Happy Thanksgiving!

The whole daily posting thing did not work out, as expected, but I did take a few days to try and get better. I'm still stuffy and gross, so I bagged the 5K this morning and am trying to practice being grateful rather than feeling guilty.

The drive down went fine. Instead of waiting until Wednesday, I worked from home on Tuesday, had some dinner with YG and the MG at Mr.Crepe, and then took off around 7. I hit virtually no traffic and the entertainment of The Nanny Diaries for the duration of the ride. Cheesy schlock, but interesting enough when you're tired, and sick, and have a four-hour drive ahead of you.

Yesterday, I worked from here and caught up on all those nagging work things that I usually let go until someone needs them. I listened to my mother read the directions for the coffee pot OUT LOUD for an hour. It was a slow day, so I logged off around 4 and gave myself two hours to wander the aisles of Century 21, getting in my last shopping trip before the hell that is "holiday shopping season."

But a strange thing happened. I kept trying on shoes and bringing more and more things to the dressing room, and I liked what I saw, but not enough to buy anything. This is like a shock to my system. I LOVE shopping. I LOVE buying. I LOVE consuming, like the good American capitalist I am. Or at least I did. But I don't NEED anything. I have plenty of shoes, pretty sweaters, dresses (although, I am slightly regretting not nabbing the Diane von Furstenburg wrap dress with the yellow flowers), pants -- I don't need anything. Really. And if I don't need it, why buy it? I have everything I want.

And that leads me to Thanksgiving.

It's so easy to focus on the negative. I am, after all, an eternal pessimist, or to be more realistic, I am always pessimistic about ME -- thinking I should do more, be more, make more, say more, share more, give more, more, more, more, more. I still haven't mastered or even begun to truly accept, "progress, not perfection." There are plenty of things I want to "fix" -- my career, my health, my solitariness. But not today.

Today, I am going to be thankful for:
* Me. I am not that bad, all the time.
* My health. I've made it this far without any major issues. I am not as fat or unhealthy as my shitty committe thinks I am.
* My family. Both of them. YG and the MG up in Cambridge. The orignal cast here in NJ.
* My friends. The in-the-flesh ones and the email buddies and what my mom refers to as my "friends from the Internet."
* My cats.
* The ability to understand that I've "unstuck" myself before, and I can do it again.
* Our new church.
* Good books and good music and good food.

Today, I'm going to go for a walk, eat approximately 3 pounds of mashed potatoes with gravy, and read. A perfect day.

Happy Thanksgiving all!

Weekend Observations

Still sick, but slightly less miserable. After keeping YG up for the past few nights -- and with the cough medicine with codeine in it not even working -- I finally sucked it up (or YG forced me) and went to my doctor's "urgent care" office over the weekend. I have a sinus infection, and am now on my second round of antibiotics in three weeks. Fantastic. Who doesn't love a yeast infection?

Despite all this, we managed to have a pretty decent weekend.

* The MG asked YG, "where do babies come from?" so he bought her a book. She said, "why can't you just tell me?" Him: "We need a book." So now we have It's So Amazing!: A Book about Eggs, Sperm, Birth, Babies, and Families. This pretty much covers everything from your regular old baby making to spank banks and bean flicking to homos to abortions to IVF to AIDS. With cartoons.

Some times I feel like it was a great gift to grow up nice and Catholic and repressed because I didn't have to sit and read picture books with my parents about nut sacks. I am trying *very* hard to be straight faced and open, but it's really hard not to either burst out laughing or run and hide and die inside when you get questions like:
* Have you ever seen an erection? What is it like? Does it really stick out like that? [this in response to the cartoon boner]
* Why does it say that the stuff is milky? Can you drink it?

SERIOUSLY! My god.

That being said, it's sort of interesting to read through it with her and YG and see her just take everything in. Kids are such a product of their environment -- you only turn into an ignorant bigoted douchebag if you're taught to be one.

