How long does it take to slip back into old habits? I'm sure there's some scientific study that explains this, but for me, it's about one day, maybe two. YG is off traveling and I am on my third day of being during exhausted during the daylight hours and reading like a fiend and trolling around on the Internets into the wee hours of the night. Also, not a vegetable in sight.
So let us take a minute to praise the YG. He's off in San Francisco doing this: Presidio School of Management's Executive Program in Sustainable Management . He *never* does anything for himself, so while I'm proud of him for getting into an exclusive program, I'm almost more proud of him for putting the effort into something that HE (not me, not the MG, not the ECT)loves. He deserves it.
He'll be away in SF for two days during each of the next few months, and I figured I'd use my time alone to work on my writing projects -- editing some of the pieces I prepared for last year's classes, getting prepped for my new class, and working on some of the items in the Exercises for Writers book that's been collecting dust on my desk.
I underestimated how much of a good influence YG is on my motivation and my general habits, though. He makes me bring my A game and with him 2000 miles away, I have been pretty much the sloth I was before I met him. Things I've done sans YG (none of which include writing):
* Discovered Brick Breaker game on my phone. Played until thumb cramped.
* Ran 8 miles in two days.
* Stayed late at work. Not actually working the whole time. More like the work/gossip action combo.
* Consumed three grilled vegetable burritos with guacamole.
* Roamed Davis. Roamed Davis again. Read books and people watched.
* Stayed up until 1 a.m. reading Suite Francaise.
* Ended up having my first caffeine in months to get through the next day.
* Vowed not to do that again but stayed up until 1:30 the next night reading as well.
* Had iPhone envy. Spent ridiculous amount of time watching SKB download new applications. Favorites include iSaber and this crazy song recognition application that allows you to sing parts of a song, recognizes said song and tells you where you can get it. From this we learned that The Golden Girls theme song was originally sung by Andrew Gold. Who knew?
* Facebook. Enough said.
* Blog stalked.
* Ignored my pile of mail.
* Ignored the wedding photos that need to be cataloged.
* Ignored the last three remaining thank you notes that need to be sent out.
* Completely avoided the cat tumbleweeds.
Tomorrow, I'll be bringing the MG back to her mom's house and depending on the weather, I'm either going to ride the rail trail or go to the beach and read. Maybe tomorrow night I will write, but that's looking doubtful at this point. I will most likely use that time to try and get back to "normal," or even more likely, do any of the things on the list above.
Friday, July 11, 2008
Tuesday, July 08, 2008
I Didn't Stab Anyone on Vacation
Given the mood I was in when I left last week, vacation was everything I needed.
Will write more later, but highlights included:
* Beach every day
* A visit with NN and KL and Wy
* Outlet shopping
* Yankees/Red Sox at the Stadium with Arthur Avenue Italian before
* Mom's 60th birthday party
* The Water Club
* NYC Fourth of July fireworks
Some pics to hold you over.
The beauty of Long Island.
Our beach.
East River fireworks seen from The Water Club.
More pics here.
Will write more later, but highlights included:
* Beach every day
* A visit with NN and KL and Wy
* Outlet shopping
* Yankees/Red Sox at the Stadium with Arthur Avenue Italian before
* Mom's 60th birthday party
* The Water Club
* NYC Fourth of July fireworks
Some pics to hold you over.
The beauty of Long Island.
Our beach.
East River fireworks seen from The Water Club.
More pics here.
Friday, June 27, 2008
Raging Against the MBTA
Alternate titles for this post:
1. Fuck you motherfucker
2. Why I can't shop at the Shaws in Porter Square anymore
3. Need more pills
4. Pyschotic Episode: the 95-degree Red Line addition
As I mentioned last night, the Red Line has been sucking of late. Always slow, always hot, always annoying. But I hate driving in the city and I'm trying to be greener and I am a big believer in public transporation, so I take the T.
I had an appointment in Boston at 6 p.m. tonight. I left our house around 5, took the stroll down to Davis and gave myself a mental high five when I realized that the train was sitting in the station waiting for me. I found myself a seat, whipped out my copy of Sisterhood Interrupted like the wannabe college student I am (see: feminist literature, glasses, oh-so-cynical disposition) and settled in.
5:20: Train is still not moving, and getting rather crowded. People are getting antsy. A woman that was born around the same time as John the Baptist is getting extremely vocal about the hold up. "Young man, young man. Go ask what the delay is." A young dude obliges. "Traffic" is the answer we get back.
5:22: Still sitting in the station. No AC. More people crowding on and much more bitching. John the Baptist Lady still annoyed. She has an appointment she needs to get to. The rest of us are apparently just hanging out.
5:25: Doors close and we finally start moving, if you can call it that. The train lurches pitifully out of the station and we start inching toward Porter. I relearn Valerie Solanas.
5:30: We arrive at Porter Square. Doors open and stay open. Again, no AC. I should mention here that it is about 95 degrees out and humid. People are now visibly and vocally agitated.
5:32: John the Baptist's sister gets off the train and starts yelling at the conductor the way only an old lady can. "You are a very stupid driver. You are a very stupid driver of this train, young lady."
5:33: More grumbling. It starts to smell like B.O. Probably mine.
5:34: We're still at the station. I put the book away and ask the conductor if we're going to have delays at every station. She says yes, so I decide to cut my losses.
5:35: I head over to the Porter Square plaza because there are always cabs picking and dropping off at Shaw's and I figure I can grab one. I call my appointment and confirm that I can come in late -- that 6:30 is okay.
5:40: No cabs at Porter. I start a line and am immediately joined by a few others who left the subway. It is beyond hellish hot.
5:45: Give up and call a cab. They tell me 20 minutes and I say I can't wait that long. I call another cab company. They tell me someone is coming right away. Wussy looking guy next to me does the same.
5:50: No cab.
5:55: Still no cab. Call YG and vent, giving him reaon to remember that the crazy is always lurking somewhere within me.
5:56: Wussy guy and I chat about how much this very much fucking blows.
5:57: My cab is still not here, but a Green Cab pulls up. Because I am first in line, I open the door and hop in. The driver tells me that I cannot have this cab because it is not MY cab. I ask if he is there for a pick up specifically and he says no. So I tell him that I need him to take me to Boston. He again says he's not picking up, that I need to take the cab that's coming for me. I tell him that I'm tired of waiting, can he take me? He orders me out of the cab and tells me that I need to wait. All of this is done with an accent I can't really understand so there's a lot of "huh? what? I don't understand" too.
5:58: As I'm getting out of the cab, sweaty and angry, I shout, "Are you fucking kidding me with this shit?" The driver starts swearing back, and as we're arguing, Wussy Guy gets in the backseat and tells the guy he wants to go to South Station. I shout, "Wait a minute! He's waiting for another cab too. HE NEEDS TO WAIT TOO!" and start grabbing at the door handle. The driver starts to pull away with a final "Bitch, you crazy."
5:59: I do not take the high road. I take the very low road. I start pounding on the window, screaming, "Fuck you, motherfucker" and to the Wussy Guy that stole the cab, "I hope I don't find you, Fuckface, because I'll fucking stab you, fucker."
The two of them actually LAUGH.
6:00: I stomp back to the sidewalk, kick some bottles that are lying around and SHAKE. I am too in my fit of rage to be fucking mortified, but there are people watching me. People shopping, people trying to enjoy their coffees outside the bookstore...people.
6:03: My cab finally shows up. The driver must sense that I am a mess because he asks me to "tell me everything." I give him the whole story, tell him that I need to get to Boston by 6:30. He tells me not to worry, that he'll get me there. He also has AC so I am in love with him.
6:04: We hit Somerville Ave and it's a traffic nightmare. He asks me to trust him and not to judge his route. I tell him I won't.
6:24: We pull up at my appointment. I tip big and tell the driver that he is awesome.
6:25: Appointment. Re-tell story. Receptionist calls a bunch of friends who are also bitching about the suckage of the Red Line. I decide that I'm going to pollute the environment AND waste money and cab it back.
7:00: Hail another cab. This time the driver is a really friendly singer who sings the whole way back to Cambridge and tells me that I look like a professor. He adds, "a smart professor."
7:25: Back at Davis. Buy burrito.
7:35: Home. Eat burrito, drink champagne. Chase with fro yo.
Now: Totally in my head, reliving the crazy. WTF? I am not a rager, but I sometimes end up in these situations where I totally and completely enter a fit of rage and go off the deep end. Where the crazy is way beyond the suckage of the situation. I told some guy I was going to STAB him. I am beyond mortified. And I'm so afraid that there's going to be "Wanted" pictures of me in the Porter Square parking lot.
My God.
And, oh, the appointment? Was a wax appointment. Apparently, a neatly-groomed vagina and smooth legs are important enough to me that I'm willing to risk possibly landing in jail to get them.
:-(
1. Fuck you motherfucker
2. Why I can't shop at the Shaws in Porter Square anymore
3. Need more pills
4. Pyschotic Episode: the 95-degree Red Line addition
As I mentioned last night, the Red Line has been sucking of late. Always slow, always hot, always annoying. But I hate driving in the city and I'm trying to be greener and I am a big believer in public transporation, so I take the T.
I had an appointment in Boston at 6 p.m. tonight. I left our house around 5, took the stroll down to Davis and gave myself a mental high five when I realized that the train was sitting in the station waiting for me. I found myself a seat, whipped out my copy of Sisterhood Interrupted like the wannabe college student I am (see: feminist literature, glasses, oh-so-cynical disposition) and settled in.
