In the comments on my last post, Simply Urban (who I'm going to call SU, for our purposes here) had a great idea. A to-do list that has only one item on it. This way, it's quite easy to tackle your to-do list for the day and finish everything on it, feeling a huge burst of self-satisfaction.
I'm SO down with this.
So SU, I accept your proposal to do a shorter to-do.
Here was my list today:
-Figure out my traffic tickets.
I'll explain this but first I must ask my mother not to read further because if she does, she will inevitably call me up and, when I don't answer (which I won't because I know what's coming), she'll leave the following message: ALIDA DIANE! YOU CALL ME BACK THE *MINUTE* YOU GET THIS MESSAGE. I KNOW YOU'RE HOME. I AM STILL YOUR MOTHER AND I CAN STILL TELL YOU WHAT TO DO."
Shudder.
Okay, now that Mom has turned away (or covered her eyes), I can tell the rest of you the story of the traffic tickets.
As we all know, I had no job for many months. I used my savings on frivolous things like food and rent. I had very little income. And my registration on my car expired in the same month I lost my job. Now, I've never been timely on updating my tags/inspection. I used to drive around Texas with expired stickers. I did have a foolproof method of not getting pulled over though. Every time a cop passed me, I would shout out loud in my car, "MY TAGS ARE EXPIRED! I AM ILLEGAL!" I am convinced it is my honesty that kept the cops from noticing and pulling me over.
Seattle is different. My tags are not a sticker. My tags are on my license plate. I DID NOT REALIZE THIS. So I thought I was free and clear until I got my life back together and could afford to pay for such things as registration.
One day, as I walked toward my car, I noticed a ticket on the windshield. I was cited for "Improper display of license." I thought, "Oh, that's a weird thing." And so I looked at my license plates. The front one was crooked. So I figured Seattle cops were a little OCD, grouched about it, fixed my plate, and went on with my life.
(It should be noted that paying a ticket was in the category of paying registration: something I could do SOMEDAY.)
A few weeks later, it happened again. This time, my license plate wasn't crooked so I was at a loss. Still, I am a GOOD avoider, so I tucked the ticket away and went on with my life in a very "la la la I CAN'T HEAR YOU" fashion.
A couple weeks ago, I was finally pulled over for my registration. The cop was quite nice and gave me a warning, telling me I'd need to take care of my tickets before I could renew my registration. He asked that I do that as soon as I could. I promised him I would.
LESS THAN 24 HOURS LATER, i was pulled over again. This cop was not as nice and gave me a hefty ticket for expired tags. So now my bank account had gotten smaller while my debt to the city of Seattle had grown considerably.
The following week, I still was AVOIDING. One morning, I went out to my car and it was not where I parked it. Nay, it was not anywhere on the street. I freaked, figuring someone had stolen my car. Then I realized I drive a huge SUV and nobody is going to steal that in this economy with these gas prices.
I called the tow company and sho' nuff, Susie Lightning was incarcerated. Locked behind bars. In the clink. GONE. And it was going to cost $240 to get her back.
Bitches.
(And I'm not talking about the city of Seattle, dear faithful. I'm talking about me and my avoidance. We are a bunch of bitches.)
So Moo and I hopped a bus and bailed S.Lighning out of the big house. And again, my debt grew while my bank account dwindled.
I knew I had to call to find out what the damage is in parking fees so that I could figure out how to take care of them so that I can register my car. But I was afraid, so I kept getting "busy." And then last Friday I really was going to call but then I got side-tracked and only remembered at 5:07 (the office closed at 5pm). Blast.
So I knew today had to be the day. It HAD to be. I've been parking my car in a neighborhood near my apartment, hiding it on residential streets, avoiding driving, terrified of being towed or getting another ticket.
And I called, y'all. And the damage, it is bad. It is not affordable. But it must be payed.
So now I'm figuring out how. And I actually feel good about all of this because at least I'm taking action and DOING something, rather than avoiding. This is progress for me. This is a LOT of progress.
I must offer my thanks to SU for giving me such a great idea. I hope she'll play too and share her One Thing at a Time with me! In fact, I hope you all do! Think of the fun we'll have, doing our One Thing at a Time and crossing it off of our to-do list! We'll feel so good about ourselves!
And Mom, I know you read this whole thing. So you'll understand when I don't answer your next phone call.
Please still love me Mama. Won't you please be my friend?
PS: Go visit SU over here: Simply Urban
Give her some blog-lovin' and peer pressure her into sharing her to-do list with us!
Monday, July 27, 2009
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Life Going By
I've been out of work since early March. When I lost my job I was sad, sure, but I was also a bit excited about having Time. I knew I'd have so much free time in which to do whatever I wanted. I planned so many great things. I was going to write. I was going to take long walks and get to know Seattle in a completely new way. I was I going to visit all the farmers' markets and cook delicious healthy dishes full of delicious healthy veggies. I was going to reconnect with friends and reconnect with myself.
I did exactly zero of these things.
Things I did instead:
-Slept.
-Whined.
-Watched the entire series of Alias.
-Watched WAY too much Law and Order: SVU.
-Got frustrated with myself.
-Whined some more.
-Got a little tiny job.
-Lost little tiny job.
-Decided I am my own worst enemy.
-Tried to be introspective.
-Took a nap instead.
-Ate toast.
The upside of this is that I did not spend my months of unemployment eating junk food. I stayed Gyminee-friendly. I did take walks, but not all over Seattle, just around my neighborhood. I've eaten way more fruit than I have vegetables. I whined so much that I grew sick of myself and had to take naps just to avoid my own company.
Over the 4th, Jon and I went to Idaho to camp with my sister and her husband. We'd designated the drive home (8 hours) to make a list of everything I needed to do to get my life in order. My finances are a hot mess and I was dealing with that by avoiding all thought of bills and money. I was in crunch time to find a new job, any job, so we had to make a list of possibilities including: coffee shops, grocery stores, and selling my body in Denny Park. Something about making this list snapped me out of my funk; it was a Come to Jesus moment with my Jewish boyfriend, which is as weird as it sounds.
The next day, I went to visit my friend Vickie, who was about a billion weeks pregnant and getting ready to give birth at any time. I mentioned to her that I wanted to be a nanny and asked for her thoughts (as she was a nanny before she got all Smug Pregnant woman on me). Vickie put my name out on a parenting email list and the next thing I knew, I had prospects emailing me like crazy. Within two weeks, I had found the perfect families and babies and am now happily employed by the Yummy Mummies. And Vickie has given birth to sweet baby Thor, so life moves on.
I can't be fully happy yet though. I am unsatisfied with my behavior of the past few months. Perhaps it was necessary that I tuck away into the cocoon of myself but really it just feels lame, like I wasted 4 months watching life going by. I think I always felt that something was going to come along and save me from all my problems. You would think I would have learned long ago that life doesn't work like this, but apparently my 28-year-old self decided to regress back to my 18-year-old selfishness.