And speaking of, I love this dude in the Amazon comments. "Overall, a good informative book, however there is one page that describes homosexual attraction as something natural, just like heterosexuality. This is a dangerous lie that is too prevalent in our culture. It is offensive to God because it perverts his beautiful design and ruins his wonderful gift to each of us. It is not only wrong, but totally inappropriate for any age. The rest of the book is great. Too bad I couldn't tear out that one bad page without eliminating the other side, which was worthwhile. Because of this, I would NOT recommend this book!"
The gays! They are taking over! They are so PREVALENT! They are ruining my "beautiful gift." But the rest of the book? About nut sacks and tits? Totally A-OK.


* We had another fantastic dinner at The Blue Room. Yummy pork and shrimp and champagne. AND sleeping in the next day. Nice.

* We bought new pants for the MG and I started some of my Christmas shopping. I remembered how much I hate the mall and humanity at "holiday" time, when some lady on line behind us in Macy's picked a fight, saying that I cut her kid in line. When I said that I had been standing there for 15 minutes, she got all hands up and actually used "relax." We had a brief exchange, but I let it go because I had the MG and I'm still trying to convince YG that I am fit to be around children. Lady, however, kept doing that passive-agressive whisper thing, talking to her kid about how "SOME PEOPLE" are so rude and obnoxious and blah, blah, blah. I whispered to YG, while looking right at her, "I'm ready to fucking punch this bitch." Horray -- the Son of God is born. Peace on Earth. Goodwill!

* Cheesecake Factory. I know that liking my mall cheesecake means I'm only a few years away from wearing elastic-waist pants and a wolf sweatshirt, and a scrunchy in my hairsprayed hair. However, that shit tastes divine.

* Six months after moving in, we finally hung our curtains.

* I saw a cab today with a Nixon/Agnew bumper sticker on it.

* Pho Lunch.

* More for the "I hate Humanity" file. I had a wax appointment in Boston today, so I left YG and the MG in Harvard and took the T in. The red line was down between Kendall and Park, so I ended up having to take one of the shuttle buses. I had bumped off the first two because of overcrowding, but squeezed onto the third one by pretty much hanging off the strap by my pinky. I had my hat, bag, book and other stuff in my left hand, about 30 people pressed up against me, AND ended up with one of my hacking-up-a-lung coughing jags, trying my absolute best to cough into my jacket and not infest the whole bus. This bitchy little hozzle, with her straight-ironed hair and stupid Ugg boots, gave me the stink eye and snotted, "Ughhh. How about you try covering your mouth?"

This, dear readers, is when I have a choice to apologize and let go of the strap (the only fucking thing holding me up) and be a nice human being who just went to church and had a nice communion. OR I could be the bitch who was sick, and sick and tired of being jostled, and sick and tired of being sick, and sick and tired of these rich, shitty, bratty college kids. So I chose to look right back at her, and mimic her cadence and delivery, and snotted back, "How about I beat your ass?" This was not what she was expecting, and like all those snotty rich bitches, she knew that she most definitely would get her ass beat in a fight. So she and her look-alike hozzley friends started to slowly back away and stared at the floor.

Very mature. 31 years old. Taking names, and kicking ass.

The trip back took almost an hour and a half (usually about 30 minutes), was just as crowded, and I had a small human spill hot chocolate on me. Good times.

* Short week this week. I haven't been back to work since Thursday, and am hoping, kind of, that I still have a job.

Sick

I missed two days of blogging because I've been holed up in my house, sick yet again. I attempted to go to work on Thursday, and that was a very bad idea. I felt like my head was going to explode and just sat in my cube wimpering -- a total waste of a good outfit. Went home and went right to bed, but I couldn't sleep because I was coughing and too stuffy. You would not BELIEVE the shit that I'm coughing up.

Normally, I'd be all excited about almost a week's worth of working at home, but I'm just kind of sad and whiny.

And of course, self-blaming because:
* If I took better care of myself, I wouldn't be sick
* If I ate better, I wouldn't be sick
* If I exercised more, I wouldn't be sick
* If I didn't let myself get so stressed out, I wouldn't be sick

And so on. It's lovely. :-(

Woe Is Me

File under: Things That Suck.

* I am sick AGAIN. Not deathly ill, not flu-like, just motherfucking annoyingly filled with snot. Argh. After Hacking up My Lung Cold Part 1, I had about 3 minutes of feeling human before starting to feel this way again. I keep blowing my nose and coughing, but all I really want to do is sleep and stay in sweatpants all day.