5:20: Train is still not moving, and getting rather crowded. People are getting antsy. A woman that was born around the same time as John the Baptist is getting extremely vocal about the hold up. "Young man, young man. Go ask what the delay is." A young dude obliges. "Traffic" is the answer we get back.
5:22: Still sitting in the station. No AC. More people crowding on and much more bitching. John the Baptist Lady still annoyed. She has an appointment she needs to get to. The rest of us are apparently just hanging out.
5:25: Doors close and we finally start moving, if you can call it that. The train lurches pitifully out of the station and we start inching toward Porter. I relearn Valerie Solanas.
5:30: We arrive at Porter Square. Doors open and stay open. Again, no AC. I should mention here that it is about 95 degrees out and humid. People are now visibly and vocally agitated.
5:32: John the Baptist's sister gets off the train and starts yelling at the conductor the way only an old lady can. "You are a very stupid driver. You are a very stupid driver of this train, young lady."
5:33: More grumbling. It starts to smell like B.O. Probably mine.
5:34: We're still at the station. I put the book away and ask the conductor if we're going to have delays at every station. She says yes, so I decide to cut my losses.
5:35: I head over to the Porter Square plaza because there are always cabs picking and dropping off at Shaw's and I figure I can grab one. I call my appointment and confirm that I can come in late -- that 6:30 is okay.
5:40: No cabs at Porter. I start a line and am immediately joined by a few others who left the subway. It is beyond hellish hot.
5:45: Give up and call a cab. They tell me 20 minutes and I say I can't wait that long. I call another cab company. They tell me someone is coming right away. Wussy looking guy next to me does the same.
5:50: No cab.
5:55: Still no cab. Call YG and vent, giving him reaon to remember that the crazy is always lurking somewhere within me.
5:56: Wussy guy and I chat about how much this very much fucking blows.
5:57: My cab is still not here, but a Green Cab pulls up. Because I am first in line, I open the door and hop in. The driver tells me that I cannot have this cab because it is not MY cab. I ask if he is there for a pick up specifically and he says no. So I tell him that I need him to take me to Boston. He again says he's not picking up, that I need to take the cab that's coming for me. I tell him that I'm tired of waiting, can he take me? He orders me out of the cab and tells me that I need to wait. All of this is done with an accent I can't really understand so there's a lot of "huh? what? I don't understand" too.
5:58: As I'm getting out of the cab, sweaty and angry, I shout, "Are you fucking kidding me with this shit?" The driver starts swearing back, and as we're arguing, Wussy Guy gets in the backseat and tells the guy he wants to go to South Station. I shout, "Wait a minute! He's waiting for another cab too. HE NEEDS TO WAIT TOO!" and start grabbing at the door handle. The driver starts to pull away with a final "Bitch, you crazy."
5:59: I do not take the high road. I take the very low road. I start pounding on the window, screaming, "Fuck you, motherfucker" and to the Wussy Guy that stole the cab, "I hope I don't find you, Fuckface, because I'll fucking stab you, fucker."
The two of them actually LAUGH.
6:00: I stomp back to the sidewalk, kick some bottles that are lying around and SHAKE. I am too in my fit of rage to be fucking mortified, but there are people watching me. People shopping, people trying to enjoy their coffees outside the bookstore...people.
6:03: My cab finally shows up. The driver must sense that I am a mess because he asks me to "tell me everything." I give him the whole story, tell him that I need to get to Boston by 6:30. He tells me not to worry, that he'll get me there. He also has AC so I am in love with him.
6:04: We hit Somerville Ave and it's a traffic nightmare. He asks me to trust him and not to judge his route. I tell him I won't.
6:24: We pull up at my appointment. I tip big and tell the driver that he is awesome.
6:25: Appointment. Re-tell story. Receptionist calls a bunch of friends who are also bitching about the suckage of the Red Line. I decide that I'm going to pollute the environment AND waste money and cab it back.
7:00: Hail another cab. This time the driver is a really friendly singer who sings the whole way back to Cambridge and tells me that I look like a professor. He adds, "a smart professor."
7:25: Back at Davis. Buy burrito.
7:35: Home. Eat burrito, drink champagne. Chase with fro yo.
Now: Totally in my head, reliving the crazy. WTF? I am not a rager, but I sometimes end up in these situations where I totally and completely enter a fit of rage and go off the deep end. Where the crazy is way beyond the suckage of the situation. I told some guy I was going to STAB him. I am beyond mortified. And I'm so afraid that there's going to be "Wanted" pictures of me in the Porter Square parking lot.
My God.
And, oh, the appointment? Was a wax appointment. Apparently, a neatly-groomed vagina and smooth legs are important enough to me that I'm willing to risk possibly landing in jail to get them.
:-(
And You Should Check This Out
The Fat Experience Project is really pretty awesome and a brilliant idea.
From the site:
This one was my favorite, but all the stories resonate. I'm thinking of sending something in.
From the site:
"The Fat Experience Project® is an oral, visual and written history project which seeks to be a humanizing force in body image activism.
By collecting and sharing the many and varied stories of individuals of size, the Fat Experience Project® seeks to engage with, educate, empower and enrich the lives of people of size, our allies and the world at large."
This one was my favorite, but all the stories resonate. I'm thinking of sending something in.
The Corporate Challenge Sucked
I ran the JP Morgan Chase Corporate Challenge last night and it was the first race I ran where I didn't really have much fun. It was rainy and humid all day and I was already thirsty by the time I got downtown, but I couldn't get any water because it was all reserved for "after." I also managed to remember to bring my iPod, but forgot to bring my ear plugs. Grumble, grumble.
I lined up with the rest of the people in my time (10 minute mile). Well, I cheated a little. I moved up to the 9 minute mark. Over 12,000 people ran so it was crowded -- it took 4 minutes from the race start just to move across the start line. And then the rest was just packed and sweaty and gross. It got so crowded again near the turn that I had to walk because I couldn't get through. Grumble more. After about 20 minutes, I finally broke free and thanks to a nice homeowner spraying runners down with his garden hose, I felt okay and finished. My time was 36:52 which was not great.
Afterwards, I reported my time to our team captain and found the nearest Porta Potty to change out of my sweaty shirt and sports bra. I LOATHE porta potties. It's a feat of gymnastics to try and manuever out of sweaty clothes and not touch anything, but I did only to discover I forgot another bra. So my big nipples and I made our way to 7-11 and then the T stop in a white t-shirt. Brilliant.
Other discoveries:
* Cliff bars are nasty
* Even if the food you find is nasty, you should ALWAYS eat it after a race instead of throwing it out, figuring that you'll be home soon and that all that stuff they tell you about replenishing is only for real athletes and not you
* People will stare and point if you walk around with D tits and a white t-shirt and no bra
* 7-11s always attract the crazy
The T sucked ass. We sat at Park for about 20 minutes while it kept getting more and more packed. The girl sitting next to me had a take out box of Dominos pizza and I would have killed her for it, if she had not gotten into loud, threatening bitch fight with a hozzle who wanted her to move said pizza box so she could sit down. Actually, that was kind of awesome. The T finally got moving, although I could have taken vacation in the time it took to cross the Longfellow Bridge, but then we had to get off at Harvard because it was an express train, wait another eternity for a new train, and then get on again. Grumble.
All did not suck, though. My disgusting sweaty, large nippled self got off at Davis, met SKB and then snarfed down the biggest, most delicious hot fudge sundae with walnuts.
And that my friends is a rather boring recap of the corporate challenge. I'm off on vacation for a week!
I lined up with the rest of the people in my time (10 minute mile). Well, I cheated a little. I moved up to the 9 minute mark. Over 12,000 people ran so it was crowded -- it took 4 minutes from the race start just to move across the start line. And then the rest was just packed and sweaty and gross. It got so crowded again near the turn that I had to walk because I couldn't get through. Grumble more. After about 20 minutes, I finally broke free and thanks to a nice homeowner spraying runners down with his garden hose, I felt okay and finished. My time was 36:52 which was not great.
Afterwards, I reported my time to our team captain and found the nearest Porta Potty to change out of my sweaty shirt and sports bra. I LOATHE porta potties. It's a feat of gymnastics to try and manuever out of sweaty clothes and not touch anything, but I did only to discover I forgot another bra. So my big nipples and I made our way to 7-11 and then the T stop in a white t-shirt. Brilliant.
Other discoveries:
* Cliff bars are nasty
* Even if the food you find is nasty, you should ALWAYS eat it after a race instead of throwing it out, figuring that you'll be home soon and that all that stuff they tell you about replenishing is only for real athletes and not you
* People will stare and point if you walk around with D tits and a white t-shirt and no bra
* 7-11s always attract the crazy
The T sucked ass. We sat at Park for about 20 minutes while it kept getting more and more packed. The girl sitting next to me had a take out box of Dominos pizza and I would have killed her for it, if she had not gotten into loud, threatening bitch fight with a hozzle who wanted her to move said pizza box so she could sit down. Actually, that was kind of awesome. The T finally got moving, although I could have taken vacation in the time it took to cross the Longfellow Bridge, but then we had to get off at Harvard because it was an express train, wait another eternity for a new train, and then get on again. Grumble.
