Confessions: I May Run, But I Love My Fried Foods

There was quite a dust up in the Fatosphere this week, after Jezebel republished an essay, titled As Fat As I Wanna Be, by Tasha Fierce. The essay itself is pretty brilliant, and this is the quote that is getting reposted in a number of the usual places I frequent:

"When someone is fat shamed, the person doing the shaming often justifies it as them being concerned for the fat person's health. Of course we know that's bullshit. Fatphobia has nothing to do with health, if someone was really concerned they wouldn't harp on it to the detriment of fat people's self esteem. And a ton of fat people can attest that they eat healthily and exercise. I however, cannot. So is the health argument justified in my case? Well, no, because fat also has nothing to do with health. It's the food I eat that's the issue. It's the fact that I eat when I'm definitely not physically hungry. It's my lack of exercise."

When I read this, I got goosebumps, thinking back to my horrible run in with Evil Nutritionist in 2007. That story was the basis for my still-unpublished-but-not-for-lack-of-trying essay on breaking up with dieting.* The seriously, seriously abridged version: I finally decided to stop yo yo dieting and to see a nutritionist to essentially re-learn how to eat. Said nutritionist told me that I was very overweight** and put me on a diet, after giving me a lesson with plastic food toys on proper portion size. And we know where this goes, right? I feel like shit, try the diet, can't stick to the diet, and hate myself because I can't do anything right, and then I start binge eating again. So yeah, thank god I got your help, EVIL BITCH.

Anyway, there was the usual kerfluffle in the comments section, and Tasha Fierce wrote a second brilliant response, My Fat, Your Issues. Again, you should read the whole thing, but this is the bit that's been rattling around in my head all week:

"NOWHERE did I ask for praise, hi-fives, compliments or “you go girl” statements for eating like shit. I don’t need validation regarding what I choose to stuff in my mouth. I’m sorry if you feel like my wanton gluttony is making your fat friends look bad because they exercise and eat right and here I am, blowing it for them, being the stereotype they try so hard not to be. My point was that, again, FAT PEOPLE SHOULD NOT BE EXPECTED TO OUTLINE THE WAYS THEY’RE TRYING TO NOT BE FAT, OR THE MEASURES THEY TAKE TO COUNTER THE ILLEGITIMATE CLAIMS THAT FAT = UNHEALTHY. "

Thunk. I do this. A LOT. I'm immeasurably proud of being able to say that I am not fat. It only took about thirty years, but progress -- that's good. However, I can really bore you with the insane details of what I eat and how much I exercise and all of my food "beliefs" in the event that you felt the need to comment on my size or even look at me the wrong way. I am a good yuppie and I'll tell you all about organic produce and my love for Michael Pollan and how processed food is making us all disgusting. This should sound familiar if you've been around the blog for a while. The "look at how many ways I am trying to be healthy (i.e. not fat)" list making is so ingrained in me that I didn't even realize I was doing it so much.

And the worst part is? The worst part is that I don't really eat that great. I've always liked working out and now running is sort of religious, so I can't critique my exercise, but my food habits? They really suck. While I may BELIEVE that processed food is shit and that we should all eat less sugar and fat, I would choose fried chicken strips and a bucket of fries over anything green any day. While I may feel crappy after, there is nothing quite as tasty (to me) as a mound of pasta with sauce and a hunk of Italian bread on the side. And bacon? Everything tastes better with bacon. Things I also love include: Ring Dings, Diet Coke (oh, dear sweet lord, do I fucking love Diet Coke), potato chips, fudge, beer, white rice. Things I am not so hot about: salmon, green vegetables, tofu, sushi. To be fair, there are a ton of "healthy" things that I do like, but I can make it seem like I am eating those things all the time because my inner monologue says, "If I tell them that I had a milkshake and olive bread for dinner tonight, then they will look at me and take note of my not-so-thinness." Bullshit. Total bullshit.