I always try to create perfect scenes in my head and recreate them in real life. For example, I can always perfectly picture myself typing away on my laptop at the bakery down the street from my house, sipping peppermint tea and eating toast and typing words that will change the world (or at least words that will be spelled correctly). But whenever I try to create this scene in real life, it's never how I imagined. The bakery is loud and they are slicing onions in the back, so my eyes are watering and my mascara is running down my cheeks and I have the sniffles. My toast is cold and my peppermint tea kind of tastes like goat cheese (??) and I have no idea what to write about. By the time I sit down and am ready to begin writing, the whole production has exhausted me and I want nothing more than to pack it in and go home and go to sleep.
I'm trying not to be too hard on myself. I'm told my behavior is normal for someone who is unemployed. Productivity begets productivity, so when you have nothing to do, it's hard to do anything. For me though, this doesn't help. I'm a time-waster by nature, perfectly content to spend an entire day reading on the sofa or marathoning some silly television show. I hear people say they get antsy if they don't have anything to do, that they wake up on a Saturday ready to tackle a huge to-do list. I'm not like that. I'd like to change, at least a little bit.
Some of this is due to hormonal issues which have now been taken care of (I hope). A lot of this is due to being overweight which should get much better now that the aforementioned hormonal issues have been resolved. I am not a lost cause. But I'm far from the person I'd like to be. I'd like to be more flexible, able to roll with changes and adapt quickly. I'd like to be on top of my life, from finances to housekeeping to knowing when my passport expires and paying parking tickets on time. I'd like to not snap at Jon for no good reason just because I'm feeling upset with myself for being lazy. And I'd really like to know why my peppermint tea tastes like goat cheese (???).
There's really no point to anything I'm saying right now, no magic moral at the end of this story. If I had to pick a bottom line, I guess it would be that I am ready for things to change. I'm sure getting out of the house every day to go to a job I like will help tremendously. But mostly I think it's time to start taking responsibility for the things about myself I don't like very much and quit making excuses or expecting something or someone to charge in and fix it all.
Thankfulness. It's a lesson I haven't figured out yet, at all.
But I am thankful for people like you who read and listen and come back even when I've tucked myself away for so long. And I'm thankful for a boyfriend who has become a partner and a mirror and comic relief when things get really tough. So maybe I've been watching life going by but at least I've noticed some of the better things it has to offer.
PS: I haven't weighed myself in a few weeks. Gyminee is still going but with the health issues I've had, we decided to resolve those before I got back on the scale. My doctor was quite impressed with my weight loss plan and she believes I'll have much success in the coming months. Expect a weigh-in next week!
I did exactly zero of these things.
Things I did instead:
-Slept.
-Whined.
-Watched the entire series of Alias.
-Watched WAY too much Law and Order: SVU.
-Got frustrated with myself.
-Whined some more.
-Got a little tiny job.
-Lost little tiny job.
-Decided I am my own worst enemy.
-Tried to be introspective.
-Took a nap instead.
-Ate toast.
The upside of this is that I did not spend my months of unemployment eating junk food. I stayed Gyminee-friendly. I did take walks, but not all over Seattle, just around my neighborhood. I've eaten way more fruit than I have vegetables. I whined so much that I grew sick of myself and had to take naps just to avoid my own company.
Over the 4th, Jon and I went to Idaho to camp with my sister and her husband. We'd designated the drive home (8 hours) to make a list of everything I needed to do to get my life in order. My finances are a hot mess and I was dealing with that by avoiding all thought of bills and money. I was in crunch time to find a new job, any job, so we had to make a list of possibilities including: coffee shops, grocery stores, and selling my body in Denny Park. Something about making this list snapped me out of my funk; it was a Come to Jesus moment with my Jewish boyfriend, which is as weird as it sounds.
The next day, I went to visit my friend Vickie, who was about a billion weeks pregnant and getting ready to give birth at any time. I mentioned to her that I wanted to be a nanny and asked for her thoughts (as she was a nanny before she got all Smug Pregnant woman on me). Vickie put my name out on a parenting email list and the next thing I knew, I had prospects emailing me like crazy. Within two weeks, I had found the perfect families and babies and am now happily employed by the Yummy Mummies. And Vickie has given birth to sweet baby Thor, so life moves on.
I can't be fully happy yet though. I am unsatisfied with my behavior of the past few months. Perhaps it was necessary that I tuck away into the cocoon of myself but really it just feels lame, like I wasted 4 months watching life going by. I think I always felt that something was going to come along and save me from all my problems. You would think I would have learned long ago that life doesn't work like this, but apparently my 28-year-old self decided to regress back to my 18-year-old selfishness.
I always try to create perfect scenes in my head and recreate them in real life. For example, I can always perfectly picture myself typing away on my laptop at the bakery down the street from my house, sipping peppermint tea and eating toast and typing words that will change the world (or at least words that will be spelled correctly). But whenever I try to create this scene in real life, it's never how I imagined. The bakery is loud and they are slicing onions in the back, so my eyes are watering and my mascara is running down my cheeks and I have the sniffles. My toast is cold and my peppermint tea kind of tastes like goat cheese (??) and I have no idea what to write about. By the time I sit down and am ready to begin writing, the whole production has exhausted me and I want nothing more than to pack it in and go home and go to sleep.
I'm trying not to be too hard on myself. I'm told my behavior is normal for someone who is unemployed. Productivity begets productivity, so when you have nothing to do, it's hard to do anything. For me though, this doesn't help. I'm a time-waster by nature, perfectly content to spend an entire day reading on the sofa or marathoning some silly television show. I hear people say they get antsy if they don't have anything to do, that they wake up on a Saturday ready to tackle a huge to-do list. I'm not like that. I'd like to change, at least a little bit.
Some of this is due to hormonal issues which have now been taken care of (I hope). A lot of this is due to being overweight which should get much better now that the aforementioned hormonal issues have been resolved. I am not a lost cause. But I'm far from the person I'd like to be. I'd like to be more flexible, able to roll with changes and adapt quickly. I'd like to be on top of my life, from finances to housekeeping to knowing when my passport expires and paying parking tickets on time. I'd like to not snap at Jon for no good reason just because I'm feeling upset with myself for being lazy. And I'd really like to know why my peppermint tea tastes like goat cheese (???).
There's really no point to anything I'm saying right now, no magic moral at the end of this story. If I had to pick a bottom line, I guess it would be that I am ready for things to change. I'm sure getting out of the house every day to go to a job I like will help tremendously. But mostly I think it's time to start taking responsibility for the things about myself I don't like very much and quit making excuses or expecting something or someone to charge in and fix it all.
Thankfulness. It's a lesson I haven't figured out yet, at all.
But I am thankful for people like you who read and listen and come back even when I've tucked myself away for so long. And I'm thankful for a boyfriend who has become a partner and a mirror and comic relief when things get really tough. So maybe I've been watching life going by but at least I've noticed some of the better things it has to offer.