All did not suck, though. My disgusting sweaty, large nippled self got off at Davis, met SKB and then snarfed down the biggest, most delicious hot fudge sundae with walnuts.
And that my friends is a rather boring recap of the corporate challenge. I'm off on vacation for a week!
Monday, June 23, 2008
Monday Night Recaps
I am exhausted and eating Thin Mints (read: not really in the mood for the ol' blog tonight). That sounds more depressing than it really is. Actually, I left work early (if 5:30 is to be considered early) so I could come eat dinner with YG and then get back to my deliciously good book. I'm reading Bridge of Sighs by Richard Russo. It's pure Russo, with lots of wonderfully drawn small-town characters. Not nearly as good as Empire Falls, but totally engaging anyway. In reading through the reviews, a lot of people didn't like it, but I disagree. I LOVE it when I get into a book like this.
Two movies:
* YG and I watched Recount on HBO last week. A bad idea. If you want to feel sad and depressed about the state of the country, watch it. We were feeling really maudlin and "what might have been." Eight years have, but I still have this rage about how those motherfuckers actually STOLE an election. Unbelievable. He stole it the first time, and then the people actually elected him a second time. I'm a registered Independent, and I'm certainly not in the I-Hate-All-Republicans camp, but what does it say about your party is George W. Bush is the best you can do? Not much.
* I'm almost done watching the documentary, Jesus Camp. Almost done because I can't allow myself to watch it in more than small snippets at a time. It's about a Pentecostal summer camp for children and is probably one of the most disturbing films that I've seen in a really long time. I feel remarkably lucky to have had a rather "normal" religious upbringing, and am really digging our new church. I feel extremely sorry for these kids because they're being raised in a culture of a fear and hatred.
Other:
* Continuing the theme of "things I find unbelievably sad,"The Gloucester pregnancy pact keeps making headlines. I understand that teenage girls get pregnant all the time by accident, but if you're 15 years old and making a pact with your friends to get pregnant on purpose and raise your kids together, what does that say about how you view your future? Who are these girls and what were they thinking? I don't mean that in a judgey way, but more in a "don't you think that there might be something out there that's bigger and better for you" sort of way.
* George Carlin died. Kevin Smith remembers.
* Last week, I ran 11 miles and biked 30, including some monster hills. My god, I love this warm weather.
* I am still in the midst of career woes. It was a gray day today and nothing went seriously wrong at work, but I spent some hard core time wondering what the fuck I was doing there. I mean, I know what I'm doing there. I'm all about politicking and saving money and making the relationships now because I'll need them later in my life, when I want to either shift to a part-time or contractor schedule so that I can write, but some days, I feel the full weight of "what's the point?" I KNOW the point, but I hate that it has to be so hard. So I make up lists of alternate careers that I would like. They include my usuals (consignment shop owner, personal shopper for plus-sized women) and some new ones like food psychologist (I probably mentioned this before, but that is a REAL job. Seriously.), personal trainer, trainer for plus-sized people, freelance writer, etc.
My classes start again in August and that usually helps offset some of this career crap. I haven't written anything since the last class ended and that was before I went to San Francisco for work. That makes me sad. :-)
So back to the book. If I could be a professional student and constant reader of books, I'd choose that in a heartbeat.
Two movies:
* YG and I watched Recount on HBO last week. A bad idea. If you want to feel sad and depressed about the state of the country, watch it. We were feeling really maudlin and "what might have been." Eight years have, but I still have this rage about how those motherfuckers actually STOLE an election. Unbelievable. He stole it the first time, and then the people actually elected him a second time. I'm a registered Independent, and I'm certainly not in the I-Hate-All-Republicans camp, but what does it say about your party is George W. Bush is the best you can do? Not much.
* I'm almost done watching the documentary, Jesus Camp. Almost done because I can't allow myself to watch it in more than small snippets at a time. It's about a Pentecostal summer camp for children and is probably one of the most disturbing films that I've seen in a really long time. I feel remarkably lucky to have had a rather "normal" religious upbringing, and am really digging our new church. I feel extremely sorry for these kids because they're being raised in a culture of a fear and hatred.
Other:
* Continuing the theme of "things I find unbelievably sad,"The Gloucester pregnancy pact keeps making headlines. I understand that teenage girls get pregnant all the time by accident, but if you're 15 years old and making a pact with your friends to get pregnant on purpose and raise your kids together, what does that say about how you view your future? Who are these girls and what were they thinking? I don't mean that in a judgey way, but more in a "don't you think that there might be something out there that's bigger and better for you" sort of way.
* George Carlin died. Kevin Smith remembers.
* Last week, I ran 11 miles and biked 30, including some monster hills. My god, I love this warm weather.
* I am still in the midst of career woes. It was a gray day today and nothing went seriously wrong at work, but I spent some hard core time wondering what the fuck I was doing there. I mean, I know what I'm doing there. I'm all about politicking and saving money and making the relationships now because I'll need them later in my life, when I want to either shift to a part-time or contractor schedule so that I can write, but some days, I feel the full weight of "what's the point?" I KNOW the point, but I hate that it has to be so hard. So I make up lists of alternate careers that I would like. They include my usuals (consignment shop owner, personal shopper for plus-sized women) and some new ones like food psychologist (I probably mentioned this before, but that is a REAL job. Seriously.), personal trainer, trainer for plus-sized people, freelance writer, etc.
My classes start again in August and that usually helps offset some of this career crap. I haven't written anything since the last class ended and that was before I went to San Francisco for work. That makes me sad. :-)
So back to the book. If I could be a professional student and constant reader of books, I'd choose that in a heartbeat.
Friday, June 20, 2008
New Fat Rant!
I love these and am always excited to see a new one by my Internet girl crush, Joy Nash.
Check out Fat Rant 2 and the orignal too.
Check out Fat Rant 2 and the orignal too.
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Good Party
The mark of a good party.
Seven bottles of champagne, one bottle of white, and about 86,000 empanadas. All gone. Good times, good times.
Seven bottles of champagne, one bottle of white, and about 86,000 empanadas. All gone. Good times, good times.
Friday, June 13, 2008
ABBA is Gay!
Tonight, YG, the MG, SKB and I are going to this.
From the website:
OMG! I can't wait.
From the website:
extrABBAganza!The Boston Gay Men’s Chorus sings the ultimate tribute show to ABBA, the top selling musical act of the 70s. With over 370 million albums sold worldwide, ABBA’s hits embody the decade with some of the catchiest pop tunes ever written including Fernando, Take A Chance on Me, Mamma Mia, Waterloo, Voulez Vous, Thank You for the Music and many more! Their irresistible music is both a time machine back to the glitter and glam of the 70s and a jukebox bursting with today’s retro-chic classics. And only a gay chorus can unlock the secrets of some of ABBA’s greatest hits: Does Your Mother Know, Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! (A Man After Midnight), and of course, Dancing Queen.
OMG! I can't wait.
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Am I Seriously Defending Carnie Wilson? Maybe A Little.
There's been a lot of posting on sites I read about Carnie Wilson's appearance on the Tyra Banks show, discussing how people focus too much on her weight. For those living under a rock, Carnie Wilson was the "fat chick" in terrible early 90s group Wilson Phillips who later broadcast her gastric bypass surgery on the Internet. She got lots of praise for this from serious magazines like People and US Weekly and then did a spread in Playboy. And now she's gaining it back and NOW, she's pissed that people are paying attention to her weight. [But she wasn't pissed during the broadcasting part or the magazine spreads part or the centerfold part.]
My intial reaction, right after "who gives a fuck about Carnie Wilson" was to say, "you decided to be very public about your decision to lose weight. Of course Hollywood is going to pay attention. Hollywood, duh, pays attention to EVERYBODY'S WEIGHT." And then I thought about it and was able to muster up some symphathy for her, because it has to suck to deal with that noise so publicly.
When you're fat (or even mildly overweight), you spend a lot of time thinking that losing weight is the magic bullet -- once you accomplish it, everyone is going to love you and magically, all your problems will just melt away. And when you actually lose the weight and everyone compliments you, it's this crazy high. You've just discovered the SECRET TO HAPPINESS. By yourself. You get cocky. You evangelize. You scoff at people that don't get it.
And then it starts coming back. First one pound. And then another. And then some more. You pray that people don't notice, but you know they do. They noticed when you lost the weight -- of course, they'd notice it coming back. The shame is unbearable. The failure is overwhelming. Made more so by the fact that you don't talk about this with anyone. Because to talk about it would be to acknowledge your failure, to make it public. And you're still secretly hoping that nobody notices. Or better, that nobody cares.
That was my experience, anyway. I was never that heavy (even though, in my head, I've always assumed that I was enormous and that people don't see me, just "plump person."). But I was always dieting. Always. I started restricting my food in middle school and I kept that up until last October. That's 21 years, people. Twenty one fucking years. I lost a large amount of weight about 6 years ago, getting ready for my first wedding. I started Weight Watchers at 180lbs and set a goal weight of 140 lbs. Twice, I got to 143. Twice, within 3 pounds. And then I'd gain it back. Always. It was unbearable. Until last year when I just decided to fuck it. I stopped dieting. I haven't lost any weight. I haven't gained any weight. I'm just kind of the same.
I'm still trying to get used to that. Just being here. I am insanely greatful to not be dieting. But I'm still not entirely comfortable looking the way I do. Progress, not perfection, right? I'll get there. I run, I bike, I eat REAL FOOD. I'll get there.