I attempted to run three miles this morning with Snot Cold, and that sucked. I worked from home, but that freaks me out with its solitariness so I decided to walk up to Davis for lunch and more cough medicine. I threw on a hot outfit of white sweat socks, clogs, jeans that are too short and one of YG's sweatshirts and headed to Diesel where my homeless ensemble attracted one of the local crazies. She sat next to me at the lunch counter, kept breathing in my ear, and freaked the fuck out when I said that I eat meat. She had total rat's nest hair, about three teeth, and was just spaced out, but got very very angry when I told her about how I slaughter baby cows for fun and roast them in a pit in my yard (read: am not a vegetarian.) Everyone else was politely ignoring us and wishing us gone.

I'm not usually down with the whole interacting with the public thing, but I've been getting better. I'm not outwardly hostile, and I generally enjoy the people at Diesel and like chatting there. Not today. Not down with the crazy. I wish I wasn't feeling so miserable -- then I would have walked to McDonald's and ordered a cheesesteak and eaten it in front of her. Today, I just pretended to be deaf.

* I just had another $600 worth of work done on my car. "Winterizing," oil change, brakes, transmission fluid flush and some other shit that I don't really understand. I know I'm a smart person, but I don't understand anything about cars. This has nothing to do with my gender. I'm just not smart about them. I'm not smart about bidets either, but you don't have anyone questioning my worth as a human because I don't understand why you'd build something to shoot water up your ass. Anyway, I usually take my car in when I'm going on a long trip or something bad hasn't happened in a while. I'm driving to NJ next week during the worst driving time of the year and I had the great pleasure of my car breaking down on Thanksgiving weekend on the Pike last year, so I decided to take it in. I asked for the winterizing thing, and when they called to tell me everything else I needed, I relied on YG to translate -- or explain it to me as he would to a baby or to a retarded person. Basically, it translates into $600. Good times.

* I just realized that a Secret Santa exchange that I signed up for requires me to make something, not buy something. I am not crafty. At all. I do not cook, knit, paint, draw, woodwork, sew, needlepoint, bedazzle or anything like it. I shop. I am a capitalist. I feel very, very badly for my person who is probably going to get a deformed origami bird with a "it's unfortunate that I suck. Happy Nondemoninational Holiday" card.

And that is it for today. No spell checking. More sleep.

Some Kind of Relief

I didn't get laid off tonight. I didn't think I would, but there was a piece of me that would have actually been relieved. Don't get me wrong -- I NEED to work and I have a lot of expenses (rent, car payments, credit card debt, the whole freakin' wedding). But there's a part of me that feels that getting laid off now would not be the worst thing that ever happened to me.

It might force the issue of figuring out what to do next. I know that I want to spend more time writing, and I know that I want to use some of my work skills to help our church out more with some of its PR and comms needs. If I wasn't working so much, I could. If I wasn't working so much, I wouldn't have time to fuck around and wonder what I should do next. I would HAVE to figure it out.

There's a part of me that would LOVE to tell my very work-identified parents that I got laid off and that I was going to get a job at Starbucks and "thanks for shelling out that hundred grand on my education and always telling me that I was important and shit and to make you proud. Yeah. Thanks. But I think I'm going to hang out and write poetry, maybe smoke a little pot and make coffee. Okay. And maybe walk dogs too. Hope you're not disappointed or anything." :-)

Oh well. I guess this is for the best and I'll keep on keepin' on if you will.

Sweet!

We just joined the new gym in Davis Square. It's lame how happy I am about this, but I am totally going to kick ass running and biking this winter.

And then I am going to SMOKE YG on the rail trail next spring.
Yes, I said this last year, but this time, for reals.

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Cooking Blows, And Other Observations

I smell like onions. I have been chopping onions for the last half hour because I'm cooking tonight. And I *never* cook. To be fair, I actually love this chili recipe. But I'm much more in love with the eating part.

YG and I taught Sunday school for the first time today. We've been assisting for the past few weeks, but this was the first time we were there alone. He taught. I was the doorkeeper -- the polite way of saying the disciplinarian. Nobody died, was taken to the hospital, or hit or bit each other. It was three little boys and one hyperactive girl. We did Exodus. When asked what was your favorite part of the story, the boys said, "when all the Eygyptians died." Adding, "like in the movie." Fair enough.