We, and by we, I mean me, need to stop demonizing people because of how they treat their bodies. I don't expect smokers to list out all the vegetables they're eating and how much they exercise. Why the fatties? Because it's not about health.

Big, big sigh.


* Seriously, I think it's good. Yes, I'm probably biased. But there is worse crap out there getting published.
** Numbers at the time: 5'7" and 178 lbs. Overweight according to the BMI, but dudes, I was running like every day. Evil bitch said "not enough."

Random Things That Make Me Smile

Malt liquor makes me smile in that "like, omigod, remember all those 40s we drank in college?" way. This is awesome.

Who needs champagne when you have CHAMPALE?

I have to wonder what "makes your mouth feel like it's Saturday night" means to people who are not hookers.



Thanks to the lovely Tenille for the image.

Parenting: The Awesome and The Absurd

Awesome

I received my first purposeful, slobbery kiss from Zygote today. She was laying on the bed with YG and I, and I said, "Give mama a kiss" and she leaned her face in and put her slurpy, slobbery, germ warrior little mouth near my lips. Then she did to YG. And then she giggled like a crazy person. It was exhilirating.

Absurd

About a week into weaning, I made the first trip across the street to buy a cabbage. To put in my bra. You read that right. Google it.

Recap: Look Your Best Week

Look Your Best Week was not exactly a raging success, but it wasn't an epic fail either. It did force me to think about what I was wearing, try to put together different things, and think about WHY I wear the things that I do.

I have a tendency to "save" clothes for special occassions that may or may not happen. I'll think to myself, "oh, it's Monday. Nobody works in the office that day so I can look sloppy" or more often that I care to admit, "I'm not going anywhere so why bother." Then I wear the same jeans and t-shirts and save all the cute dresses and skirts for some other time. I have a hard time wrapping my mind around the idea of wearing something special-ly lookin' to buy groceries. I have yet to step on that slippery slope toward wearing gym clothes all the time I'm not at work, but I can see how it happens.

Anyway, you should check out some of the other posts.

My favorite outfit of the week was this one. If you're following along, you can see that I have a bit of an obsession with wrap dresses (defined waist, big jugs -- what's NOT to like?) and who doesn't love leopard print?

Uncomfortable Much

There are some things that I don't like talking about and some things that you should not talk about because you are bound to piss somebody off or weird somebody out.

Church-y Things
I've mentioned before on this blog that YG and I are very involved in our church. It's a great church, and Congregational and in Cambridge so it's about as open and affirming (read: big, gay) as you can get. We stumbled across it when we both realized we wanted to go back to church, and I've been grateful ever since. We were married there, we volunteer there, and we had Zygote baptized there. It's a home of sorts.

Still, I have struggled with feeling like I gave up on the Catholic Church. Or not the church, but the "culture." It seems like it's hard to be an Italian American without being Catholic -- everything is intertwined, and many things that I consider part of my weird "heritage" are probably more church-related than ethnic (the nativity, the feasts on Christmas Eve, praying to all the saints for any number of problems, etc). Sometimes I feel like I am rejecting where I came from. Add to that the fact that most of the people in our Church share common faith backgrounds, and it's sometimes like I'm speaking another language. I had/have no idea what all the political differences between Methodists and Presbyterians and Baptists and blah, blah. I mean, for Catholics, Protestants are Protestants. Period.

But then I remember. I didn't reject anything. According to the "rules," I am going to Hell because I'm divorced. From www.religioustolerance.org (bolds are mine):

The trap that some Catholics find themselves:

Couples that obtain a civil divorce and remarry without first obtaining an annulment are denied access to the Sacraments of Penance (a.k.a. Confession) and Holy Eucharist. (Catechism 1650). They are caught between a rock and a hard place:

If they continue in the new marriage, then they cannot repent of and confess their sins through the Sacraments of Penance, and return to Communion. Meanwhile, their sins are accumulating. Because the church does not recognize their new marriage, it considers every sexual act within the marriage to be a new act of adultery -- a mortal sin. According to the church's teachings, this means that they will not attain Heaven when they die. They will end up being eternally tormented in Hell. There are only two ways of avoiding this state:

To be fortunate enough to not die suddenly (e.g. to not die instantly in a car accident or from a massive heart attack). This way, they might be able to receive the Last Anointing by which their mortal sins are forgiven. Needless to say, this is a risky route to take.