So what the hell does this have to do with Carnie Wilson? Not much, I guess. I feel sorry for her. She's famous, and she's right -- people are paying attention to her weight. It was hard enough for me to go through the ups and downs as a nobody. I'm sure that many people, not even my closest friends, knew how shitty I felt. She has to deal with that and she has to do it in the public eye. That blows. Yeah, she brought a lot of it on herself by broadcasting that surgery on the web, but at a base level, I do understand why she did it.
The Shapely Prose folks had something brilliant to say about this as well.
My intial reaction, right after "who gives a fuck about Carnie Wilson" was to say, "you decided to be very public about your decision to lose weight. Of course Hollywood is going to pay attention. Hollywood, duh, pays attention to EVERYBODY'S WEIGHT." And then I thought about it and was able to muster up some symphathy for her, because it has to suck to deal with that noise so publicly.
When you're fat (or even mildly overweight), you spend a lot of time thinking that losing weight is the magic bullet -- once you accomplish it, everyone is going to love you and magically, all your problems will just melt away. And when you actually lose the weight and everyone compliments you, it's this crazy high. You've just discovered the SECRET TO HAPPINESS. By yourself. You get cocky. You evangelize. You scoff at people that don't get it.
And then it starts coming back. First one pound. And then another. And then some more. You pray that people don't notice, but you know they do. They noticed when you lost the weight -- of course, they'd notice it coming back. The shame is unbearable. The failure is overwhelming. Made more so by the fact that you don't talk about this with anyone. Because to talk about it would be to acknowledge your failure, to make it public. And you're still secretly hoping that nobody notices. Or better, that nobody cares.
That was my experience, anyway. I was never that heavy (even though, in my head, I've always assumed that I was enormous and that people don't see me, just "plump person."). But I was always dieting. Always. I started restricting my food in middle school and I kept that up until last October. That's 21 years, people. Twenty one fucking years. I lost a large amount of weight about 6 years ago, getting ready for my first wedding. I started Weight Watchers at 180lbs and set a goal weight of 140 lbs. Twice, I got to 143. Twice, within 3 pounds. And then I'd gain it back. Always. It was unbearable. Until last year when I just decided to fuck it. I stopped dieting. I haven't lost any weight. I haven't gained any weight. I'm just kind of the same.
I'm still trying to get used to that. Just being here. I am insanely greatful to not be dieting. But I'm still not entirely comfortable looking the way I do. Progress, not perfection, right? I'll get there. I run, I bike, I eat REAL FOOD. I'll get there.
So what the hell does this have to do with Carnie Wilson? Not much, I guess. I feel sorry for her. She's famous, and she's right -- people are paying attention to her weight. It was hard enough for me to go through the ups and downs as a nobody. I'm sure that many people, not even my closest friends, knew how shitty I felt. She has to deal with that and she has to do it in the public eye. That blows. Yeah, she brought a lot of it on herself by broadcasting that surgery on the web, but at a base level, I do understand why she did it.
The Shapely Prose folks had something brilliant to say about this as well.
The World Is A Very Small Place
Tonight, YG and I went to this event at Harvard Book Store. I had heard about Kelly McMasters' book, "Welcome to Shirley: A Memoir from an Atomic Town" and was immediately intrigued because my family has spent every summer in Shirley since my dad was a kid. And nobody ever knows of Shirley, and if they do, their impressions are never favorable. People always assume that our house is in the Hamptons because that's the only thing they know about Long Island, and when they visit Shirley and our house, I usually get a lot of "oh, I didn't know it was so....so...so working class." As if that's always a bad thing.
I saw the ad for the event on Bostonist so we decided to go. We listened to the reading and then I spent some time chatting with the author after. I told her about our house and where we lived, and she said, "Oh, I used to have friends on that street." I asked who, and she answered, "The Posts." Seriously, dudes. My freakin' next door neighbors. And my best girl friend in the world when I was a little kid. So, so random. I also used to go with the Posts to Vacation Bible Camp at Grace Lutheran Church, where Kelly McMasters said she spent a lot of time. We figured that we were probably there at the same time. Proper use of the word "random" here. What are the chances that I'd run into someone from Shirley way up here, far away from home? It was one of those great "small world" moments.
It also made me realize that someone else wrote the memoir about Shirley first. :-) Oh, Shirley. With the beach and riding bikes all day in shorts and flip flops and buying Slurpees at 7-11 and fruit salads at Carvel. And fishing and camping and man hunt and the playground at the bay. We're going in 3 weeks. I can't wait.
I saw the ad for the event on Bostonist so we decided to go. We listened to the reading and then I spent some time chatting with the author after. I told her about our house and where we lived, and she said, "Oh, I used to have friends on that street." I asked who, and she answered, "The Posts." Seriously, dudes. My freakin' next door neighbors. And my best girl friend in the world when I was a little kid. So, so random. I also used to go with the Posts to Vacation Bible Camp at Grace Lutheran Church, where Kelly McMasters said she spent a lot of time. We figured that we were probably there at the same time. Proper use of the word "random" here. What are the chances that I'd run into someone from Shirley way up here, far away from home? It was one of those great "small world" moments.
It also made me realize that someone else wrote the memoir about Shirley first. :-) Oh, Shirley. With the beach and riding bikes all day in shorts and flip flops and buying Slurpees at 7-11 and fruit salads at Carvel. And fishing and camping and man hunt and the playground at the bay. We're going in 3 weeks. I can't wait.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Too Hot to Think
So I'll just go watch American Gladiators instead.
Shit to mention:
* Went to NJ this weekend where it was also hot, hot, hot. Had a family birthday party and oh my god, I miss good sausage and peppers.
* Watched the Hillary speech on Saturday. Best I've ever seen her. Still wish that the HRC as VP chants would die down. Not a good idea. Nor is Jim Webb. Call me, people. I have ideas.
* Listened to the new Death Cab for Cutie album. It sounds a lot like the last one. This is not necessarily a bad thing, but it was a little meh.
* Hating on Rebecca Walker. Her latest bitch in the Daily Mail is so spiteful and self-indulgent. So you think you had a crappy mom? Okay, maybe. But feminism didn't make her a crappy mother.
* Running. Now that I have the 5-mile down, I am going to do Race for the Cure again and hopefully the Tufts Health Plan 10K for Women in October. I'm pretty sure I can get that extra mile.
* Watching the Celtics! Woo hoo! It is nice to have a local team to support. Yes, I know that there are the Patriots, but I don't care about football, and it will be a cold day in Hell when I support the Red Sox. So go Celtics. Beat LA. Beat Kobe Byrant in the groin with an Incredible Hulk fist.
* Trying not to let the Evil Cameltoe bother me. As usual. I AM the bigger person. I will refrain from making snide comments about hairsprayed bangs and frosted lipstick in the blogosphere. Because I am MATURE.
* Laughing over the latest teen star to pledge virginity until marriage. She wants a promise ring. I wonder if you get a different ring if you pledge your butt virginity.
* Mouth agape over Bill Clinton and Gina Gershon. I am seriously behind in my celebrity news. How did I miss this? What does this dude have? Seriously. Gina Gershon -- I'd tap that.
As you can see, my mind is blank.
Shit to mention:
* Went to NJ this weekend where it was also hot, hot, hot. Had a family birthday party and oh my god, I miss good sausage and peppers.
* Watched the Hillary speech on Saturday. Best I've ever seen her. Still wish that the HRC as VP chants would die down. Not a good idea. Nor is Jim Webb. Call me, people. I have ideas.
* Listened to the new Death Cab for Cutie album. It sounds a lot like the last one. This is not necessarily a bad thing, but it was a little meh.
* Hating on Rebecca Walker. Her latest bitch in the Daily Mail is so spiteful and self-indulgent. So you think you had a crappy mom? Okay, maybe. But feminism didn't make her a crappy mother.
* Running. Now that I have the 5-mile down, I am going to do Race for the Cure again and hopefully the Tufts Health Plan 10K for Women in October. I'm pretty sure I can get that extra mile.
* Watching the Celtics! Woo hoo! It is nice to have a local team to support. Yes, I know that there are the Patriots, but I don't care about football, and it will be a cold day in Hell when I support the Red Sox. So go Celtics. Beat LA. Beat Kobe Byrant in the groin with an Incredible Hulk fist.
* Trying not to let the Evil Cameltoe bother me. As usual. I AM the bigger person. I will refrain from making snide comments about hairsprayed bangs and frosted lipstick in the blogosphere. Because I am MATURE.
* Laughing over the latest teen star to pledge virginity until marriage. She wants a promise ring. I wonder if you get a different ring if you pledge your butt virginity.
* Mouth agape over Bill Clinton and Gina Gershon. I am seriously behind in my celebrity news. How did I miss this? What does this dude have? Seriously. Gina Gershon -- I'd tap that.
As you can see, my mind is blank.
Monday, June 02, 2008
Update: The 5-Mile Run and Other Things To Be Writing About
I forgot to mention that I finished the 5 mile run in less than an hour which was my goal. I finished in 58:37 and ran the whole time, except for a few second stop to try and treat a raging case of chub rub. It was a beautiful day and such a rush to be running through the streets of Boston while random strangers cheered us on.