In wedding news, the photographer is booked and so is the DJ (read -- guy who comes and plays the playlists off my iPod). So if you're coming and you think the music sucks, it's my fault.

In general news, I'm enjoying running in the cold weather. I hauled my ass out of bed at 6 a.m. last Friday and ran in the neighborhood and it was fantastic. Today, not so much. I sucked ass -- was slow and winded the whole time and feeling blah. I'm running a 5K in NJ on Thanksgiving morning and I'm hoping to improve on my times.

Wow, I am really fucking boring today. I chopped onions. We bought vitamins. Huzzah.

Everyday, Everyday

This committing to blogging every day in November thing is already tough, and we're only in the first day of double digits. So I'm doing one of those tag things that I usually delete. Enjoy.


* Are you taller than your mother?
Yep. 5'7. She's around 5'2 or 5'3 -- I think.

* What color is your car?
It says silver, but I think it's more of light purple/gray.

* If you instantly become qualified for any profession, what would you do?
1.Novelist.
2.Lead guitarist in a glam rock band.
3.American Gladiator.

* What is your ring-tone?
The Verizon standard.

* Is there an animal that creeps you out?
Most things that live outside, although the rats that were living in our basement (i.e. The Rat Palace) were quite creepy.

* The last person you rode an elevator with?
Some randoms at work.

* Did you go ice skating as a kid?
Mennan Arena represent!

* Last person you had an argument with.
Probably YG. I claim it was a political disagreement. He claims it was a fight. :-)
And I argue with lots of people at work. Because I am either a bitch or smart, depending on your frame of reference.

* Ever have stitches?
Yep. I've had numerous goodies removed from my back.

* Favorite non alcoholic drink?
Diet Coke is the sweet nectar of the gods.

* How long ago did you kiss someone?
About five minutes ago.

* Ever caught something on fire?
I don't think so. The first thing that popped into my head was this girl in my middle school who caught her hair on fire with a Bunsen burner in science class. Even then I was an asshole because I suppressed a giggle while everyone else freaked out.

* Ever seen the northern lights?
Nope.

* Would you be a surrogate mother, carry a baby for someone else?
I don't think I could handle it.

* Ever been in a fight?
Two. I won. One was at a Phish show. Fuckin' hippies.

* Wearing nail polish?
Nope. Hardly ever.

* Innie or outie?
Innie.

* Ever used a Ouija board?
At sleepovers when I was a kid. They freak me out.

* Sweet or sour?
Chicken?

* Sun or Moon?
Sun.

* What shoes did you wear today?
Slippers. Running shoes.

* Favorite eye color of the opposite sex?
Blue.

* Most important quality in a relationship.
Trust. Loyalty. Ability to withstand my crazy.

* Nap today?
Nope.

* Time of day that you were born?
I don't remember. Will have to ask my mom.

* Do you know your blood type?
Not a clue.

* Name something annoying about public transit?
The fact that some people interpret public transit to mean public bathroom. Do not pee on the T!

* Did you grow up in a city or in the country?
Burbs all the way.

* Consider going on a reality show for a large amount of money?
Probably not.

* Flown in your dreams?
Nope.

* Whats the weirdest thing you've ever eaten?
I'm a picky eater. Boar.

* Hugs or kisses?
Both

* What was the best night out of your life? Lurid details please!
The date that wasn't a date.

* Whats your favourite item of clothing?
Flannel pajamas. Gray wool skirt.

* What form of dancing are you best (or worse) at?
The phrase "white people dancing" applies.

* Would you at any time of your life have done playboy for a million?
Totally. I've got way too many body hang ups. If someone wants to plaster my naked ass on a magazine spread, I'll take him or her up on it.

* Gold or silver?
Both.

* If you joined the circus, what would you be?
Mime

* Do you have a criminal record?
Clean as a whistle.

* What item of make-up can you not live with out?
Lipstick.

* Slurpee flavor?
Cherry Coke all the way.

Class Assignment: Piece of Music

The assignment was to write a short, 1000-word story about a piece of music that meant something to you. Here's what I didd.