PS: I haven't weighed myself in a few weeks. Gyminee is still going but with the health issues I've had, we decided to resolve those before I got back on the scale. My doctor was quite impressed with my weight loss plan and she believes I'll have much success in the coming months. Expect a weigh-in next week!
Friday, June 05, 2009
I've killed Mii-self.
Almost.
So yesterday was Mayday WeighDay. Because I was so lofty and enlightened for all those years, I do not own a scale. However, I live with a boy so that means I'm fortunate enough to own a Wii (by proxy). And the Wii has the Wii Fit. Which acts as a scale.
The upside to the Wii scale? Making my cute little Mii. She's all decked out in black leggings and a kicky hot pink shirt and she's positively adorable, with her cute little belly and her shiny brown hair. I heart my Mii very much. She's so joyful when we hoola hoop.
The downside to the Wii scale? It breaks my spirit each and every time.
See, when you use the Wii scale as your means of measuring weight, you have to listen to the little cartoon Balance Board on your television. It's so chipper and cheery and makes you think that losing weight and getting into shape is going to be SO EASY AND FUN! It draws you (by way of your cute and round little Mii) in and encourages you to face the music because together, TOGETHER, things are going to be okay! Hooray!
And then you step on the balance board and it goes like this:
Wii Cartoon Balance Board: Step on!! (cheery cheery ISN'T THIS FUN??)
Me: Okay! (Stepping on) I'm so glad to be doing this whatever with you, Wii Cartoon Balance Board! You are so cheery and I just know that you are going to be so supportive and understa--
Wii Cartoon Balance Board: OOOF.
Me: GO TO HELL.
So already it doesn't start well. And it gets worse. It measures your body weight and BMI and then it stands your cute, precious, sweet little Mii up next to a bar graph. The graph shows Healthy, Overweight, OBESE. And it runs through numbers and you and your Mii are clutching hands and so excited to see the fruits of your labor (actually eating fruits instead of ice cream and laboring on a 7.6 mile hike with a 2800 FOOT ELEVATION GAIN) and see the number fall from the UNGODLY number you saw last week.
You guys. YOU GUYS. My number? Went UP by 2 lbs! UP. UUUUUUUU-PPPPPPPP!!!!!
Oh my word. And my Mii? My sweet, cute, kicky pink shirt and black leggings round little Mii? She and I both watched in abject HORROR as the numbers pushed our bar graph UP INTO THE OBESE RANGE. And then, before I could shield her from the damage, she started getting ROUNDER.
That's right. Because I gained 2 effin' lbs, my poor little Mii got fatter. And IT GETS WORSE. Not only did my sweet Mii blimp out a bit more, no, she also STARTED SWEATING.
You guys. I'm killing my Mii. I'm so terrified that if I gain another pound, she's going to go numb in the left arm and her little sweet cartoon heart will EXPLODE ALL OVER THE PLACE.
I have no idea why my number went up. Go onto Gyminee! Go look at what I ate! I was good! I did exercise! I'm doing PUSHUPS. I hiked a muther-effin' 7.6 miles!!!
And still I gain two pounds.
My roommate came home to find me prostrate on the floor, begging and pleading with the Wii Balance Board to have mercy on my sweet little Mii. Defeated and broken. Ready to dive into a pint of ice cream because WHAT DIFFERENCE DOES IT EVEN MAKE?
He then offered a small glimmer of hope. "Why don't you," he said, "go into my bathroom and use my scale? I'm guessing the Wii Balance Board isn't the most accurate, especially on carpet."
God bless him. He has good ideas and he averts his eyes when it's so damn hot outside that I'm wearing tiny little scandalous shorts that nobody with my thighs has any business wearing.
Now, even though I know better (as by this time it was the afternoon and you NEVER, according to Toommate, NEVER weigh yourself in the afternoon. Toommate believes whole-heartedly that you must follow these guidelines for weighing in:
Toommates Guidelines for Weighing In and NOT Killing Yourself:
1) Weigh yourself first thing in the morning.
2) Weigh yourself dry and NEKKID.
But I was desperate. I wanted so badly for those 2lbs to be a fluke of Nintendo and not an accurate representation of my sad, pathetic body. So I rushed into the bathroom of Steenis and stepped on his scale. And let loose with a string of profanities the likes of which I usually reserve for that stupid bitch Delilah (the one on the radio. The horsefaced you-know-what dragon. I hate her. HATE.).
You see, The Scale of Steenis showed my weight at 193. THAT IS ALMOST 200LBS. And it is 6LBS MORE THAN I WEIGHED LAST WEEK.
Shudder. Cringe. Die.
I declared myself officially broken up with food and emailed my guy and Urmy in tears, swearing to never eat again.
Then Slim came home from work and took me out for sashimi and a popsicle.
And then I felt better. Because protein will do that to you, y'all.
This story doesn't end so badly. This morning, after a 5 mile walk, I weighed myself again, this time dry, nekkid, and praying to the Scale of Steenis for a reprieve. 189.4. Still more than last week but better than yesterday.
So you know, this is why I don't usually weigh myself. Because now I'm FACING THE MUSIC. And I'm killing my Mii. And I'm not even killing her softly with my song. I'm killing her slowly with my affinity toward the delicious and my utter loathing for any sort of physical activity that could even resemble exercise.
But I'm determined. I will not let the Evil Wii Cartoon Balance Board defeat me. I WILL NOT BE DEFEATED.
I will just start bribing the Scale of Steenis.
Yeah, that should do the trick.
Please, someone come over and save my Mii from Mii-self.
So yesterday was Mayday WeighDay. Because I was so lofty and enlightened for all those years, I do not own a scale. However, I live with a boy so that means I'm fortunate enough to own a Wii (by proxy). And the Wii has the Wii Fit. Which acts as a scale.
The upside to the Wii scale? Making my cute little Mii. She's all decked out in black leggings and a kicky hot pink shirt and she's positively adorable, with her cute little belly and her shiny brown hair. I heart my Mii very much. She's so joyful when we hoola hoop.
The downside to the Wii scale? It breaks my spirit each and every time.
See, when you use the Wii scale as your means of measuring weight, you have to listen to the little cartoon Balance Board on your television. It's so chipper and cheery and makes you think that losing weight and getting into shape is going to be SO EASY AND FUN! It draws you (by way of your cute and round little Mii) in and encourages you to face the music because together, TOGETHER, things are going to be okay! Hooray!
And then you step on the balance board and it goes like this:
Wii Cartoon Balance Board: Step on!! (cheery cheery ISN'T THIS FUN??)
Me: Okay! (Stepping on) I'm so glad to be doing this whatever with you, Wii Cartoon Balance Board! You are so cheery and I just know that you are going to be so supportive and understa--
Wii Cartoon Balance Board: OOOF.
Me: GO TO HELL.