I didn't want to post this picture because my initial reaction to it was, "Oh.My.God. My thighs -- they are so fucking huge." And that may be, but see above. 58:37, bitches. I am kind of a big deal. In my own head, at least.
Other things I should be writing about:
* My fun day getting my hair cut with YG's sister.
* My Michael Pollan kick. Such a crush. I read In Defense of Food in a few days and am halfway through Omnivore's Dilemma. Brilliantly written.
* YG's speech at the Eagle Scout ceremony. I was so proud of him.
* Election madness
* Sad stuff at church. Our senior minister is leaving.
* Work madness
I didn't want to post this picture because my initial reaction to it was, "Oh.My.God. My thighs -- they are so fucking huge." And that may be, but see above. 58:37, bitches. I am kind of a big deal. In my own head, at least.
Other things I should be writing about:
* My fun day getting my hair cut with YG's sister.
* My Michael Pollan kick. Such a crush. I read In Defense of Food in a few days and am halfway through Omnivore's Dilemma. Brilliantly written.
* YG's speech at the Eagle Scout ceremony. I was so proud of him.
* Election madness
* Sad stuff at church. Our senior minister is leaving.
* Work madness
Saturday, May 31, 2008
Haircut, Finally!
Many of you know that I am not down with the long hair. I like my hair shorter and I think it looks better. But I've been doing the growing out thing because I get easily bored and I wanted long hair to look like sparkly Barbie Princess on my Special Daaay(tm). Now that the wedding has passed, I am free. Behold!
Before:
After:
Before:
After:
Friday, May 23, 2008
Oh, The Hilarity
I spent two hours at the Social Security Administration building this morning to apply for the new SSA card that will allow me to process all the other shit I need to change now that I am Jenn Pretentious-Asshole. One hour and 57 minutes to wait in line, about 3 minutes for the actual transaction. I forgot a book so I ended up having to read Car and Driver, ESPN: The Magazine and brochures about SSA benefits. I was hoping for some crazies or at least some irate huffers, but it was sort of mellow.
The boss man let us out early today so I spent lots of time on the Internets looking for stuff to make me laugh instead of cleaning the house, as I should. I found:
* Stuff White People Like -- I actually discovered this a few months ago, thanks to the hilarious St. Patrick's Day post, and then forgot it existed. Thank you, universe, for this rediscovered joy.
* And then via a friend's blog, List of the Day. The friend linked specifically this post on photobombing (when random folk end up in your pictures) that had me seriously fucking crying, tears streaming down my face. I decided to poke around and nearly peed over Velvet Paintings and 10 Least Romantic Love Song Lyrics, although "I'm her to put this dick on you" sounds plenty romantic to me.
Tomorrow we head to Six Flags and on Sunday, my five mile race . Monday, SKB and fam are coming over for some big meat on the grill. 3 days off!
The boss man let us out early today so I spent lots of time on the Internets looking for stuff to make me laugh instead of cleaning the house, as I should. I found:
* Stuff White People Like -- I actually discovered this a few months ago, thanks to the hilarious St. Patrick's Day post, and then forgot it existed. Thank you, universe, for this rediscovered joy.
* And then via a friend's blog, List of the Day. The friend linked specifically this post on photobombing (when random folk end up in your pictures) that had me seriously fucking crying, tears streaming down my face. I decided to poke around and nearly peed over Velvet Paintings and 10 Least Romantic Love Song Lyrics, although "I'm her to put this dick on you" sounds plenty romantic to me.
Tomorrow we head to Six Flags and on Sunday, my five mile race . Monday, SKB and fam are coming over for some big meat on the grill. 3 days off!
Thursday, May 22, 2008
3 Months. Seriously?
I just spent two days in management training, learning about "values" and "leadership" and things of that nature. I also knew this, but was sadly "re-informed" that there is no such thing as maternity leave at my company or many others. You get your 6 weeks from FMLA and then if you've been with the company long enough, short-term DISABILITY leave. DISABILITY. Seriously. On a personal note, it makes it really hard to plan your career. From a management perspective, it makes it really hard to say things like "we have great work-life balance program" with a straight face. Ick.
I am off to research.
I am off to research.
Saturday, May 17, 2008
Random Thoughts
1. I meant to link to this post over at Shapely Prose last week. It gave me chills and I immediately printed it out and posted it up in my cube.
Check this bit:
The whole piece is brilliant and spoke to me, as I get a lot of the "but, you're not fat" comments.
2. I mentioned in the wedding post that I felt really lovely and pretty that day and that people were very complimentary. Imagine how disappointed I was IN MYSELF when I saw some of the pictures and the FIRST thing I thought was "my arm looks so fat"????? Not, "wow, we look so happy" or "wow, that dress looked so great" or not, my old reliable, "hey, fab tits." No, the first thing I thought was, "my arm looks so fat." I did pull myself out of it, but I was disppointed that these are still the first things that fill my mind -- and that 59 people can tell me I look fantastic, but the one person who thinks I look like shit is me. It's all a process, but shit, man, this stuff is LONG.
3. Rather than totally beat myself up, I can say that I am 100% proud that I never dieted during the lead up to the wedding. I ran like a maniac and I went to the gym, but I ENJOY that. So, some parts of the process are working.
4. In other links, one of my favorite bloggers is getting married and she wrote the best fucking post about it. YG read it and said, "hey, that's totally us."
5. This was the first Saturday since December, maybe, that we didn't have anything to do. I ran some errands in the morning and then we went for a long walk around Fresh Pond and enjoyed some chips, guacamole and wine while reading magazines and lounging on the couch. I also caught up on two hours of Grey's Anatomy this morning when YG dropped the MG off at her mom's. It was a great day.
Check this bit:
"Can I speak to the experience of living in a much larger body? No. Am I fat enough to have faced discrimination and hatred, and to be motivated to fight against those things on behalf of all fat people? Hell, yes.
Exhibit A. I’m walking home from Pilates this afternoon, and I stop for a red light. Light turns green, I start walking across the intersection, and some asshole barrels around the corner, clearly not seeing me. I stop walking and he hits his brakes–with a resounding skreeee–at approximately the same time. We exchange dirty looks, and I take another step–just as asshole hits the gas again, intending to blow past me.
Me: WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING? IT’S A CROSSWALK!
Asshole: WELL THEN WHY DON’T YOU FUCKING WALK, YOU FUCKING WHALE?
Woman sitting at outdoor cafe across the street: WHAT THE–?
No kidding, lady.
Let’s review. This asshole didn’t look where he was going and nearly hit a pedestrian. Therefore, I deserve to be shamed for the size of my body.
Of course. That’s how it works.
Assholes like that do not look at me and think, “Hmm, she looks only slightly bigger than the average woman.” They do not yell, “YOU FUCKING MILD TO MODERATE CHUB!” They think, “fat chick.” And they yell, “YOU FUCKING WHALE!”
The whole piece is brilliant and spoke to me, as I get a lot of the "but, you're not fat" comments.
2. I mentioned in the wedding post that I felt really lovely and pretty that day and that people were very complimentary. Imagine how disappointed I was IN MYSELF when I saw some of the pictures and the FIRST thing I thought was "my arm looks so fat"????? Not, "wow, we look so happy" or "wow, that dress looked so great" or not, my old reliable, "hey, fab tits." No, the first thing I thought was, "my arm looks so fat." I did pull myself out of it, but I was disppointed that these are still the first things that fill my mind -- and that 59 people can tell me I look fantastic, but the one person who thinks I look like shit is me. It's all a process, but shit, man, this stuff is LONG.
3. Rather than totally beat myself up, I can say that I am 100% proud that I never dieted during the lead up to the wedding. I ran like a maniac and I went to the gym, but I ENJOY that. So, some parts of the process are working.
4. In other links, one of my favorite bloggers is getting married and she wrote the best fucking post about it. YG read it and said, "hey, that's totally us."
5. This was the first Saturday since December, maybe, that we didn't have anything to do. I ran some errands in the morning and then we went for a long walk around Fresh Pond and enjoyed some chips, guacamole and wine while reading magazines and lounging on the couch. I also caught up on two hours of Grey's Anatomy this morning when YG dropped the MG off at her mom's. It was a great day.
Friday, May 16, 2008
Funnies of the Evening
1. YG, upon hearing about the latest scandal on America's Next Top Model: "I didn't even want to watch this season and you sucked me in with the last three episodes. It's like watching the old Red Sox. You watch it, expecting it to be different, and then they only disappoint." You heard it here first, folks: ANTM...just like the Red Sox.
2. The MG is reading a "kid-friendly" version of Little Women where, get this, Beth doesn't die. WTF? We watched the movie with the MG so that she could see that Beth does indeed die and she was still confused and convinced it was a mistake. YG: "Look, she dies, okay? BETH DIES."
3. On discussing the scariness of a "kid-friendly" "classic" that elmimates major plot points, I told YG about the kid friendly versions of books I read when I was a kid. He asked what ones, and I mentioned The Prince and The Pauper, The Man in The Iron Mask, and The Count of Monte Crisco. "Monte Crisco?" he asked. And then we laughed and laughed. "Yeah," I said, "It's about this guy. He really likes fried sandwiches. With jam."
2. The MG is reading a "kid-friendly" version of Little Women where, get this, Beth doesn't die. WTF? We watched the movie with the MG so that she could see that Beth does indeed die and she was still confused and convinced it was a mistake. YG: "Look, she dies, okay? BETH DIES."
