Currently Obsessed With

1. The All Star Game. A fitting farewell to the Stadium. George's return. All the young players. Good stuff.

2. Like all other white people, I heart Wes Anderson. Rushmore is my favorite movie, and I loved The Royal Tenenbaums. We finally got around to renting The Darjeeling Limited on Sunday and it was a lovely, make me smile, make me happy kind of movie. Not perfect, but just right. And as with all of his movies, I loved the soundtrack, immediately downloaded it and have listened to it about 13 times in the last two days. I like all the instrumentals, and how like the Rushmore soundtrack, you get some good Kinks songs. I especially like the lyrics to Strangers.

Where are you going I don't mind
I've killed my world and I've killed my time
So where do I go what do I see
I see many people coming after me
So where are you going to I don't mind
If I live too long I'm afraid I'll die
So I will follow you wherever you go
If your offered hand is still open to me
Strangers on this road we are on
We are not two we are one
So you've been where I've just come
From the land that brings losers on
So we will share this road we walk
And mind our mouths and beware our talk
'Till peace we find tell you what I'll do
All the things I own I will share with you
If I feel tomorrow like I feel today
We'll take what we want and give the rest away
Strangers on this road we are on
We are not two we are one
Holy man and holy priest
This love of life makes me weak at my knees
And when we get there make your play
'Cos soon I feel you're gonna carry us away
In a promised lie you made us believe
For many men there is so much grief
And my mind is proud but it aches with rage
And if I live too long I'm afraid I'll die
Strangers on this road we are on
We are not two we are one
Strangers on this road we are on
We are not two we are one

3. I've only watched a few episodes of Flight of the Conchords, but nearly peed my pants laughing. My current obsession is watching their "music videos" on YouTube. Business Time is particularly awesome. I laughed out loud at "Tuesday is the night we usually go over to your mother's and I show her how to use the video machine again" as YG, when we are visiting, has become my parents' IT guy/contractor/physician catch all. Enjoy!

Cool Things (Or Why I Love Living in Cambridge)

Tonight YG and I went to see Salman Rushdie read at Memorial Church. To quote Ricky Bobby, yes, that just happened. And it was awesome.

He read from his latest novel, The Enchantress of Florence. The church felt like a furnace, it was hard to hear and we were tired and sticky, but the passage itself was beautiful, like a poem. And he was funny and charming.

The highlight of the evening was the last question he answered. A student (I believe) asked about what advice he might have for aspiring writers, and I'm paraphrasing here, but he said something along the lines of 'if you don't have that burning need to say something, to write something, don't write."

And I felt reassured, because I have never doubted that I am supposed to be a writer. It's what I am. It's who I am. I've never developed any alternative life plan. I have a career and for the most part, I enjoy it and it pays the bills. But it's not what I'm supposed to be doing. I have it -- that burning need to say something. And I'm going to figure out what that is.

After the reading, YG and I walked to Border Cafe and had margaritas (on a Monday. How decadent) and one of those talks that you love having but leaves you teary and drained. We talked about how our collective baggage (old and most heart-breakingly recent) makes life difficult for us and how it's sometimes just hard to even breathe. But we also talked about how greatful we are for the people we have met in passing in all the different arenas of our lives. He met a woman on the plane from San Francisco that he was able to talk to for hours, and I told him a story that I'd never mentioned before. About an old man that we met at Dunkin Donuts about a year ago. We sat down and talked to him for a while. He was in his 80s and owned his own store in the area and had a bunch of daughters and was talking about what a great life he had. The timing of this conversation was right after my grandfather had died, and I was feeling homesick. When I listened to the man in the Dunkin Donuts talk about his wife and his daughters, I had this feeling that it was my grandfather speaking through him. It's hard to explain. It doesn't make any sense, but I just felt it. Like a presence. And of course I didn't tell anyone, because hello? Freak. But tonight seemed the right time. I also remembered a short essay I wrote in college about "the angel Aurora," about a woman that Naomi, Josh, Erik and I met on the overnight train through Spain. It's been 12 years since that trip and I still feel like I met that woman for a reason and that I was meant to stay up all night talking to her about where I might end up.

I'm straddling the line between greatful and meloncholy tonight. I'm thankful for where I live and my friends and YG and to all the people who have seemingly just passed by for visits, and I'm sad that I don't know how to say it all. But at the same time, KNOW that I have figure out how to say it all.

One is the Lonliest Number. Or Maybe Not.

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.

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.

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.

:-(

And You Should Check This Out

The Fat Experience Project is really pretty awesome and a brilliant idea.

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!

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.

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.

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.

ABBA is Gay!

Tonight, YG, the MG, SKB and I are going to this.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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:

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!

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.

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:

"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.

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."