scarlet A, I will compose a shameful blog entry that will float around in cyberspace for all eternity (or at least until whoever runs this "pimp" show decides they've had enough of publishing whiney 20 something girls' apologizing-for-living confessional journals...like, next week?)
My friend, Landylou (an alias of course) remembered my birthday last year with a bouquet of flowers delivered to my office. I felt SOOOO cool that day because people thought they came from some hot man who was madly in love with me. (yes, I twisted the birthday gift to suit my own need for validation, but part of me thinks that is why a good girlfriend sends you flowers...they don't really want the credit...they are hoping to help you create a little mystery about a truly non-existant love life.) So you would think that I could at least have sent a retarded e-card or something right?
Now, I was slightly relieved to hear that this darling friend had a date with a cute, adorable, smart man that night thus SORT of pulling me out of the "bad friend!" doghouse...dates with boys on your birthday will help you forgive anything...but it doesn't excuse me. So I will make it up to you landy lou if it's the last thing I do. And I promise it will be something way cooler than just a blog entry or a bad rhyming poem or an e-card.
My friend, Landylou (an alias of course) remembered my birthday last year with a bouquet of flowers delivered to my office. I felt SOOOO cool that day because people thought they came from some hot man who was madly in love with me. (yes, I twisted the birthday gift to suit my own need for validation, but part of me thinks that is why a good girlfriend sends you flowers...they don't really want the credit...they are hoping to help you create a little mystery about a truly non-existant love life.) So you would think that I could at least have sent a retarded e-card or something right?
Now, I was slightly relieved to hear that this darling friend had a date with a cute, adorable, smart man that night thus SORT of pulling me out of the "bad friend!" doghouse...dates with boys on your birthday will help you forgive anything...but it doesn't excuse me. So I will make it up to you landy lou if it's the last thing I do. And I promise it will be something way cooler than just a blog entry or a bad rhyming poem or an e-card.
Monday, May 30, 2005
I'm that girl
This will be short, because I have just discovered that I can tap into someone else's wireless internet at my apartment and I'm feeling like a crook on the lam...who knows how long I have before someone realizes that I'm sucking their juice. (ok, it's obvious to anyone reading this that I have no idea how wireless internet works...but whatever...let me have my fantasies)
I just got done visiting my friend jill and her three kids under the age of three. I realize that I have every reason in the world to be completely happy with my life. I mean, the grass is always greener right? But as I was chatting it up with jill today, trying to make my life seem glamorous and unfettered with desitin and diaper rash and potty training...I realized that I was sounding just a little bit jaded. I have a new sort of anger and resentment that is just starting to surface in my attitudes about men and life and singledom. I don't even know who I am anymore. Is this the end of my mid-twenties optimism? Am I doomed to become THAT girl? You know the one...she's so lonely and desperate that she starts to HATE HATE HATE everyone except her cat and her parents and if you ask her if she's dating anyone, she will quickly launch into a diatribe about the insensitivity of people on the "other side" who DARE to ask about her love life. Yeah, I never thought I had it in me and I don't THINK I have to give in to the dark side??????????????????
well, ...I don't want to, so I guess I won't. Sigh.... that was easy! Decision made. NO MORE BITTER UNMARRIED MORMON GIRL IN HER LATE TWENTIES!
I still hate cats, so I guess I'm really safe for a little while anyway.
I just got done visiting my friend jill and her three kids under the age of three. I realize that I have every reason in the world to be completely happy with my life. I mean, the grass is always greener right? But as I was chatting it up with jill today, trying to make my life seem glamorous and unfettered with desitin and diaper rash and potty training...I realized that I was sounding just a little bit jaded. I have a new sort of anger and resentment that is just starting to surface in my attitudes about men and life and singledom. I don't even know who I am anymore. Is this the end of my mid-twenties optimism? Am I doomed to become THAT girl? You know the one...she's so lonely and desperate that she starts to HATE HATE HATE everyone except her cat and her parents and if you ask her if she's dating anyone, she will quickly launch into a diatribe about the insensitivity of people on the "other side" who DARE to ask about her love life. Yeah, I never thought I had it in me and I don't THINK I have to give in to the dark side??????????????????
well, ...I don't want to, so I guess I won't. Sigh.... that was easy! Decision made. NO MORE BITTER UNMARRIED MORMON GIRL IN HER LATE TWENTIES!
I still hate cats, so I guess I'm really safe for a little while anyway.
Friday, April 15, 2005
It's not me....it's YOU!!!