So already it doesn't start well. And it gets worse. It measures your body weight and BMI and then it stands your cute, precious, sweet little Mii up next to a bar graph. The graph shows Healthy, Overweight, OBESE. And it runs through numbers and you and your Mii are clutching hands and so excited to see the fruits of your labor (actually eating fruits instead of ice cream and laboring on a 7.6 mile hike with a 2800 FOOT ELEVATION GAIN) and see the number fall from the UNGODLY number you saw last week.
You guys. YOU GUYS. My number? Went UP by 2 lbs! UP. UUUUUUUU-PPPPPPPP!!!!!
Oh my word. And my Mii? My sweet, cute, kicky pink shirt and black leggings round little Mii? She and I both watched in abject HORROR as the numbers pushed our bar graph UP INTO THE OBESE RANGE. And then, before I could shield her from the damage, she started getting ROUNDER.
That's right. Because I gained 2 effin' lbs, my poor little Mii got fatter. And IT GETS WORSE. Not only did my sweet Mii blimp out a bit more, no, she also STARTED SWEATING.
You guys. I'm killing my Mii. I'm so terrified that if I gain another pound, she's going to go numb in the left arm and her little sweet cartoon heart will EXPLODE ALL OVER THE PLACE.
I have no idea why my number went up. Go onto Gyminee! Go look at what I ate! I was good! I did exercise! I'm doing PUSHUPS. I hiked a muther-effin' 7.6 miles!!!
And still I gain two pounds.
My roommate came home to find me prostrate on the floor, begging and pleading with the Wii Balance Board to have mercy on my sweet little Mii. Defeated and broken. Ready to dive into a pint of ice cream because WHAT DIFFERENCE DOES IT EVEN MAKE?
He then offered a small glimmer of hope. "Why don't you," he said, "go into my bathroom and use my scale? I'm guessing the Wii Balance Board isn't the most accurate, especially on carpet."
God bless him. He has good ideas and he averts his eyes when it's so damn hot outside that I'm wearing tiny little scandalous shorts that nobody with my thighs has any business wearing.
Now, even though I know better (as by this time it was the afternoon and you NEVER, according to Toommate, NEVER weigh yourself in the afternoon. Toommate believes whole-heartedly that you must follow these guidelines for weighing in:
Toommates Guidelines for Weighing In and NOT Killing Yourself:
1) Weigh yourself first thing in the morning.
2) Weigh yourself dry and NEKKID.
But I was desperate. I wanted so badly for those 2lbs to be a fluke of Nintendo and not an accurate representation of my sad, pathetic body. So I rushed into the bathroom of Steenis and stepped on his scale. And let loose with a string of profanities the likes of which I usually reserve for that stupid bitch Delilah (the one on the radio. The horsefaced you-know-what dragon. I hate her. HATE.).
You see, The Scale of Steenis showed my weight at 193. THAT IS ALMOST 200LBS. And it is 6LBS MORE THAN I WEIGHED LAST WEEK.
Shudder. Cringe. Die.
I declared myself officially broken up with food and emailed my guy and Urmy in tears, swearing to never eat again.
Then Slim came home from work and took me out for sashimi and a popsicle.
And then I felt better. Because protein will do that to you, y'all.
This story doesn't end so badly. This morning, after a 5 mile walk, I weighed myself again, this time dry, nekkid, and praying to the Scale of Steenis for a reprieve. 189.4. Still more than last week but better than yesterday.
So you know, this is why I don't usually weigh myself. Because now I'm FACING THE MUSIC. And I'm killing my Mii. And I'm not even killing her softly with my song. I'm killing her slowly with my affinity toward the delicious and my utter loathing for any sort of physical activity that could even resemble exercise.
But I'm determined. I will not let the Evil Wii Cartoon Balance Board defeat me. I WILL NOT BE DEFEATED.
I will just start bribing the Scale of Steenis.
Yeah, that should do the trick.
Please, someone come over and save my Mii from Mii-self.
Friday, May 29, 2009
The Weight of My Words
I didn't weigh myself for nearly 4 years. I said that weight was just a number and that it didn't define who I was. I was not a number on a scale. I was beyond numbers on a scale. I was ENLIGHTENED!
I was also full of shit.
(Sorry Erica, for the the bad word. But I just really was full of...that.)
See, I'm happy to be all high and mighty and tight-lipped when my weight is quite clearly something I don't want to know. But if the scale said something like 130? I would have tattooed that number on my forehead and then gone shouting in the streets, "I weigh 130 BITCHES!"
It's true.
So the first step, they say, is admitting the problem. And the problem is heavy, guys. The problem actually is about 187lbs of heavy.
Seriously.
Wow, okay. I did it.
Moving on!
So how am I going to solve this 187lb problem? The answer is simple: better food, actual exercise, and motivation.
Better food: find me on www.dailyburn.com (user: BooyahGirl). You'll be able to see what I'm eating every day. You can be my friend and we can motivate each other. Please note that all motivation should be typed LIKE THIS BECAUSE MOTIVATION CLEARLY SHOULD BE IN ALL CAPS! MOTIVATION!!!!!!!!
Actual exercise: I've joined two challenges so far on Gyminee (which is what Daily Burn used to be called, but Gyminee is cuter and we are sticking to that name). I will be doing 1000 push-ups (not all at once, but a few every day) and walking 1000 miles (again, not all at once). We are also going to start hiking and I'm going to be walking Slim to a bus stop 2.3 miles away 3 times a week.
Motivation: First, Slim and I are choosing one treat to enjoy each weekend, only if we've done very well on our Gyminee goals during the week. Second, I've decided on a reward for every milestone:
10lbs: hiking pants
15lbs: one Yoga class a week
20lbs: a new swimsuit
25lbs: Haircut/color
Etc.
I told Slim that I wanted to get to a point where I felt comfortable to wear a bikini top with shorts. He told me that when I reach that goal, he wanted to do something special as a reward.
That reward?
That's right, guys. HAWAII! I've already set that picture as my desktop background *and* I've downloaded some Hawaiian music onto my iPod for my workouts.
So there you have it. My plan to tell this extra weight, "Aloha," and to finally see what 140lbs looks like.
Come onto Gyminee and be my friend. Follow along here. Offer advice!
I'm going to kick ass on this Whatever. Mark my words! My weighty, weighty words.
I was also full of shit.
(Sorry Erica, for the the bad word. But I just really was full of...that.)
See, I'm happy to be all high and mighty and tight-lipped when my weight is quite clearly something I don't want to know. But if the scale said something like 130? I would have tattooed that number on my forehead and then gone shouting in the streets, "I weigh 130 BITCHES!"
It's true.
So the first step, they say, is admitting the problem. And the problem is heavy, guys. The problem actually is about 187lbs of heavy.
Seriously.
Wow, okay. I did it.
Moving on!
So how am I going to solve this 187lb problem? The answer is simple: better food, actual exercise, and motivation.