To make an "act of perfect contrition" instead of Confession. But this requires the individual to repent of what the Church considers their sins of adultery, and sincerely intend to never engage in "adultery" in the future.

If they separate from their new spouse, and live alone, and sincerely intend to remain separated unless a annulment is granted, then they can resume their access the Sacraments of Penance and Holy Eucharist. But that would require them to violate their new marriage vows, and terminate their marital relationship. This option often seems profoundly immoral to the couple, particularly if there are children involved.

But then I remember. Some of my friends and my FAMILY are not welcome to receive communion either because of who they are.

But then I remember. The sex abuse scandal. A hierarchy that didn't protect the smallest victims.

This might be the final straw for me. A Catholic school in Massachusetts withdrew the acceptance of an 8-year-old boy because his lesbian parents' relationship was "in discord" with the teachings of the church. Since the story broke, the Superintendant of the Boston Archdiocese has offered to help find a place for the kid, but too little, too late.

I guess I'm just done. I hate rabid anti-Catholic sentiments, and I like to point out all the good work that Catholic Relief Services has done around the world (Kristoff did too). But I'm tired. You can only do so much. And when the Church continues to do bigoted shit like this, you (read: I) just lose all desire to try and find the positive.

It's time to leave that behind, and accept that I am part of a new church* where I just fit better.

* And now I can spend the time that I used defending Catholicism to explain the differences between my church and the crazy, nutso Evangelicals.

Jugs, Or More Specifically, Mine

I could spend all day talking about boobs and bra sizing and hooters, as long as they don't belong to me. I've been reluctant to talk about nursing the Zygote because people have very specific ideas about what is and isn't appropriate with regards to breastfeeding. If I talk to one group, I am an evil harpy because I have been giving my kid a bottle of formula every day since she was 6 weeks old and I introduced her to bottles at 2 weeks. If I talk to another group, I am some crazy earth momma hippie that wears hemp clothing and is really into composting because 11 months in, I am still nursing.

Or was. A few days ago, Zygote just decided she didn't want to nurse anymore. She's never gone on a nursing strike before, and we've kept the same schedule (nursing in the morning and night, and on weekends/bottles during the day) since I went back to work 7 months ago. I had been doing a lot of research about weaning, so in some sense, I was prepared for this. And I know it might also be a phase -- kids her age rarely self-wean this early.

I never expected that I would be doing this this long, and I never thought I would get so emotionally attached to it. I heard that the depression following weaning could sometimes be as bad as postpartum depression, and considering I spent the first month after Zygote was born wishing I would get hit by a car so that someone more competent could take of her -- this freaks my shit all out.

I've been following her lead, giving her the bottle, but following the rest of our routine: reading her a story, rocking her, letting her play with my hair. She's fine. And I know I'll be fine, phase or not, but it's very bittersweet. I feel grateful to have part of my life back, but I also can't believe my little baby is growing up.

How's that for barfy? And if I really wanted to be gross, I would now post a cute picture of my kid.



Oh, look. I just did.

What? I Can't Hear You

It's been a year since YG lost his hearing. He participated in a study last summer, but his hearing never returned. With physical therapy, his balance did return and he's able to ride his bike again. I don't talk about this much because it really isn't my story to tell, and you deal with the hand you've been given and handle the situation in front of you. YG and I are not the type of people who let themselves break down. Or grieve. Or be off our game. Or take break. But that's a whole other blog. And we never really had time to think about what happened -- Zygote was born a few weeks later, the MG got sick, his career took off, I went back to work, etc. etc.. I am profoundly grateful that YG didn't suffer a more serious disease, but that doesn't mean I still don't feel a sense of loss, and the usual "the world is so unfair" crap. YG has dealt with some major shit in the course of his young life (yes, YG, you read that right -- young), and I hate that he ended up with another turd in the shit sandwich. He's dealt with it with grace and calm, as is his way, and I'm just thinking about it on this unfortunate anniversary of sorts.