Birds and Ships

Who knew wood paneling could be so romantic? This was one of the many thoughts racing through my head as I attempted to get warm under the threadbare, scratchy blanket. Who knew that I, ever a cynic, could even process the thought of romance in a way that wasn’t bitter or sarcastic? But I was feeling warm and glowing. Isn’t that how romance is defined in those kinds of girl-meets-boy-and-falls-in-love movies? How did I get here?

* * * * *

My friend who wasn’t a friend, but wasn’t quite yet a boyfriend was located in Massachusetts. I was living in New Jersey. And we were both tired of driving 250 miles for “date night.” After some discussion, we agreed that a mid-point somewhere in Connecticut, and preferably cheap and cheesy where we would play characters in a steamy romance novel, would be best. I found the Milford Motel the way all sexy romance characters find their motels – by Googling “I-95” and “cheesy motel” and “wood paneling.” The Milford was the first hit, and given that it came with a black and white print out coupon advertising a $49.99 rate per night, it won out over less favorable locations.

After battling traffic on I-95 and I-91 respectively, we arrived at The Milford, conveniently located right off the exit from the interstate, a gem tucked in between a Pilot AutoCenter, a Wendy’s, Dunkin Donuts and a Penthouse Playmates “boutique.” We were greeted by a mangy grey and white cat seated on a cracked vinyl chair in the inappropriately named reception area. A surly “host” behind bullet-proof glass handed us two faded towels and the giant key to Room 131 where my friend, a son of a Boston cop, informed me that the dents in the door could have only been made by a cops’ baton during some sort of raid.

Inside wasn’t much better. One light hung over a busted table with two faded chairs, and the bed, barely larger than a twin, had a scratched formica headboard, two deflated pillows, one flat sheet and a bedspread that looked eerily similar to one my parents had donated to Goodwill in 1980. My friend and I looked at each other, and immediately burst out laughing. We threw our provisions – iPod, beer, and candy – on the table and headed out for our planned date of Mexican food and bowling.

At El Torrero, Milford, CT’s home of the one-liter margarita, we wolfed down tequila, indulged on empanadas and fajitas, and discussed all the reasons why our previous marriages had failed. I was still smarting from my failure to succeed, and he was still trying to adjust to a life that didn’t include seeing his daughter everyday. The weight of our combined baggage should have dampened the evening, but laughed and talked long after our plates were cleared.

“Did you bring it,” I asked.

“Your playlist? I uploaded the songs last night.”

“Did you listen to any of them?”

“Some. On the way down.”

“So….?”

I held my breath. I have a complicated relationship with my playlists, and am constantly revising the soundtrack to my life, depending on my moods. As a “mix-tape junkie,” when I make a mix for someone, I spend hours pouring through my music library, selecting only songs that mean something to me and tell the story of the mix-receiver and I. The final playlist I had presented to my friend had been revised six times after deliberate and methodical consideration and included a careful selection of songs that didn’t mention anything about dating, or worse, being a boyfriend. They were all “getting to know you” or “missing you” songs with a few classics thrown in for good measure – if asked, I could always say they were representations of a certain time in musical history.

“I loved it, he said. “Especially ‘Birds and Ships’”

“Oh, I love that one too. It’s a Woody Guthrie song. Wilco and Billy Bragg recorded it for a collection they did of his previously unreleased stuff.”

“That line, “Where might my lonesome lover be,” he paused, and looked at me.

“Yeah.” I could feel myself reddening and looked away, swigging happily on my tequila.

We sat in silence for a bit longer, making eye contact every once in a while, blushing and glowing, before heading back to the motel.

On the rock-hard, scratchy bed, we lay side by side, headphones on, listening to my playlist. Earlier in our not-quite relationship, we had discovered how well we slept together, how our various limbs fit together like puzzle pieces, and I rolled over onto my side, letting him spoon me. Bob Dylan sang about leaving me lonesome when I go, and a cover of The Beatles “Don’t Let Me Down” rang softly in our ears. At “I’m in love for the first time, this time it’s going to last,” I smiled and grasped his hand, while he snuggled in closer. And then “Birds and Ships.”