Better food: find me on www.dailyburn.com (user: BooyahGirl). You'll be able to see what I'm eating every day. You can be my friend and we can motivate each other. Please note that all motivation should be typed LIKE THIS BECAUSE MOTIVATION CLEARLY SHOULD BE IN ALL CAPS! MOTIVATION!!!!!!!!
Actual exercise: I've joined two challenges so far on Gyminee (which is what Daily Burn used to be called, but Gyminee is cuter and we are sticking to that name). I will be doing 1000 push-ups (not all at once, but a few every day) and walking 1000 miles (again, not all at once). We are also going to start hiking and I'm going to be walking Slim to a bus stop 2.3 miles away 3 times a week.
Motivation: First, Slim and I are choosing one treat to enjoy each weekend, only if we've done very well on our Gyminee goals during the week. Second, I've decided on a reward for every milestone:
10lbs: hiking pants
15lbs: one Yoga class a week
20lbs: a new swimsuit
25lbs: Haircut/color
Etc.
I told Slim that I wanted to get to a point where I felt comfortable to wear a bikini top with shorts. He told me that when I reach that goal, he wanted to do something special as a reward.
That reward?
That's right, guys. HAWAII! I've already set that picture as my desktop background *and* I've downloaded some Hawaiian music onto my iPod for my workouts.
So there you have it. My plan to tell this extra weight, "Aloha," and to finally see what 140lbs looks like.
Come onto Gyminee and be my friend. Follow along here. Offer advice!
I'm going to kick ass on this Whatever. Mark my words! My weighty, weighty words.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Again we meet...(AND! I'm fat!)
After a long, awkward silence, I usually do a sort of a sheepish laugh. My sister does it too. It's kind of a quiet, awkward, "hahahahaha..." sort of laugh.
So let me just do that now.
Hahahahaha...
Yes, it's been awhile. I don't mean to disappear but I run out of words sometimes. Okay, not so much run OUT of words, but instead of writing my words, I think my words. I think my words and then I can't sleep. I can't sleep because of all the words spinning through my head. And then I get an idea of how I want to put my words and I come crawling back to the blog, all sheepish and silly-like, and promise to do better in the future.
Lather, rinse, repeat. And here we find ourselves yet AGAIN.
When last we left, I was no longer a Christian. Granted, that had happened WAY before that post, but still. Those were the last words I shared.
Since then, much has happened:
-I moved in with my friend Paul and have discovered the joys of living with a boy (hint: VIDEO GAMES)
-Linds came for an extended, much-anticipated vacation.
-The economy was tanking, allowing my job to give me a permanent, not-at-all-anticipated, vacation. A vacation that does not allow me to live the life to which I had grown accustomed, a fact that is more and more evident as I approach $0 in my checking account.
-Slim and I went to the Great North for Passover, where I participated in my first Seder and met the extended family.
-Baseball season started! Hooray! Go Yankees!
-I got fat.
Being unemployed, especially unexpectedly, puts a girl in the position of having options. She can either use her free time to play outside, exercise, breathe fresh air, and cook delicious and healthful food...OR...she can sit on her sofa, pantsless, eating miniature candy bars and throwing the wrappers on the floor, one after the other, while wallowing.
You guys. I wallowed.
In other news, last Friday night Slim and I were going on a double date with a couple we'd not yet been out with. I'm not sure what it is about being in a relationship that makes you desperate to find couple-y friends to double date with, but we're no exception to that anomaly. So I was all excited, getting ready for our date with a new(!) couple. Seattle has officially welcomed Spring and the weather was perfect for a pretty sun dress and a jean jacket.
Enter my ass. Well, that's not entirely true. The dress went up over the ass. It even went up over the stomach (ish). However, the zipper was no match for my...ahem...abilities. Sure enough, the zipper went on strike in the middle of my rib cage. I think I heard it groan, although that might have been me.
You guys. YOU GUYS. That dress FIT last summer. It fit beautifully last summer. And the saddest part? I bought it because NONE of my other dresses fit (they were, alas, too small).
I've never claimed to be good at math, but even I know that this equals NO GOOD. It was my come to Jesus moment and, if you read the previous post, you know that must mean A LOT.
So I have to do something. I was having tea last night with my darling friend Urmy Urmy La La, who has recently lost a ton of weight and is currently training for a half-marathon. Urmy got me excited months ago about getting into shape and eating healthfully, but I lost all of that motivation when I lost my job. I decided to confess all my sins to Urmy and have her be straight with me about what I should do next. She made me come with her to her house (WALKING, not driving, from the tea shop, a whole 2 BLOCKS) and armed me with some very light dumbbells, an exercise guide, and a Caramello Koala. (Yes, I know. I KNOW. But chocolate! Caramel! In the shape of a koala! WHAT ABOUT THAT IS NOT AWESOME??) She and I also pinky-swore that I would start logging everything I ate on the website she swears by, www.gyminee.com.
I got home, put the dumbbells in the corner, tucked the exercise guide into my bookcase, and promptly devoured the cute and delicious koala. As I licked the caramel off of my fingers, I SWORE to myself that I would start fresh the next morning, faithfully putting good things into my body and logging everything on Gyminee.
I know me though. I need more motivation. I need more accountability.
So here I am. I'm going to chronicle my Whatever*. I'm going to let you guys see me through the laughter, sweat, blood, tears, and stretch marks. I'm going to be brutally honest with myself and lay things out honestly. And you can give me hell if I disappear again.
Here's more motivation: as I sat on the floor with a too-small sun dress crumpled around my middle, defeated by my own body, I realized I'd been thinking/worrying/stressing about my weight for 16 years. I went on my first diet at age 12, y'all. Enough is enough.
Next up? I'm going to weigh myself and (gasp) BROADCAST my results to the internets. That's right, guys. Things just got CRAZY in here.
I'm ready for a fight. The pants? They are off!
(Maybe because they no longer fit, but still. GARRY OWEN!)
*One might use the word 'journey,' but as I am a fierce believer that the word 'journey' should only be used when someone has decided not to stop believin', I'm going to call this my 'whatever'.
So let me just do that now.
Hahahahaha...
Yes, it's been awhile. I don't mean to disappear but I run out of words sometimes. Okay, not so much run OUT of words, but instead of writing my words, I think my words. I think my words and then I can't sleep. I can't sleep because of all the words spinning through my head. And then I get an idea of how I want to put my words and I come crawling back to the blog, all sheepish and silly-like, and promise to do better in the future.
Lather, rinse, repeat. And here we find ourselves yet AGAIN.
When last we left, I was no longer a Christian. Granted, that had happened WAY before that post, but still. Those were the last words I shared.
Since then, much has happened:
-I moved in with my friend Paul and have discovered the joys of living with a boy (hint: VIDEO GAMES)
-Linds came for an extended, much-anticipated vacation.
-The economy was tanking, allowing my job to give me a permanent, not-at-all-anticipated, vacation. A vacation that does not allow me to live the life to which I had grown accustomed, a fact that is more and more evident as I approach $0 in my checking account.