3. On discussing the scariness of a "kid-friendly" "classic" that elmimates major plot points, I told YG about the kid friendly versions of books I read when I was a kid. He asked what ones, and I mentioned The Prince and The Pauper, The Man in The Iron Mask, and The Count of Monte Crisco. "Monte Crisco?" he asked. And then we laughed and laughed. "Yeah," I said, "It's about this guy. He really likes fried sandwiches. With jam."
Topics for Discussion before Sex
YG: Remember that episode of South Park with Michael Jackson and Blanket?
Me: I can't believe he named his kid that. That kid's gonna be pissed when he grows up. 'Wait, you're Prince, and you're Paris, and I'm....Blanket?"
YG: Yeah, he's going to want to change his name. To Tito.
Me: Or Jermaine.
YG: I saw Jermaine Jackson in concert once.
Me: Seriously? Jermaine Jackson.
YG: Uh huh.
Me: Ha. Can I blog about that?
YG: Yeah, but you have to make sure that people know I didn't just go see Jermaine Jackson. He was the opening act for Cameo.
Me: Oh, don't worry. I will make CERTAIN that everyone knows you really went to see Cameo.
YG: Word up.
Cue the porny bass.
Me: I can't believe he named his kid that. That kid's gonna be pissed when he grows up. 'Wait, you're Prince, and you're Paris, and I'm....Blanket?"
YG: Yeah, he's going to want to change his name. To Tito.
Me: Or Jermaine.
YG: I saw Jermaine Jackson in concert once.
Me: Seriously? Jermaine Jackson.
YG: Uh huh.
Me: Ha. Can I blog about that?
YG: Yeah, but you have to make sure that people know I didn't just go see Jermaine Jackson. He was the opening act for Cameo.
Me: Oh, don't worry. I will make CERTAIN that everyone knows you really went to see Cameo.
YG: Word up.
Cue the porny bass.
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Recap: Wedding, Honeymoon and Yeah, Some Other Shit
So this is basically going to be a cut and paste from a bunch of stuff I wrote in my journal. I had grand plans of writing a brilliant piece about how wonderful everything was, and what it all means and the meaning of life and all that shit, but I don't work for Hallmark. And I've been busy. Note: this is why I am having trouble being a "working writer." Other note: it's because I'm lazy. Other other note: I must be having a good day because I refrained from adding, "and not that talented." Thank you, therapy.
Anyway.
Pre-Wedding
My last day in the office was the Thursday before the wedding, which also coincided with Take Your Kids To Work Day. I brought the MG to the office and let her see the magic shows, face painting and petting zoo that we totally have every single day in Corporate America. The folks at work had a sup rise shower for me which I totally didn't expect. It was really nice and sweet and like all showers, totally awkward because I don't know how to say "thank you" without sounding cheesy or insincere. I later thought about how I didn't know ANYONE when I first moved up to Massachusetts and how I've made really good friends at work and it was really nice of them to celebrate and how I should tell them that. But I didn't.
RS graciously took the MG for a play date that evening so that YG and I could pack and finish everything we needed to do. We did a lot of packing and celebrating (8 days off from work! Woo hoo!) and internal freaking out on my part (OMG -- tonight! Tonight is the night he realizes what a freak I am and calls this all off! Quick! Act normal).
On Friday, YG went bike riding and I took the MG into Boston for manicures and pedicures and had any and all hair removed from my body. This is important because I decided that later that day would be the best time to try out my new "no rub" running shorts. No rub? Mucho chub rub. And on already red, raw waxed chubby thighs? Not good. I spent the last mile of my run alternately yanking the shorts out of my crotch and pouring cold water on my thighs. Wicked hawt. I was whimpering (for reals) and limping around the corner when I saw that my parents and grandparents had already arrived to pick up the enormous boxes of flowers that had been delivered that morning. And then we were off! There is absolutely nothing relaxing about my family. Nothing. I was happy to see them, but their arrival signaled that the frenzy was officially beginning.
I took a shower, iced my sexy thighs, free based some Advil and then we dragged all the flower boxes across town to The Marlowe set up, and to partake in the hotel's free happy hour. I spent about 3 seconds with my folks listening to them argue about the best way to unpack boxes that all come packed with a sheet that says "Best Way to Unpack This Flower Box" and went downstairs for my wine. YG's friend, MCubed, joined us and got to witness the frenzy and VOLUME that is Mcmani. And there was more arguing about the best way to get to the Back Bay train station when the hotel had already laid out, "here is the best way to get to the Back Bay station" and then more wine and then more arguing. You get the picture.
The MG and I went home and she played on the computer and I watched Grey's Anatomy and then we took the bus and met everyone for dinner at Henrietta's Table . My aunt, uncle, mom, dad, nana, brother, sister, brother's SO, and cousins were there, along with some family friends. I had the polenta. It was awesome. I had Seven Deadly Zins. It was also awesome. We had a Kids Table and an Adults Table. I ended up at the Adults Table. I blame this on YG's advanced age. We had a good time and then retired for the evening.
Wedding Proper
For whatever reason, I felt the need to catalog the entire day in my journal, right down to what we ate. BORING. But I guess I wanted to remember all the details of my SPECIAL DAAAAY.
We all woke early and hung out at home, eating breakfast as usual. The MG and I went to get our hair done at Carriage House while YG went to Diesel for coffee and to read and write in his journal. I'm sure his journal is filled with all sorts of deep thoughts and not all "and the oatmeal was good." It took almost two hours to do my hair, pincurled, fluffed, and then tiara-ed. The MG got a blow out and a cute updo and then sat reading US Weekly and all the kinds of women's magazines that will give her hang ups later on. I am starting my positive parenting early.
We went home and had some cardboard (read: whole wheat) pasta for lunch, and I sexed up my special day by paying bills and playing with the cats. The thing I remember most about that day was how SLOW the early part was moving -- it seemed liked the weeks and months before had flown by and then that morning, time was just stalled. I wasn't feeling nervous, just sort of out of my body and like I should be doing something to recognize "the moment." I suppose procrastinators would be using that time to pack, but we were essentially ready.
YG bought us presents -- a ring for the MG (one of his rings that his dad had given him) and new journal for the house for us. When we were long-distance, we used to send snail mail letters and cards all the time. That evolved into a house journal where we write things to each other whenever the mood strikes. The new one is Japanese-inspired and was wrapped in paper with the Eiffel Tower on it. I'm pretty lucky.
The Marlowe called around 1 to tell us that our room was ready, so we trekked across town again with all of our stuff and to get our room. As we were pulling up, we noticed two people lounging outside in the sun on the chaises -- that would be my mom and nana. We ended up with one of the Marlowe's fancier suites. Check this out:
I went downstairs to help my mom get the centerpieces prepared and help everyone "manage." Our event manager told me, "your mother seems to have a very ....artistic temperment" which was a nice way of putting it. Heh. We ate some potato chips and I had the first caffeine I had consumed in over a month (oh Diet Coke -- how I've missed you!). Then hair, make up, and meeting the photographer.
We took a bunch of inside and outdoor shots. It was a gorgeous day and scads of walkers and runners congratulated us as they passed by on the running path. We ran into a bunch of our guests on the way back in and then met with Dan, our minister, to calm down and focus before the ceremony.
I went back to my room to get my flowers and reapply lipstick and put on different underwear (note to future brides: underwear is important. Don't wait until the day of the wedding to find out the only beige underwear you have is some big ass granny pair and the smallest thong ever that you probably bought circa 1996). YG went down to meet Dan, and the MG and I waited for my dad who was already crying when he got to the door. Thank you Jesus for waterproof mascara. We went downstairs and milled about a bit waiting for my aunt is who is ALWAYS late, and my dad and my brother tried to help my cousin put on his tie. I was moderately sweaty. Then the music started.
Birds and Ships was first because it's our song in a way. And then the MG's entrance. And then me. It's kind of blurry from there. The music was perfect, and Dan was awesome as usual. Our siblings did great with the readings. And then we were married. Holy shit!
We did the whole receiving line. Tyra-Fierce photo courtesy of SKB:
Lots of people told me I looked pretty, which was all "aw shucks" and awesome since I had been worried about the dress for weeks. It didn't fit before I went to San Francisco so I ran like a maniac for a month to ensure that my jugs would be probably encased. Plus, I felt very pretty and happy and glowy too. And YG looked fantastic. But he always does. He's a cute one.
The cocktail hour was fun, although the socializing part seriously cut into the "let me stuff my face" portion of the evening. I had a few gin and tonics, and will be forever grateful to NN for bringing me the plate of Italian meats because mmmmm...salted pork. I'm glad I talked to everyone during cocktail hour because I didn't do much beyond eating and dancing after that. The toasts were great. My mom was my mom. YG's dad was his dad. And the MG surprised us all with the best, and most unexpected toast, of the night about how happy she was that we were together and that I was going to be her stepmom. Awesome.
Other things that were awesome:
* The cake.
* The food.
* The super expensive champagne for YG and I.
* All of friends from all aspects of our life in one place.
* All the dancing.
* And more dancing.
* And MORE dancing.
* Both sets of siblings meeting each other.
* My sister's karaoke version of "Pour Some Sugar on Me"
* The fact that my parents like to dance to "Sexy Back"
* Journey? Seriously, WTF? Awesome.