I stared at the wood paneling, feeling like I was having some sort of out of body experience. I was deeply drunk, and the room rocked slowly as my thoughts fired away in rapid, cannon-fire progression, carefully cataloging my good luck, followed by “this is crazy” followed by “what’s next” and then “I am probably going to fuck this up too.” I have always wanted to turn my brain off for just five minutes, if only to appreciate the silences in moments like these.

“Where might my lonesome lover be?” came through the headphones.

I realized that the back of my neck was wet, and I reached up to touch my friend’s face, wiping away his very quiet tears. My inner monologue finally shut up.

“I am glad I’m here,” I said quietly, into the darkness, still staring at the walls.

“Me too.”

I rolled over and buried my face into his warm neck, where I’m told I fell asleep.

* * * * *

We are sitting on the couch. I’m folding laundry and he’s checking the weather on his Blackberry. His daughter is asleep for the night. On the table are various notes about DJs and photographers.

“If I book this guy,” he says, “he just shows up with his speakers and hooks up the iPod. You can do the playlists, right?”

“Ha! Can I do the playlists?” I snort.

He smiles and hits me with a renegade sock.

“Birds and Ships?”

“Of course.”

# # #

The lyrics

"Birds And Ships"

The birds are singing
In your eyes today
Sweet flowers blossom in your smile

The wind and sun
Are in the words you say
Where might your lonesome lover be?

Birds may be singing
In my eyes this day
Sweet flowers blossom when I smile

But my soul is stormy
And my heart blows wild
My sweetheart rides a ship on the sea

Though my soul is stormy
And my heart blows wild
Where might my lonesome lover be?

If You Live in Denver, Throw Donuts at This Douchebag

The ladies over at Big Fat Deal were the first to alert me about the Antigym Guy who has a gym to save the "chubbies." I had a rant and rave and then kind of forgot about him, until I saw this article on Feministing about a new ad that he's running. An ad that actually ran on Fox TV.

Per Feministing:

"The commercial starts with a woman sitting on her couch watching television. The TV shows a news report of a not-model-skinny woman about to kill herself by jumping off a bridge. A young woman in the news report screams, "Oh my god! She's going to start a tidal wave!"

It cuts back to the woman on the couch who hears her husband come home. ("Honey, I'm home!") But as the woman runs up to her hubby, a skinny porntastic looking woman pushes her aside, takes her man and starts making out with him. They leave together, and the dog follows.

Enter Karolchyk, who busts through the woman's refrigerator, wearing a shirt that says "No Chubbies," screaming: "Look at you! Moo! Moo! You're never going to have a hubby if you're a chubby! So forsake the cake!" (He pushes the woman on the couch, crying.) As the scene fades to the gym info, Karolchyk says, "Pathetic! No chubbies!"

If you're not disgusted yet, check out his definition of a bearded lady.

I would love to pelt this guy with donuts and fried chicken. Or get him a "Premature Ejaculator" t-shirt to go with his "No Chubbies" one. Idiot.

************************************************************

In other news, it's National Blog Writing Month so I am attempting to post everyday. I have a bunch of stories from my class that I want to put up and enough people to hate on to take up the rest of the month. I promised the same this last year, but this time....

Bad Parenting

YG is on a golf trip so I dropped the MG off at school today. The 50-minute drive out wasn't that bad, and I wasn't even late -- woo hoo! Personal victory! As I got her out of the car, the curmudgeonly school traffic guard muttered something beneath his breath, but the MG informed me to just ignore him because "he's mean." I dropped her off, and when I returned to my car, he was waiting for me.

Him: Excuse me, ma'am -- YOU NEED TO FOLLOW POLICY. We have a policy here of walking BEHIND the parked school buses, not inbetween.

Me: Oh, okay, thanks. I'm sorry. This is only my second time dropping her off.

Him: You're sorry? That's all you're going to say about endangering the life of a child.

My Inner Monologue: Supress urge to be sarcastic. Supress urge to be sarcastic. Stop. Stop Stop.

Me (in reality): Um......yeah. Sorry. It won't happen again.

Him: It Better Not.

*snort*

I gotta go sell crystal meth to some kids now.