-Slim and I went to the Great North for Passover, where I participated in my first Seder and met the extended family.
-Baseball season started! Hooray! Go Yankees!
-I got fat.
Being unemployed, especially unexpectedly, puts a girl in the position of having options. She can either use her free time to play outside, exercise, breathe fresh air, and cook delicious and healthful food...OR...she can sit on her sofa, pantsless, eating miniature candy bars and throwing the wrappers on the floor, one after the other, while wallowing.
You guys. I wallowed.
In other news, last Friday night Slim and I were going on a double date with a couple we'd not yet been out with. I'm not sure what it is about being in a relationship that makes you desperate to find couple-y friends to double date with, but we're no exception to that anomaly. So I was all excited, getting ready for our date with a new(!) couple. Seattle has officially welcomed Spring and the weather was perfect for a pretty sun dress and a jean jacket.
Enter my ass. Well, that's not entirely true. The dress went up over the ass. It even went up over the stomach (ish). However, the zipper was no match for my...ahem...abilities. Sure enough, the zipper went on strike in the middle of my rib cage. I think I heard it groan, although that might have been me.
You guys. YOU GUYS. That dress FIT last summer. It fit beautifully last summer. And the saddest part? I bought it because NONE of my other dresses fit (they were, alas, too small).
I've never claimed to be good at math, but even I know that this equals NO GOOD. It was my come to Jesus moment and, if you read the previous post, you know that must mean A LOT.
So I have to do something. I was having tea last night with my darling friend Urmy Urmy La La, who has recently lost a ton of weight and is currently training for a half-marathon. Urmy got me excited months ago about getting into shape and eating healthfully, but I lost all of that motivation when I lost my job. I decided to confess all my sins to Urmy and have her be straight with me about what I should do next. She made me come with her to her house (WALKING, not driving, from the tea shop, a whole 2 BLOCKS) and armed me with some very light dumbbells, an exercise guide, and a Caramello Koala. (Yes, I know. I KNOW. But chocolate! Caramel! In the shape of a koala! WHAT ABOUT THAT IS NOT AWESOME??) She and I also pinky-swore that I would start logging everything I ate on the website she swears by, www.gyminee.com.
I got home, put the dumbbells in the corner, tucked the exercise guide into my bookcase, and promptly devoured the cute and delicious koala. As I licked the caramel off of my fingers, I SWORE to myself that I would start fresh the next morning, faithfully putting good things into my body and logging everything on Gyminee.
I know me though. I need more motivation. I need more accountability.
So here I am. I'm going to chronicle my Whatever*. I'm going to let you guys see me through the laughter, sweat, blood, tears, and stretch marks. I'm going to be brutally honest with myself and lay things out honestly. And you can give me hell if I disappear again.
Here's more motivation: as I sat on the floor with a too-small sun dress crumpled around my middle, defeated by my own body, I realized I'd been thinking/worrying/stressing about my weight for 16 years. I went on my first diet at age 12, y'all. Enough is enough.
Next up? I'm going to weigh myself and (gasp) BROADCAST my results to the internets. That's right, guys. Things just got CRAZY in here.
I'm ready for a fight. The pants? They are off!
(Maybe because they no longer fit, but still. GARRY OWEN!)
*One might use the word 'journey,' but as I am a fierce believer that the word 'journey' should only be used when someone has decided not to stop believin', I'm going to call this my 'whatever'.
Tuesday, February 03, 2009
Confessions of a Former Christian
I don't usually write about the God-stuff here because honestly, there's some fear there. Who's reading this? A former Phi Lamb sister? A former prayer-partner? Maybe someone who is still trying to rescue my soul from the depths of wherever souls go when they decide that maybe they don't believe in the doctrine of Jesus anymore?
Who can know, right?
But a dear friend, one with whom I share quite a history and about whom I care very deeply, recently posed some questions to me and I promised him some answers. It's just hard.
Why? Because I'm not sure how these unknown readers will react. To some of my friends who ran in the same Jesus-y circle, I've ceased to be who I am and instead have become another soul to save, another lost little lamb to rescue. For the record, and before I get into this stuff, the people who see me in this way do so with much love. They love me and therefore want me to be with God for eternity. And according to Christian beliefs, my view of religion now most likely will not allow this.
A bit of background: 10 years ago, I joined a Christian sorority called Sigma Phi Lambda (Sisters for the Lord). I donned my pretty pink t-shirt with the Bible verse, threw on a matchy matchy pretty pink bandana, and dove full-force into the Christian Bubble at A&M. It was a game and I was a fast learner. I knew the right people, prayed the right prayers, sang the right songs, and felt convicted about the popular things. It wasn't real. I wasn't real. And it nearly killed me.
Hear me on one thing and then I will honestly answer the questions. I am not questioning the authenticity of any of the people who ran in this bubble with me. You can never know what someone truly believes. I just know that *I* wasn't real, that I lied about praying for others, that I pretended to follow God, when really I was running screaming from God because I didn't like what I was learning. Something deep down wasn't agreeing with it. And if I'd admitted that to myself? If I'd allowed myself to voice my questions out loud? Then I was a sham. I was a fake and a sham and I couldn't handle that. So I continued the charade until I dropped out of school a few years later and was on my own for the first time and God and I faced off.
So here are the questions I was asked by my friend:
1) What made you change your view on God?
2) You mentioned that your personal belief in God allowed you to live with homosexuality not being a choice and that you are praying to God for change in our country. Is your God still the God of The Bible or a different God?
3) Who, now, would you say that Jesus is?
These are good questions. These are questions that have been in my mind for the two months since he asked them. And now, I'll them my best shot.
1) What made you change your view on God?
This is a great question with a fairly simple answer: honesty. I'd been lying for so long and telling myself that I believed everything everyone around me said. Meanwhile, I was breaking down emotionally and mentally. My family was falling apart. I left College Station and came home to hibernate and help my mother. For the first time, I allowed myself to be angry with God which is funny because the things going on around me had zero to do with religion and everything to do with myself. I didn't know who I was and I couldn't make any decisions, let alone about something as lasting as God, until I knew who I was.
So I fought my way out of the pit and faced the life around me and made my own decisions. And that's what changed my view on God.
2) You mentioned that your personal belief in God allowed you to live with homosexuality not being a choice and that you are praying to God for change in our country. Is your God still the God of the Bible or a different God?
The God of the Bible or another God...that's a lot of math and a lot of deities. I don't know, truthfully. I find myself (and always have been) drawn to the Old Testament. For some reason, it always seemed more real to me. But I don't think I believe the Bible to be literally the word of God. I believe it to be a collection of teachings passed on through many generations. And the New Testament? I'm not sure.
But I do believe God is the same; we just see him differently depending on our own interpretation. I believe the God I believe in is the same God of the Hindu religion. I believe in many interpretations, many ways of relating to the same God. This is not meant to be disrespectful; this is just what I believe about God. I'll get into this more in the next question.