Look Your Best Week

The ladies over at Academic Chic are doing this again this year, and I think it's awesome. It plays nicely into my whole 'shop from the closet' experiment.

Speaking of which, I found this blog entry describing why and how people tune into outfit posts. I admit that I am a bit obsessed with them, and I love how people present them. Photography draws my eye a lot, and I feel slight mortification that my photos are all taken with our old digital camera in our very crappy bathroom. But I am not a fashion blogger, so cut me some slack.

While reading through all of these blogs this morning (okay, well, reading the links from Already Pretty), I came across this awesome Margaret Cho quote:

"And I have a lot of self-esteem, which is amazing, because I’m probably somebody who wouldn’t necessarily have a lot of self esteem, as I am considered a minority. And if you are a woman; if you are a person of color; if you are gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender; if you are a person of size; if you are person of intelligence; if you are a person of integrity, then YOU are considered a minority in this world. And it’s going to be really hard to find messages of self-love and support anywhere, especially women’s and gay men’s culture. It’s all about how you have to look a certain way, or else you’re worthless. You know, when you look in the mirror and think, “Ugh, I’m so ugly, I’m so fat, I’m so old.” Don’t you know that’s not your authentic self? That is billions upon billions of dollars of advertising: magazines, movies, billboards, all geared to make you feel shitty about yourself, so that you will take your hard-earned money, and spend it at the mall on some turn-around creme that doesn’t turn around shit. If you don’t have self-esteem, you will hesitate before you do anything in your life. You will hesitate to go for the job you want to go for. You will hesitate to ask for a raise. You will hesitate to call yourself an American. You will hesitate to report a rape. You will hesitate to defend yourself when you are discriminated against because of your race, your sexuality, your size, your gender. You will hesitate to vote. You will hesitate to dream. For us to have self-esteem is truly an act of revolution, and our revolution is long overdue. I urge you all today, especially today in these times of terrorism and chaos, to love yourselves without reservation and to love each other without restraint. Unless you’re into leather, then by all means, use restraints. Thank you."

That was sourced back to this blog that I immediately added to my favorites.

Her stated mission:

"Size 14+ women are desexualized, infantilized & prematurely aged by commercial apparel designers, given insanely few choices for covering their bodies, and made to pay double for half the quality.
Egregious sequins, boatnecks, 3/4 length sleeves, bad graphics, thin polyester:
I, for one, am outraged.And you are too.NonPlus looks into the toxic world of “Plus-Sized Fashion” and teases out the interesting & incredible from the insulting."

AND, she's local. Cool.

What JM Talks About When She Talks About Running

I finally finished reading Haruki Murakami's What I Talk About When I Talk About Running. I've been meaning to write about what I thought about the book, along with other thoughts on running/writing and a confluence of events, including some really good weeks at work.

The book is classified as a memoir, but it is equal parts training log, travelogue and writers' manual. Or could be classified under the broad category of Books I Read At Exactly The Right Time. I picked this up a few years back at City Lights in San Francisco, when I first picked up running. I really don't know what my impetus was to start running at that particular time. It seems like a fairly dumb sport to pick up in your 30s when you're overweight and not particularly fast. But for as long as I could remember, I had "run a marathon" on my list of New Year's Resolutions, even though I never actually, you know, RAN. Pipe dreams. I had tried biking because YG was into it, but I'm too competitive and it bothered me to know that I would never be as good at biking as he was/is. I guess I needed something for myself, and I had a few friends that had success with Couch to 5K, so there you go. As with most things in my life, I kind of fell into it.