Not An Update

This would be a perfect day to update as it's monsooning here, but I'm not really feeling it. Feeling more like making playlists and trying to find readings for our wedding. Found some nice Rilke stuff, but if anyone has any suggestions, please email me.

Also...music you would be inclined to dance to. :-)

Live Blogging Game Two of the World Series

I have a ton of things to catch up on and three topics I want to cover: my ass, my class and Joe's demise. However, the World Series is on and it's been to dream to not forget about all the homoerotic Tim McGarverisms I hear on a regular basis and shout "did he REALLY just say that?" so here we go.

8:06 p.m. -- Pregame is boring. Balloon volleyball instead.

8:21 p.m. -- Music montages. I wonder if they'll show the bloody sock.
Commercials: Fox 25 News at 11, question for you -- why the hell would I would want an hour and a half of local news?
More commercials: that dude from Nip/Tuck is hot.

8:26 p.m. -- Jamey Carroll making jokes, not so much. Why is it so hard for this guys to read the names of people they play with every day?

8:27 p.m. -- I'm such a fucking dork. I am MasterCard's bitch. I CRY at these commericals and want to die.

8:28 p.m. -- I really would like an Evil Knieval lunchbox. Or any lunchbox at all that has a thermos with a cartoon character in it.

8:30 -- Opening pitch. Schilling's ass is old and saggy, but his ball "had a lot of juice on it." Hee. Now that I hate Beckett so much, the Schilling hate has kind of subsided. But then I see him, and I kind of wish he would get beat in the face.

8:35 -- Note to Fox: Only women like the close up facial shots, so more Lowell, Varitek, etc. Not so much on the Schilling.

8:37 -- Somebody needs to steal a base, but I REALLY want my free taco. Really, really, really. Free taco. Free taco.

8:42 -- I missed James Taylor singing the National Anthem. I mentioned "JT" to a younger person and they naturally assumed I was talking about Justin Timberlake. I am old. And lame because I like my vagina music folky.

8:44 -- MLB.com informs me that Boyz II Men will be singing "God Bless America" tonight. Um, Boyz II Men? Seriously? Nobody else wanted to sing? According to the article, "Bless America" in the seventh inning of Game 2. They recorded five No. 1 R&B hits between 1992 and 1997, and their single "One Sweet Day" with Mariah Carey, set and broke records for the longest period of time a single remained at No. 1 on the Billboard Hot 100." This speaks volumes about the craptasticness of music.

8:47 -- Someone in the comments on TomatoNation referred to Youkilis as "Facebush" today which made me nearly pee my pants laughing. WTF is that thing? It's like a growth.

8:50 -- Do I even need to talk about this Santa Claus movie?

8:51 -- Another baseball commerical (this time for a tv) that makes me cry.

8:52 -- Already rethinking the live blogging thing.

9:00 -- Who do you sit, per AT&T? Ortiz, Lowell or Youkilis. I'm going with Ortiz -- given how everyone else is hitting, why not? You can put him in later.

9:02 -- Pepe Le Douche is up. I really have no reason for disliking JD Drew. I just do. "That hit bone." Hee.

9:04 -- Now Varitek. I used to like this guy. He's hot, he's a decent hitter, okay catcher. But that stupid "C." The "C" killed it for me. If you need a frickin sign on your chest to remind people that you're the captain, then you obviously have no authority, AND you kinda suck. It's so childish and lame. And the "fun fact" tells me that he likes listening to Dave Matthews Band and Bare Naked Ladies which is kind of what I'd expect from a meathead sports guy.

9:18 -- Where did this Ellsbury kid come from? How old is he? Why is everyone on the Yankees 400 years old?

9:24 -- Facebush almost got his head taken off. Jesus Christ. And McCarver says, "Jimenez just trying to come inside." Um, I don't think so. A miss is a miss. On the flip side, Youkilis probably wouldn't get hit so much if he didn't sit on top of the goddamn plate.

9:30 -- Bored enough to go check Go Fug Yourself and I couldn't be happier. For some reason, I can't see the pictures at work, only the text, and that's just not as much fun. Of course I don't know this because I am always working at work and I never, ever slack off.