3) Who, now, would you say that Jesus is?
Oh, Christ. (Hehehee. Couldn't help myself.) Jesus, yes. Here's my thing with Jesus, and the reason I am no longer a Christian. To be a Christian, you must believe in the teachings of Jesus. And for the most part, I can. I can get behind the exultation to feed the hungry and help those in poverty. The man made a lot of sense. I just can't believe in One Path Salvation.
I believe in God as the creator of the universe and humanity. And I believe he cares about his creation, cares in such a deep way that my human understanding can not even comprehend it. I've come away from my time with God with the belief that he is fiercely protective of his creation and, as a result of such protectiveness, has supplied the humanity with free will. Now, Christianity teaches that we have free will. But Christianity also teaches One Path Salvation, which is basically saying we all come to a point where we have to decide to use our free will to believe in Jesus as the Son of God and the way to eternal glory. I feel as though that's a gross contradiction. Free will (true free will) and One Path Salvation don't go together; they are like trying to push together similar ends of a magnet; they repel. When you apply One Path Salvation to free will, you get free will with strings. I can't believe in that. And I don't believe this is the God that I've come to know. Why would he make us all so different if he wanted us to reach the same conclusion, if he wanted us to be the same? For me, personally, this is not the God in whom I believe.
And if I'm wrong? If God truly did create free will with strings? I don't want to believe in that god. And if the consequence of my choice is eternal separation from God (which I don't believe in either), then I'm truly fine with that, as I don't want to spend eternity with a god that cruel.
So there you have it. My long overdue answers to some very good questions.
Again, these are the beliefs of one girl. But I fought like hell to find something I could believe in for myself.
Here's the thing that spurs me on in my studies of other religions and other ways to see God: There was an ancient Jewish teacher called Hillel. When asked by a non-Jew to relate all the Torah had to say while standing on one foot, Hillel replied, "Do not unto your neighbor what you would not have him do unto you; this is the whole Law; the rest is commentary. Now go study."
I believe this. The rest is commentary and I'm studying that.
Fin.
Who can know, right?
But a dear friend, one with whom I share quite a history and about whom I care very deeply, recently posed some questions to me and I promised him some answers. It's just hard.
Why? Because I'm not sure how these unknown readers will react. To some of my friends who ran in the same Jesus-y circle, I've ceased to be who I am and instead have become another soul to save, another lost little lamb to rescue. For the record, and before I get into this stuff, the people who see me in this way do so with much love. They love me and therefore want me to be with God for eternity. And according to Christian beliefs, my view of religion now most likely will not allow this.
A bit of background: 10 years ago, I joined a Christian sorority called Sigma Phi Lambda (Sisters for the Lord). I donned my pretty pink t-shirt with the Bible verse, threw on a matchy matchy pretty pink bandana, and dove full-force into the Christian Bubble at A&M. It was a game and I was a fast learner. I knew the right people, prayed the right prayers, sang the right songs, and felt convicted about the popular things. It wasn't real. I wasn't real. And it nearly killed me.
Hear me on one thing and then I will honestly answer the questions. I am not questioning the authenticity of any of the people who ran in this bubble with me. You can never know what someone truly believes. I just know that *I* wasn't real, that I lied about praying for others, that I pretended to follow God, when really I was running screaming from God because I didn't like what I was learning. Something deep down wasn't agreeing with it. And if I'd admitted that to myself? If I'd allowed myself to voice my questions out loud? Then I was a sham. I was a fake and a sham and I couldn't handle that. So I continued the charade until I dropped out of school a few years later and was on my own for the first time and God and I faced off.
So here are the questions I was asked by my friend:
1) What made you change your view on God?
2) You mentioned that your personal belief in God allowed you to live with homosexuality not being a choice and that you are praying to God for change in our country. Is your God still the God of The Bible or a different God?
3) Who, now, would you say that Jesus is?
These are good questions. These are questions that have been in my mind for the two months since he asked them. And now, I'll them my best shot.
1) What made you change your view on God?
This is a great question with a fairly simple answer: honesty. I'd been lying for so long and telling myself that I believed everything everyone around me said. Meanwhile, I was breaking down emotionally and mentally. My family was falling apart. I left College Station and came home to hibernate and help my mother. For the first time, I allowed myself to be angry with God which is funny because the things going on around me had zero to do with religion and everything to do with myself. I didn't know who I was and I couldn't make any decisions, let alone about something as lasting as God, until I knew who I was.
So I fought my way out of the pit and faced the life around me and made my own decisions. And that's what changed my view on God.
2) You mentioned that your personal belief in God allowed you to live with homosexuality not being a choice and that you are praying to God for change in our country. Is your God still the God of the Bible or a different God?
The God of the Bible or another God...that's a lot of math and a lot of deities. I don't know, truthfully. I find myself (and always have been) drawn to the Old Testament. For some reason, it always seemed more real to me. But I don't think I believe the Bible to be literally the word of God. I believe it to be a collection of teachings passed on through many generations. And the New Testament? I'm not sure.
But I do believe God is the same; we just see him differently depending on our own interpretation. I believe the God I believe in is the same God of the Hindu religion. I believe in many interpretations, many ways of relating to the same God. This is not meant to be disrespectful; this is just what I believe about God. I'll get into this more in the next question.
3) Who, now, would you say that Jesus is?
Oh, Christ. (Hehehee. Couldn't help myself.) Jesus, yes. Here's my thing with Jesus, and the reason I am no longer a Christian. To be a Christian, you must believe in the teachings of Jesus. And for the most part, I can. I can get behind the exultation to feed the hungry and help those in poverty. The man made a lot of sense. I just can't believe in One Path Salvation.
I believe in God as the creator of the universe and humanity. And I believe he cares about his creation, cares in such a deep way that my human understanding can not even comprehend it. I've come away from my time with God with the belief that he is fiercely protective of his creation and, as a result of such protectiveness, has supplied the humanity with free will. Now, Christianity teaches that we have free will. But Christianity also teaches One Path Salvation, which is basically saying we all come to a point where we have to decide to use our free will to believe in Jesus as the Son of God and the way to eternal glory. I feel as though that's a gross contradiction. Free will (true free will) and One Path Salvation don't go together; they are like trying to push together similar ends of a magnet; they repel. When you apply One Path Salvation to free will, you get free will with strings. I can't believe in that. And I don't believe this is the God that I've come to know. Why would he make us all so different if he wanted us to reach the same conclusion, if he wanted us to be the same? For me, personally, this is not the God in whom I believe.
And if I'm wrong? If God truly did create free will with strings? I don't want to believe in that god. And if the consequence of my choice is eternal separation from God (which I don't believe in either), then I'm truly fine with that, as I don't want to spend eternity with a god that cruel.
So there you have it. My long overdue answers to some very good questions.
Again, these are the beliefs of one girl. But I fought like hell to find something I could believe in for myself.