And now a few years later, I feel pretty confident about my half marathon training and eventual marathon dreams. So off the bookshelf, Murakami's book came. I had no idea he ran the same routes I do. Right out of the gate, I was hooked:

"It doesn't matter what field you're talking about -- beating somebody else just doesn't do it for me. I'm much more interested in whether I reach the goals that I set for myself, so in this sense long-distance running is the perfect fit for a mindset like mine. ...In long-distance running the only opponenet you have to beat is yourself, the way you used to be."

As I've mentioned before, I'm slow. Really slow. On a good day, I can run between a 10:30 and 11 minute mile. On a regular day, that's more like 11:30/12 minutes. I'm not going to win any races, and most of the time, I'm near the back of the pack. I've had to deal with snide remarks by "real" runners who think that us slowpokes should stay out of the way, but it doesn't matter. I have my own goals, and most of the time, I am able to meet them. I follow my training plans and I feel good. I KNOW that I will finish this half marathon, and I know that I will run a marathon someday.

I was out running on Friday and I wiped out good. I felt my sneaker hit the lip of the sidewalk, and I knew I was going to tumble. In slow motion, I saw this sweaty Gatorade bottle I was holding go hurtling in the air, and I heard myself yell before I hit the ground. My initial reaction was fear that I had broken something, only fueled by a bunch of people who got out of their cars and came over to make sure that I was okay. I rolled over and checked my knees and palms (both bleeding) and let out this stream of "motherfuckerjesusgoddamitshitfucker." Next reaction was pure RAGE. Falling was NOT in my plan, and I knew it was going to screw with my time. I killed the last mile, but was still irritated. And three days later, am still sore AND irritated.

Murakami relates this to writing this way:

"In the novelist's profession, as far as I'm concerned, there's no such thing as winning or losing. . . . What's crucial is whether your writing attains the standards you've set for yourself. Failure to reach that bar is not something you can easily explain away. When it comes to other people, you can always come up with a reasonable explanation, but you can't fool yourself."

Ouch. So here's where it gets difficult. I'm not sure I've set any standards for myself. I said that I was going to be a writer when I was 10, and that's the only thing I really ever wanted/want to be. But I'm not even sure what that means anymore. Because that was my only goal, I never really developed any other career plans and just fell into what I'm doing. It's okay, but I always feel like I am displaced and the only reason I do well is because I'm competitive, not because I really want to excel.

I have to figure out what success writing is going to mean for me. I don't think I'm going to be "discovered." 1. Because that rarely happens. And 2. Because one would need to be writing fairly regularly or writing SOMETHING for that something to be discovered. When I'm not taking classes, my writing is very disjointed and without purpose. I would present this entry as Exhibit A. I have the time to write now on Fridays and just like I came up with a training plan for the half and future marathons, there needs to be some sort of defined goal for me to work toward. My writing teachers have all said I should pursue this, and even the random creativity workshop that I took at work ended with an awkward heart-to-heart with the hippie teachers who also noted that I "have something and should pursue it." Not about you, about me, blah blah blah.

"If you're going to while away the years, it's far better to live them with clear goals and fully alive than in a fog, and I believe running helps you do that. Exerting yourself to the fullest within your individual limits: that's the essence of running, and a metaphor for life -- and for me, for writing as well."

Amen? Let's see where I can take this.

I like running because all I need to do is concentrate on running. Nothing else. One foot in front of the other. I had described that feeling to a friend from church and described myself as being in love with the blankness of my mind while running. I thought I had come up with a particularly brilliant observation, a way to get away from my near-constant inner monlogue, but Murakami uses the adjective "blank" throughout his book. I guess everyone feels this way. I listen to music most of the time, but I don't really hear it. I just concentrate on moving, and (most of the time), not falling.

"Maybe it's some pointless act...but at least the effort you put into it remains. Whether it's good for anything or not, cool or totally uncool, in the final analysis what's most important is what you can't see but can feel in your heart. To be able to grasp something of value, something you have to perform seemingly ineffecient acts. But activities that appear fruitless don't necessarily end up so."

I guess we'll see.

No Repeats

Week two.