* Phil's lap dances, and the Syracuse crew back together again.
* SKB's impromptu operatics. Or drunk SKB in general.
* All of my "Internet friends" -- AG coming from Ireland, and RK and APL respectively trekking up.
* All our fun work friends.
* Did I mention the dancing?
It went by quickly, but not too quickly. Afterwards we went to the bar in the hotel and hung out for a while before retiring upstairs, exhausted. We made fun of the fur-lined bedspread and the leopard-print robes. I promised YG that I would not post pictures of him doing model-y poses in said robe on said bedspread, but I didn't promise that I wouldn't write about it. Hilarity ensued!
The next day, my aunt hosted a breakfast in the hotel and we had some more "hang out" time with our out-of-town guests. It's sad that it takes a "life event" to get everyone together, but I'm grateful for the time that we had with everyone. We still don't have pictures from the photographer, but BB and Phil took a bunch of pictures so I'll just link to them for now.
Honeymoon
If you're still with me, I'm amazed. That's some long-ass details. Now I'm just going to copy and paste from my journal. Again, I did a lot of cataloging. I don't normally do that -- I usually just jot down notes about things that I'd like to write about later and then never do. But I wanted to remember this trip.
That was Nice. Then we were off to Paris.
Then from the plane:
Pictures here.
What's Next
It's summertime, dudes. That's freakin' awesome. Over a week back from vacation and I'm still feeling pretty relaxed (okay, even keeled). Of course, that could be the two martinis talking.
Anyway.
Pre-Wedding
My last day in the office was the Thursday before the wedding, which also coincided with Take Your Kids To Work Day. I brought the MG to the office and let her see the magic shows, face painting and petting zoo that we totally have every single day in Corporate America. The folks at work had a sup rise shower for me which I totally didn't expect. It was really nice and sweet and like all showers, totally awkward because I don't know how to say "thank you" without sounding cheesy or insincere. I later thought about how I didn't know ANYONE when I first moved up to Massachusetts and how I've made really good friends at work and it was really nice of them to celebrate and how I should tell them that. But I didn't.
RS graciously took the MG for a play date that evening so that YG and I could pack and finish everything we needed to do. We did a lot of packing and celebrating (8 days off from work! Woo hoo!) and internal freaking out on my part (OMG -- tonight! Tonight is the night he realizes what a freak I am and calls this all off! Quick! Act normal).
On Friday, YG went bike riding and I took the MG into Boston for manicures and pedicures and had any and all hair removed from my body. This is important because I decided that later that day would be the best time to try out my new "no rub" running shorts. No rub? Mucho chub rub. And on already red, raw waxed chubby thighs? Not good. I spent the last mile of my run alternately yanking the shorts out of my crotch and pouring cold water on my thighs. Wicked hawt. I was whimpering (for reals) and limping around the corner when I saw that my parents and grandparents had already arrived to pick up the enormous boxes of flowers that had been delivered that morning. And then we were off! There is absolutely nothing relaxing about my family. Nothing. I was happy to see them, but their arrival signaled that the frenzy was officially beginning.
I took a shower, iced my sexy thighs, free based some Advil and then we dragged all the flower boxes across town to The Marlowe set up, and to partake in the hotel's free happy hour. I spent about 3 seconds with my folks listening to them argue about the best way to unpack boxes that all come packed with a sheet that says "Best Way to Unpack This Flower Box" and went downstairs for my wine. YG's friend, MCubed, joined us and got to witness the frenzy and VOLUME that is Mcmani. And there was more arguing about the best way to get to the Back Bay train station when the hotel had already laid out, "here is the best way to get to the Back Bay station" and then more wine and then more arguing. You get the picture.
The MG and I went home and she played on the computer and I watched Grey's Anatomy and then we took the bus and met everyone for dinner at Henrietta's Table . My aunt, uncle, mom, dad, nana, brother, sister, brother's SO, and cousins were there, along with some family friends. I had the polenta. It was awesome. I had Seven Deadly Zins. It was also awesome. We had a Kids Table and an Adults Table. I ended up at the Adults Table. I blame this on YG's advanced age. We had a good time and then retired for the evening.
Wedding Proper
For whatever reason, I felt the need to catalog the entire day in my journal, right down to what we ate. BORING. But I guess I wanted to remember all the details of my SPECIAL DAAAAY.
We all woke early and hung out at home, eating breakfast as usual. The MG and I went to get our hair done at Carriage House while YG went to Diesel for coffee and to read and write in his journal. I'm sure his journal is filled with all sorts of deep thoughts and not all "and the oatmeal was good." It took almost two hours to do my hair, pincurled, fluffed, and then tiara-ed. The MG got a blow out and a cute updo and then sat reading US Weekly and all the kinds of women's magazines that will give her hang ups later on. I am starting my positive parenting early.
We went home and had some cardboard (read: whole wheat) pasta for lunch, and I sexed up my special day by paying bills and playing with the cats. The thing I remember most about that day was how SLOW the early part was moving -- it seemed liked the weeks and months before had flown by and then that morning, time was just stalled. I wasn't feeling nervous, just sort of out of my body and like I should be doing something to recognize "the moment." I suppose procrastinators would be using that time to pack, but we were essentially ready.
YG bought us presents -- a ring for the MG (one of his rings that his dad had given him) and new journal for the house for us. When we were long-distance, we used to send snail mail letters and cards all the time. That evolved into a house journal where we write things to each other whenever the mood strikes. The new one is Japanese-inspired and was wrapped in paper with the Eiffel Tower on it. I'm pretty lucky.
The Marlowe called around 1 to tell us that our room was ready, so we trekked across town again with all of our stuff and to get our room. As we were pulling up, we noticed two people lounging outside in the sun on the chaises -- that would be my mom and nana. We ended up with one of the Marlowe's fancier suites. Check this out:
I went downstairs to help my mom get the centerpieces prepared and help everyone "manage." Our event manager told me, "your mother seems to have a very ....artistic temperment" which was a nice way of putting it. Heh. We ate some potato chips and I had the first caffeine I had consumed in over a month (oh Diet Coke -- how I've missed you!). Then hair, make up, and meeting the photographer.
We took a bunch of inside and outdoor shots. It was a gorgeous day and scads of walkers and runners congratulated us as they passed by on the running path. We ran into a bunch of our guests on the way back in and then met with Dan, our minister, to calm down and focus before the ceremony.
I went back to my room to get my flowers and reapply lipstick and put on different underwear (note to future brides: underwear is important. Don't wait until the day of the wedding to find out the only beige underwear you have is some big ass granny pair and the smallest thong ever that you probably bought circa 1996). YG went down to meet Dan, and the MG and I waited for my dad who was already crying when he got to the door. Thank you Jesus for waterproof mascara. We went downstairs and milled about a bit waiting for my aunt is who is ALWAYS late, and my dad and my brother tried to help my cousin put on his tie. I was moderately sweaty. Then the music started.
Birds and Ships was first because it's our song in a way. And then the MG's entrance. And then me. It's kind of blurry from there. The music was perfect, and Dan was awesome as usual. Our siblings did great with the readings. And then we were married. Holy shit!
We did the whole receiving line. Tyra-Fierce photo courtesy of SKB:
Lots of people told me I looked pretty, which was all "aw shucks" and awesome since I had been worried about the dress for weeks. It didn't fit before I went to San Francisco so I ran like a maniac for a month to ensure that my jugs would be probably encased. Plus, I felt very pretty and happy and glowy too. And YG looked fantastic. But he always does. He's a cute one.
The cocktail hour was fun, although the socializing part seriously cut into the "let me stuff my face" portion of the evening. I had a few gin and tonics, and will be forever grateful to NN for bringing me the plate of Italian meats because mmmmm...salted pork. I'm glad I talked to everyone during cocktail hour because I didn't do much beyond eating and dancing after that. The toasts were great. My mom was my mom. YG's dad was his dad. And the MG surprised us all with the best, and most unexpected toast, of the night about how happy she was that we were together and that I was going to be her stepmom. Awesome.
Other things that were awesome:
* The cake.
* The food.
* The super expensive champagne for YG and I.
* All of friends from all aspects of our life in one place.
* All the dancing.
* And more dancing.
* And MORE dancing.
* Both sets of siblings meeting each other.
* My sister's karaoke version of "Pour Some Sugar on Me"
* The fact that my parents like to dance to "Sexy Back"
* Journey? Seriously, WTF? Awesome.
* Phil's lap dances, and the Syracuse crew back together again.
* SKB's impromptu operatics. Or drunk SKB in general.
* All of my "Internet friends" -- AG coming from Ireland, and RK and APL respectively trekking up.
* All our fun work friends.
* Did I mention the dancing?
It went by quickly, but not too quickly. Afterwards we went to the bar in the hotel and hung out for a while before retiring upstairs, exhausted. We made fun of the fur-lined bedspread and the leopard-print robes. I promised YG that I would not post pictures of him doing model-y poses in said robe on said bedspread, but I didn't promise that I wouldn't write about it. Hilarity ensued!
The next day, my aunt hosted a breakfast in the hotel and we had some more "hang out" time with our out-of-town guests. It's sad that it takes a "life event" to get everyone together, but I'm grateful for the time that we had with everyone. We still don't have pictures from the photographer, but BB and Phil took a bunch of pictures so I'll just link to them for now.