Here's the thing that spurs me on in my studies of other religions and other ways to see God: There was an ancient Jewish teacher called Hillel. When asked by a non-Jew to relate all the Torah had to say while standing on one foot, Hillel replied, "Do not unto your neighbor what you would not have him do unto you; this is the whole Law; the rest is commentary. Now go study."
I believe this. The rest is commentary and I'm studying that.
Fin.
Wednesday, January 07, 2009
The Great Christmas Cookie Massacre of 2008
New year, more blogging? Potentially. However, I try not to make promises I cannot keep and we've all seen how faithful I am to this blog. It's a complicated relationship, guys. We do really well for awhile, spending so much time together, really feeling like we're in sync. And then it tapers off a bit. One of us feels disconnected from the other. Words are thrown about carelessly. Then, worse still, words are stopped altogether. Silence.
Until one day one of us misses the words. And checks back in to see how things are going. To see if words are still there.
And today? They are...ish.
I'm coughing again. Which means it's January in Seattle and this is when I get pneumonia. Now, please don't worry. I don't have pneumonia right now. BUT. I remember last year at this time. I started to feel a little bit sniffly. And then I had a wee bit of a sore throat. Then a cough. And then the next thing I knew, pneumonia was all up in my business. And the mean doctor said that since I've had pneumonia once before, I'm 70% more likely to get it again.
How is that even fair? Shouldn't pneumonia be like the chicken pox? You get it, you itch, it sucks, bada bing, you're done!
Also? The doctor should realize that you should never tell a pseudo (or not so pseudo) hypochondriac that she's MORE likely to get a certain illness. Because now every time I sneeze I think, "OMG. I have the pneumonia!" and then I realize that pneumonia isn't a sneezy thing, so I feel better for a split second until I realize it could be a tumor in my central sneezing-system. And THEN I think I might have gotten the plague somehow, like maybe when I was on the airplane over the holidays. The guy next to me seemed a bit plague-y. His socks didn't match. If that's not a sign of plague-induced delirium, well then I have no idea.
I went home to Texas for the holiday and spent a lovely 10 days with my family. Mateo got married and it was lovely. My brother came home and hung out with me a bit and it was lovely. I baked 4 kinds of cookies and it was lovely. AND we had a Christmas Cookie Massacre, which was not so much lovely as it was a blood bath of epic proportions.
See, we always decorate cookies and it's always fun. This year we had some rad neon icing and the help of Linds. AND we had Elf on the DVD player. How much more Christmas-y can you get? The answer is none. None more Christmas-y.
So we made lovely cookies. Snowmen and stockings and candy canes and doves and geese and even special ornament cookies with winter scenes, the earth, a nativity, and the Russian flag. And it was all wonderful...until the blood bath. The tragedy. The Great Cookie Massacre of 2008, which tops even last year's cookie catastrophy when Miss D dropped the icing gun on my most beautiful snowflake.
It's difficult to talk about. I'll let the picture explain. If you have children in the room, you ought to cover their eyes:
It's hard to know what happened. We have theories, of course. It clearly looks like the dove went crazy on the snowman and goose. But that's really all we can be sure of. My sister's friend Jen stopped by and saw the Massacre and had her own questions.
Jen: But why would the dove do that?
Ceci and Me: We have NO idea why the dove would do that? Isn't it awful?
Jen: No, but really. Why would the dove decapitate a snowman and a goose?
Ceci and Me: We have no clue! Isn't it so strange?
I'm sorry to burst your holiday happiness bubbles, gentle readers. But I feel it's important to be real with you, to let you know how the holidays can go very horribly wrong. And sometimes there is no explanation.
MUCH like my absence from the blog. Sometimes I just don't write. And I don't know WHY! Isn't it awful?
But, so as not to leave you with a graphic image of violence, I shall close out this reunion post with a much happier image:
That's Moo. She's on a beach in Oregon. And she's the happiest she's ever been.
Here's looking forward to more words in 2009!
Until one day one of us misses the words. And checks back in to see how things are going. To see if words are still there.
And today? They are...ish.
I'm coughing again. Which means it's January in Seattle and this is when I get pneumonia. Now, please don't worry. I don't have pneumonia right now. BUT. I remember last year at this time. I started to feel a little bit sniffly. And then I had a wee bit of a sore throat. Then a cough. And then the next thing I knew, pneumonia was all up in my business. And the mean doctor said that since I've had pneumonia once before, I'm 70% more likely to get it again.
How is that even fair? Shouldn't pneumonia be like the chicken pox? You get it, you itch, it sucks, bada bing, you're done!
Also? The doctor should realize that you should never tell a pseudo (or not so pseudo) hypochondriac that she's MORE likely to get a certain illness. Because now every time I sneeze I think, "OMG. I have the pneumonia!" and then I realize that pneumonia isn't a sneezy thing, so I feel better for a split second until I realize it could be a tumor in my central sneezing-system. And THEN I think I might have gotten the plague somehow, like maybe when I was on the airplane over the holidays. The guy next to me seemed a bit plague-y. His socks didn't match. If that's not a sign of plague-induced delirium, well then I have no idea.
I went home to Texas for the holiday and spent a lovely 10 days with my family. Mateo got married and it was lovely. My brother came home and hung out with me a bit and it was lovely. I baked 4 kinds of cookies and it was lovely. AND we had a Christmas Cookie Massacre, which was not so much lovely as it was a blood bath of epic proportions.
See, we always decorate cookies and it's always fun. This year we had some rad neon icing and the help of Linds. AND we had Elf on the DVD player. How much more Christmas-y can you get? The answer is none. None more Christmas-y.
So we made lovely cookies. Snowmen and stockings and candy canes and doves and geese and even special ornament cookies with winter scenes, the earth, a nativity, and the Russian flag. And it was all wonderful...until the blood bath. The tragedy. The Great Cookie Massacre of 2008, which tops even last year's cookie catastrophy when Miss D dropped the icing gun on my most beautiful snowflake.
It's difficult to talk about. I'll let the picture explain. If you have children in the room, you ought to cover their eyes:
It's hard to know what happened. We have theories, of course. It clearly looks like the dove went crazy on the snowman and goose. But that's really all we can be sure of. My sister's friend Jen stopped by and saw the Massacre and had her own questions.
Jen: But why would the dove do that?
Ceci and Me: We have NO idea why the dove would do that? Isn't it awful?
Jen: No, but really. Why would the dove decapitate a snowman and a goose?
Ceci and Me: We have no clue! Isn't it so strange?
I'm sorry to burst your holiday happiness bubbles, gentle readers. But I feel it's important to be real with you, to let you know how the holidays can go very horribly wrong. And sometimes there is no explanation.
MUCH like my absence from the blog. Sometimes I just don't write. And I don't know WHY! Isn't it awful?
But, so as not to leave you with a graphic image of violence, I shall close out this reunion post with a much happier image:
That's Moo. She's on a beach in Oregon. And she's the happiest she's ever been.
Here's looking forward to more words in 2009!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