This Week in Running -- Photo Edition

Injury at Mile 11



First 5K of the Season -- Mom's Run

Start



34:35 Finish -- Not terrible considering I was still recovering from the 12 mile two days earlier and have a gross, bruised knee.

Jugs

Another untapped market opportunity.

Why Designers Refuse To Make Bigger Bras.

But how much of a "risk" is it to make and advertise a product you know many women are clamoring for, unless you know your company is only capable of making cheap, flimsy bras that would never support larger breasts? Is designing a bra that can do some heavy lifting really so complex that it's more profitable to add a bow and some lace to last season's 34Bs and shun millions of potential customers?

Note to designers: If you build it, I will come.

Internets Crush

I put this up on Facebook too because it's totally awesome and I hope it gets a lot of link love.

You Can't Bully Me Out of My Skinny Jeans.

LOVE.

It amazes me that there is a group on Facebook dedicated to being dick faces, but then again, there was that "No Chubbies" guy in Denver a while back too. So really, I should never be amazed by just how dickish people can be.

The word of the day is, apparently, dick.

Hastily Written Late Night Reasons to Love Cambridge

1. We were spared during the Aquapocalypse.

2. Beautiful weather runs along the Charles. I've logged twenty miles since Friday. I am that awesome.

3. The Paper Raincoat at Club Passim.

Clothes Horse

My first batch of outfits is up. I am slightly weirded out, yet fascinated, by the number of views on the pictures. Are people really that interested in clothes? Or is it a fetish/stalker thing? People find this blog by googling "swinging testicles" so I should not be surprised by anything on the Internets.

In other clothes news, I like this blog. I read a lot of fashion blogs, but given my day job, it's not like I can really wear a lot of the super stylin' hip stuff people are blogging about. Never mind that I'm neither stylin' nor hip. The stuff at Corporette combines cool clothes with things you can wear to a white dude office.

They Said It Better and More Lists of Shit I Am Doing

1. The Fairy Tale of Weight Loss -- I read these ladies' blogs. Very cool.

2. Are you listening to my friend Amy's podcast? You should be.

3. I took this workshop today. You know me. You know how I react to mandatory fun at work. I was approaching this and the upside down 'A' with the same enthusiasm as I might approach dental work or a trip to the ob/gyn. As usual, I am a dick. It was great and I did more writing exercises today at work than I have on my last two months of "writing" Fridays.

4. I am going to the Simmons Women's Leadership Conference tomorrow. I am not going to harass Tina Brown.

5. Immigration is a feminist issue. Much better articulated than my 'Fuck you, Arizona' sentiments.

6. Cape Wind Pros and Cons. The cons seem very much of the 'not in my backyard' variety. Very 'we, the rich white liberals of New England very much support green energy as long as you put the turbines someplace else, preferably where poor people live, because they don't have sailing or views of the ocean or anything visually pleasing like that.'

7. Big tits are inappropriate for television, but only if they are on fat chicks. There was a big brouhaha over the censoring of Lane Bryant's lingerie ads. Check it out yourself. Any difference between this and a Victoria's Secret ad? I don't get it. The model's reported measurements are 36-34-47 and a US Size 12. This is around my size, so I for one, am thrilled to see real jugs on a regular-sized person in an underwear ad that doesn't feature granny panties and lots of beige. BEWARE THE JUGS.



8. My brother likes today, Poem in Your Pocket Day. I pick
the Cambridge ladies who live in furnished souls by E.E. Cummings for my adopted town. Also, I Am Much Too Alone in This World, Yet Not Alone. Because a little Rilke never hurt anyone.

Anniversary #2

April 26, 2008



April 2009



April 2010



Good run, so far.

Reading, Watching, Other Stuff

1. Waiter Rant -- I didn't really read this one. I listened to it in the car, and it lent itself well to that medium, meaning I probably would have been bored if I read the actual book. It starts off slow, but got better, and for a brief moment in time made me appreciate my boring office job. Sometimes I experience weird nostalgia for the crappy jobs I had in high school and college, because, hey, at least you could punch out at the end of the day. But then I remember the bag full of dicks you end up sucking in food service and get over it. I'm curious about this dude's blog now, as usual, about two years after it was cool to care.