For a really long time, I have been developing this website idea...it's going to be called www.whatswrongwithU.com and it is going to be glorious. People will send in their picture and fill out a simple questionnaire and then I will write back and tell them what their problem is...whether it be bad hygiene, lack of social skills or unmitigated stupidity, I will address them all without fear. Someone needs to tell the world what the problem is and it might as well be me.
What are my qualifications, you ask? Well, I am overly critical of everyone. I'm pretty sure that years and years of practice will make me perfect for the job. YES, I am confident that I will be able to spot other people's problems and then blast them out in an overly long email about what is wrong what is wrong what is wrong with them.
My motivation is simple. I AM DESPERATE for someone to tell me what is wrong with ME...so I am assuming that every other person in the world is looking for answers too? Is it so wrong to want to help my fellow man/woman? For example, yesterday I sat in on an interview for an executive assistant (no, I'm not GETTING an assistant, although, I could EASILY be mistaken for an executive...my penchant for sticking my foot in my mouth is evidence enough, eh?). The woman who interviewed was wearing white strappy sandals and talked incessently about her overly particular previous boss. She smelled like Jean Nate or any other Rite Aid perfume selection. I pretended to need some fresh air, opened the door and caught a stream of pure air just before keeling over and passing out in a "grandma" induced seizure. I had to hide my notes from the interview so that this sweet, obviously nervous woman did not see the "NO WAY IN HELL" that I had written in block letters all over her resume. When she asked for my business card, I wished that my website was up and running...I could just hug her, take her under my wing and whisper ever so kindly via email, "OH HONEY..let me tell you what's wrong with you..."
Granted, I think this service (and I will continue to believe that it IS a service to mankind) is most useful for those people who are still wearing floral print henley dresses, socks with sandals and spend over 5 hours a week listening to talk radio. But I certainly don't want to limit the scope and range of my influence. All are welcome, all may come and learn WHAT's WRONG WITH YOU.
Who wouldn't want to sponsor that?
What are my qualifications, you ask? Well, I am overly critical of everyone. I'm pretty sure that years and years of practice will make me perfect for the job. YES, I am confident that I will be able to spot other people's problems and then blast them out in an overly long email about what is wrong what is wrong what is wrong with them.
My motivation is simple. I AM DESPERATE for someone to tell me what is wrong with ME...so I am assuming that every other person in the world is looking for answers too? Is it so wrong to want to help my fellow man/woman? For example, yesterday I sat in on an interview for an executive assistant (no, I'm not GETTING an assistant, although, I could EASILY be mistaken for an executive...my penchant for sticking my foot in my mouth is evidence enough, eh?). The woman who interviewed was wearing white strappy sandals and talked incessently about her overly particular previous boss. She smelled like Jean Nate or any other Rite Aid perfume selection. I pretended to need some fresh air, opened the door and caught a stream of pure air just before keeling over and passing out in a "grandma" induced seizure. I had to hide my notes from the interview so that this sweet, obviously nervous woman did not see the "NO WAY IN HELL" that I had written in block letters all over her resume. When she asked for my business card, I wished that my website was up and running...I could just hug her, take her under my wing and whisper ever so kindly via email, "OH HONEY..let me tell you what's wrong with you..."
Granted, I think this service (and I will continue to believe that it IS a service to mankind) is most useful for those people who are still wearing floral print henley dresses, socks with sandals and spend over 5 hours a week listening to talk radio. But I certainly don't want to limit the scope and range of my influence. All are welcome, all may come and learn WHAT's WRONG WITH YOU.
Who wouldn't want to sponsor that?
Wednesday, April 13, 2005
This is for all the NORMAL girls
I've spent too long trying to figure out whether I am normal or not...so in the interest of time, I'm going to redefine. NORMAL girls think too much about the boys they like. NORMAL girls spend just a little too much money on hair and face 'product'. NORMAL girls want a man who is willing to commit to just them and they don't REALLY mean it when they say that it's cool if you don't call for 3 days. NORMAL girls will eat another piece of cake after the party guests have left...using their hands because all the forks are dirty and who cares, because it was MY birthday anyway. NORMAL girls have a board of directors for every relationship they embark on...and they tell their board of directors EVERYTHING that he says and does and doesn't do. NORMAL girls will hate their girl friend's boyfriend but will genuinely be happy for her when he does something sweet. NORMAL girls go to therapy and cry alone in their rooms from that cosmic lonliness that has nothing to do with whether or not you have people around. NORMAL girls play dress up on a saturday night when they don't have a date...again. NORMAL girls get guilted into taking "sweat and die" classes at the gym because some stupid assed salesman told her that she had a jutting neck. NORMAL girls have good jobs, but are still bored sometimes.
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