Honeymoon
If you're still with me, I'm amazed. That's some long-ass details. Now I'm just going to copy and paste from my journal. Again, I did a lot of cataloging. I don't normally do that -- I usually just jot down notes about things that I'd like to write about later and then never do. But I wanted to remember this trip.
May 1,2008: 10:25 a.m. Balcony on Le Meridien in Nice, overlooking The Promonade de Anglais and the sea which always is an indescribable aqua blue color even when it's gray outside. The "beach" is gray and rocky, and beach chairs and blue and white umbrellas line up along it. There are lots of bikers, runners and walkers along the promenade and enormous palm trees. It is sunny today, in the high 60s, and you can walk around in a light sweater and jeans. Yesterday, it poured. On Tuesday, we laid on the beach on yellow and white striped towels and dipped our feet in the sea. Then we swam in the pool on the hotel's rooftop and read and drank coffee and win. We met two waiters named Julien which is maybe a sign that I may someday have a baby boy as that's my favorite boy name. We watched some sort of student protest -- hundreds marching down the promenade -- from our balcony. I ate crepes with nutella. We ate Italian food at Taverna Massena twice -- pasta arrabiata and aubergine pizza. Someone is on the promenade with a megaphone right now. Everyone -- with the exception of one guy at the airport -- knows that we are Americans right away. We found a small bistro yesterday in old town and had tapanade and ratatouille, and walked up to the Russian Cathedral. We went to Monte Carlo and lost money on the slot machines and ate dinner at the Cafe du Pari -- steak and saffron risotto. Every morning, we ate french bread and jam that you bought at a nearby grocery door. We bought champagne at a wine shop and drank it in our room. We ate pizza at Queenie and read. We people watched. And now we are off to Paris. It still feels a bit unreal to be in France. With my HUSBAND. Hold shit. We are married now. I do feel very, very lucky and am grateful for the chance to make a marriage work.
That was Nice. Then we were off to Paris.
"May 4, 2008: 9 p.m. Sitting on Avenue es Champs Elysees in Paris on our last night here, watching the people -- mostly tourists-- stroll by. We arrived on Thursday to rain and checked into our hotel -- Hotel de Sers of the 25 Euro cocktails. We strolled up to the Champs, drank wine in a sidewalk cafe with pommes frites and walked to the Arc de Triumph. We decided not to walk up and to just people watch. It was freezing and I worried about not having warm enough clothes. We at dinner at a Chines restaurant, of all places, and drank more wine. Some French douchebag and his tacky titted girlfriend complained about everything from the food to the wine to the service. All were fine. On Friday, we slept until 10:30 and took the metro to Monmarte which was way more crowded and touristy than I remembered. I pointed out the carousel we recognized from Amelie and we climbed the stairs. We visited the church. We did not punch douchey tourists in the groin when they took pictures of people praying even though it says explicitly in 5 languages, "no photos." We had crepes and wine for lunch and talked with the multilingual shop owner of a tourist knick-knack joint. I bought postcards. You bought MG some chocolate. We tired of the crowds and walked down the stairs and Saw an old lady in her window people watching us. We walked to Pigalle and found lots of sex shops. Like old Times Square with better architecture. We walked some more and ended up at Galleries Lafayette where I fought the crowds to try on designer shoes, buying none. You wisely read your book and had cappuccino at the tea room. We went out on the roof, took pictures and then walked to the Opera House and Madeline(spelling) and toward Concorde. We stopped at Maxim's for wine, but the service sucked, so we left. Then we walked down the Champs back to our hotel where Guillerme, the concierge, recommended the best (and most expensive) restaurant I've even eaten at, La Table du Lancaster in the Lancaster Hotel. The host was a super friend Italian guy and the sommelier was wonderful. The food was beyond describable. It was a true food experience, with wine pairings and a special honeymoon treat of raspberry sorbet encased in white chocolate on a stick. Every day has been perfect weather, sunny and in the mid 70s and the sun never goes down here -- it's 9:30 and the street lights aren't one yet."
Then from the plane:
"May 5, 2008: En route from Paris to Boston, writing with my souvenir pen. I just finished "The History of Love," the first book I marked with my new hyphenated last name. It included a character named Uncle Julian. The Julians continue to track me. On Saturday, we woke up late again and went to a cheap place on the Champs for croissants and coffee -- with milk! (Horray!) We watched the people go by and took the metro from Charles de Gaulle to the catacombs in Montaparnasse. It's an above ground line and we passed the Eiffel Tower at Bir-Hakeim. The line for the catacombs was 90 minutes long and packed with other tourists, so we decided not to give up prime 70-degree weather. The metro sign there has the old school syle -- we took pictures. We took it back and hung near the Eiffel Tower taking pictures and marveling. I don't care if it's cheesy and touristy -- it's beautiful. We bought 2 day passes for Les Cars Rouges and rode to Notre Dame. It was also crowded, but there was a street band performing one of our songs from church, "Down by the River." We bought MG some trinkets at a tourist shop run by Brazilian women in lots of rhinestones, and you had to buy a baseball cap that said "Paris" because your head was getting a sunburn. I will still make fun of you for that. USA! USA! We stopped in the park behind the church to use the bathroom and I chatted with an American woman married to a Frenchman before we walked to Ile de St. Louis for lunch. We both had wine and salads and that famous French ice cream that I can't remember how to spell now (B somethign) -- me: pink grapefruit, apricot; you: milk chocolate, caramel salt butter -- that had been recommended by our cab driver in Nice. We met a nice, pretty couple who began talking to us when they saw us struggling to understand the ice cream flavors in French. The woman said her English was poor, but it wasn't. She had to move her car because it was about to be ticketed. We saw a girl on roller blades wipe out but manage to save her ice cream and lots of Velib bikes. We walked around the island to the South Point and over to the Left Bank and stopped on the Seinve to read and take pictures. We walked more through the small stalls and started to get irritated by the European idea of personal space. It was here that you coined "petit moose" for that grumpiness that comes when you are hot and being jostled by too many strangers. We caught the Big Red Bus again. A young brother and sister grabbed leaves from the trees and threw them at the passerbys. We folled the route and got off at the Champs. I don't remember if this was the day we bought the champagne and water at a tiny shop or not. We went back to the hotel, changed, read some more. You wore your fancy outfit that you bought at Drinkwater's. We had a glass of champagne at the cafe down the road and watched very pretty people going to the place we dubbed "the model hotel" with very skinny people and Bentleys, Maseratis, and Ferraris and one white gorgeous Lamborghini. You also saw a Maybar (Mayfair? May something or other?) and said it's one of the world's most expensive cars. We walked up to the Arc and climbed the stairs to the top. It was night and breathtaking. The Tower glittered. The Champs was packed with cars. Our camera lost battery power, but it didn't matter. It was warm. We went back down and ate a very late dinner at tiny pizza place. We then waited on line for 20 minutes for mediocre Haagen Daaz ice cream. I elbowed a dude who tried to cut me in line. We both petit moosed about the croweds. We found a bench finally and watched some more. It was Saturday night so there was lots of glitter and boobs, or melones grandes. We went back to the hotel and went to bed. We slept again until 10 and decided to just find a neighborhood to hang out in. We took the Metro to St. Paul in the Marais and walked through Ile de St. Louis again and to the Left Bank. We strolled along Rue St. Germain which was quiet on a Sunday morning and found a cafe in the shade. We FINALLY met a surly French waiter, and I had a cheeseburger like the obnoxious American I am and you had steak. We read. We walked to the Sorbonne and the Luxembourg Gardens and read under the leaves for an hour. We walked to San Germain and the Place Sartre -- Beauvoir and had overpriced Evian and Coca Cola "Light" at Les Deux Magots. I did not feel literary. Another band played and I saw a man open the windows in the church. We walked some more, caught the Red Bus again and rode around, looking at our last views of Paris during the day. We went back to the hotel and hung out before heading back to the neighborhood cafe for rose champagne and bread and cheese. The back to Champs where we sat on a bench and called our parents and wrote in our journals. We had dinner at a place where they made the weaiters wear uniforms of jeans, blue and white striped shirts and sailor caps. I had vegetable soup. You had chicken. There was a piece of glass in your apple tart so they didn't charge us. I thoroughly enjoyed my last nutella crepe. We took one last stroll and went back to the hotel to pack. You called the MG, as you did every day. This morning we were sad to leave Paris. We went back to the Champs and had cappaccino and apricot croissants for breakfast and watched everyone bustling to work on a Monday morning. With a few exceptions, nobody looked as miserable as they do in the US on a weekday morning. We walked back to the Arc one last time, much quieter than the weekedn, and found the 1944 Auxiliary Forces plaque. You told me this was your favorite monument. We went back to the hotel and took some pictures by the Velib bikes. After check out, our cab was both late and nuts -- we got pulled over for a speeding ticket on the way to the airport. We spent the last of our euro on duty-free postcards, biscuits and wine. We watched some Eurohozzles struggle with their many overstuffed suitcases. We had champagne and wine on the plane and toated the way the sommelier Lancaster did -- "happy life." We both cried a little. You watched a movie. I finished a book. We're married now and off to start the next adventure. Happy life indeed."
Pictures here.
What's Next
It's summertime, dudes. That's freakin' awesome. Over a week back from vacation and I'm still feeling pretty relaxed (okay, even keeled). Of course, that could be the two martinis talking.
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