2. No One Belongs Here More Than You: Stories by Miranda July -- I confess to wanting to read this book because of its shiny yellow cover. And I liked the weirdness that was Me and You and Everyone We Know. This was on the clearance rack at Borders so I picked it up to have something to read in the Pumping Room, other than Parents magazine from 3 years ago. Verdict is still out. It was fascinating, and I had some definite favorites, but I guess my sieve-like brain craves more linear stories right now. I'd like to have a drink or play Jenga with Miranda July. She's a fucked up little oddball.

3. The Shock Doctrine: The Rise of Disaster Capitalism -- Because we needed another reason to hate rich, whitey businessmen. It took me two months to read this, and I feel like I missed some of the stats because it was just so dense. The main premise is that politicians use the shock of natural and other disasters to push through unpopular economic policies while the general population is disoriented and reeling from the disaster's impact. It takes on post-Katrina New Orleans, post-911 USA, the collapse of the Soviet Union, among others, and talks about Milton Friedman's legacy of shit. You also get a whole host of new reasons to hate Dick Cheney and Donald Rumsfeld, if you needed that. What I liked is that Naomi Klein is a journalist, so this reads like a *really long* magazine article without the usual boring economic jargon. What I didn't like is that it's very biased, and I think there are probably examples of leftists participating in the same sort of shenanigans.

4. Away From Her -- I actually haven't finished watching this yet, because it's sort of hard to psyche yourself up for an Alzheimer's flick. Sort of like saying, "Hey guys, let's have a party -- I've got Schindler's List and Hotel Rwanda. Woot!" I've been watching it in dribs and drabs, and it's beautiful and honest and depressing as hell. And much realer than that shit in The Notebook. Sarah Polley of Go (one of my favorites) and The Sweet Hereafter (another not-for-a-party movie) and a bunch of other great movies directed it. My grandmother had Alzheimer's disease. It was horrible to watch, and the scenes in the nursing home (especially one where the character, Grant, says that his wife would never wear a sweater that "tacky") just chilled me. Brilliant acting, but don't watch it alone.

5. Party Down -- For when I'm not watching tearjerkers. I just discovered this, and my first thought was, "It's Louie! I wanna dip my balls in it."* And Stifler's Mom. And Karen. And that lady from Glee and all the other movies I like and that really bad commercial for frozen dinners with Julia Louis Dreyfus. Pretty hilarious shit. And again, semi grateful for my office job.

* For shits and giggles, you should Google "Dip my balls in it." People are fucked up.

6. I only have a few weeks left of training for the half. I'm sore, but starting to imagine actually finishing. YG has been telling me to think about what I want to do after, so I signed up for this to keep things moving. 7.5 miles seem really NICE right now.

7. Lost: The Final Season -- I think I am too dumb for this show. They kill me. Every week I think I am going to learn something new, but end up drooling in confusion. Then I read Diva for explanations. Only slightly related: Matthew Fox and his new haircut should call me sometime.

8. New project -- I saw a link to this project, A Compendium of Dresses, on Already Pretty, and spent a not-insignificant portion of this weekend drooling over this girl's fabulous dresses. I'm also in the middle of my annual closet swap/cleaning/whatever and am excited to wear some of my older clothes. I didn't get to wear dresses last summer because of the post-baby weight and nursing, so it's almost like having a new wardrobe. Of way too much stuff. In the spirit of keeping myself busy and not spending money on clothes that I don't need, I am bringing back Outfits I Have Enjoyed.* Thirty one days in May, and hopefully thirty one outfits I have enjoyed.

* In looking back at those photos, I probably should change the tense to "had." Wow, I was off on some of those.

Brief Hiatus

Our nanny is away on a two-week vacation. That is the kind of phrase that strikes fear deep, deep, deep in my soul. My work is a mess, our house is a disaster, and I am vaguely aware of this person called my husband. Lots of blogs in the head, but not on the screen. Stay tuned.

Things I Like: The Situation Meets Mr. Hottie Met

David Wright and Mike, "The Situation." This kind of makes me want to go out and get a Vitamin Water. I believe my favorite comment on Youtube was, "the only thing he's fist pumping this year is your mom."

Ah, baseball season is back again!

Poem for a Rainy Monday

Dogfish by Mary Oliver.

Dogfish
Some kind of relaxed and beautiful thing
kept flickering in with the tide
and looking around.
Black as a fisherman's boot,
with a white belly.
If you asked for a picture I would have to draw a smile
under the perfectly round eyes and above the chin,
which was rough
as a thousand sharpened nails.
And you know
what a smile means,
don't you?
*
I wanted the past to go away, I wanted
to leave it, like another country; I wanted
my life to close, and open
like a hinge, like a wing, like the part of the song
where it falls
down over the rocks: an explosion, a discovery;
I wanted
to hurry into the work of my life; I wanted to know,
whoever I was, I was
alive
for a little while.
*
It was evening, and no longer summer.
Three small fish, I don't know what they were,
huddled in the highest ripples
as it came swimming in again, effortless, the whole body
one gesture, one black sleeve
that could fit easily around
the bodies of three small fish.
*
Also I wanted
to be able to love. And we all know
how that one goes,
don't we?
Slowly
*
the dogfish tore open the soft basins of water.
*
You don't want to hear the story
of my life, and anyway
I don't want to tell it, I want to listen
to the enormous waterfalls of the sun.
And anyway it's the same old story - - -
a few people just trying,
one way or another,
to survive.
Mostly, I want to be kind.
And nobody, of course, is kind,
or mean,
for a simple reason.
And nobody gets out of it, having to
swim through the fires to stay in
this world.
*
And look! look! look! I think those little fish
better wake up and dash themselves away
from the hopeless future that is
bulging toward them.
*
And probably,
if they don't waste time
looking for an easier world,
they can do it.

The Good Die Young

There are so many things that suck about getting divorced that it's hard to start a post with "One of the worst things about getting divorced is..." Still, some things qualify as really bad. Like when you like your ex's friends or family, and you suddenly don't see or talk to them anymore. It's not like you stop caring about them. You do, but you can't just call somebody up and be all, "hey, remember when we used to be related? Fun!"

My former brother-in-law died yesterday after a long battle with cancer. He was 50 years old and leaves behind a wife and two young children, along with his mother and three siblings, including my ex-husband. I am finding it hard to put into words how sad this makes me feel.

I hadn't spoken to him in about four years, around the time that my marriage was disintegrating. I met F and his wife when I was 23 and they were in their late thirties. At the time, I thought I was so old and mature. Now I realize that I didn't know jack shit, but the family was never condescending and they welcomed me and hung around with my just-graduated-from-college friends and invited me to lots of things at their house. It was my first foray into the world of the suburban family with kids (other than my family of origin) and good practice -- I had fun helping with puppet and magic shows for the kids, hanging out in the backyard barbequing and playing volleyball. F was pretty hilarious and had a wicked sense of humor, and he and my ex played off each other really well. His whole family adored him -- sometimes jealous, sometimes irritated, but they knew he was a good guy. Even though things eventually went to hell, I give F and his wife lots of props for at least trying to understand, or at least ask me questions about how bad things were for me back then. There is a lot more I can say about him, but I know that this information is semi-public and it's not my story to tell -- it just seems unfair to lose someone who battled through so much shit and so many other terrible things throughout the course of his life.

I was there when their father died. I was there when F had a relapse of cancer. I was there when F and his wife adopted their second child. I think the last time I saw him was at his daughter's Communion. I'm not there now, nor would it be appropriate for me to be. But I am thinking of the family and those kids and just wishing, vibing, whatever, HOPING that they have the strength to make it through this.