9:34 -- "Normally, the shorter the stroke, the less power you have." PERFECT! "Dustin Pedroia. A small man with a long stroke." That itself made this whole excercise worthwhile.

9:47 -- Tie game. Musical bullpen.

9:50 -- I'm sure Terry Francona is a lovely man, but he fell out of the same ugly tree as Joe Torre. No more close ups please.

9:51 -- I GET MY FREE TACO! SWEET!

9:52 -- And in the next minute, I'm bored.

9:58 -- Took a break to wash my face and cry about all my gray hair. It MULTIPLIES! Over night! Also pondering my outfit and whether or not I should post a pic on "Am I Hot?" Bright green yoga pants, pink nightgown on top, gray knee socks, and a Syracuse hoodie that I am praying I bought when I was up there for BB and Phil's wedding party thing in 2005, because if I didn't buy it then, it means that I bought it when I actually went to Syracuse....9 years ago. If I was a guy, I would totally have sex with me right now.

10:03 -- I love the number of dick commericals during sports broadcasts. Levitra. Cialis. Viagra. I hardly ever see these commercials on regular t.v. I am very curious about "call your doctor about an erection lasting over 4 hours." Isn't that Sting's whole thing?

10:04 -- Montage!

10:06 -- The opposite to my outfit, YG has spent the past two nights looking cute on the couch in various Red Sox hoodies, hats and t-shirts.

10:08 -- Facebush Face-off.

10:13 -- Just doublechecked the spelling of Apodaca. Pitching coach for the Rockies. Makes me laugh.

10:14 -- McCarver "Manny can strike like a cobra in a basket." OMG, he's so.....cheesy.

10:17 -- Boston leads. Hottie Lowell puts the Red Sox again.

10:21 -- Too much testosterone. Take a moment during the pitching change to shove breasts in YG's face. Appreciated.

10:24 -- Another pitching change. No more boobage. We're folding socks.

10:31 -- This fucking Chevy Malibu commerical. Oh my God! It was funny the first time and gotten more unfunny each of the other 450,000th times.

10:37 -- The CEO of Taco Bell needs some blotting paper. But I like him. Because he makes really good fake meat. I have no qualms about sharing my love of the chaluppa. I read Fast Food Nation. I understand how these things work. And I don't care.

10:38 -- Helton. Facebush: The Brunette version.

10:42 -- And Schilling's out.

10:47 -- YG highjacks computer. Yankees still suck.

10:48 -- Back to our regularly scheduled programming.

10:53 -- Very funny, YG. Missed the end of the inning because I was crawling around in the mud room attempting to lure Cat #2 out of her hiding spot. She's getting weirder and weirder and I can't tell if she's sick or just old and weird.

10:55 -- America agrees with me. 47% say sit Ortiz.

11:00 -- Bored. YG snoring. I'm looking at wedding photographers for my "special day." Seriously -- am I supposed to spend $4k on this stuff? No way.

11:05 -- "Youkilis has had trouble with sweat pouring down the top of his batting helmet all season." Ew.
"Get down Jacoby." And get back, Loretta.

11:12 -- How brilliant is Jordan's furniture? I love marketing shit that works.

11:15 -- If I gave a shit about the NFL or college football, it would be a good time to be a fan in New England, according to Joe Buck.

11:19 -- And now to honor America! Boyz II Men. When we were in college, NN's roommate Kopal and our other friend Megan drove to Buffalo to see these guys in concert. That was retarded -- in 1997. I have no idea what it means to like Boyz II Men now.
YG: Do these guys suck?
Me: I think so.

11:27 -- Jonathan Papelbon's instructional dance video was kinda funny. For 11:30 at night.

11:44 -- "Twinkletoes Papelpon" in in the 8th.

11:51 -- Don't get the Sweet Caroline thing. Probably never will. But appreciate the Jewish Elvis.

11:56 -- I missed a McCarverism, but apparently Pedroia still has a long stroke.

11:58 -- Papelbon has a towel on his "moneymaker." Hee.

11:59 -- To the ninth. Snore.

12:07 -- Two outs. Bed! Bed! Bed!

12:08 -- 0-2. John Henry is what I imagined all people from Massachusetts looked like. And that is not a compliment. Running of the bases in loafers? DOUCHE.

12:09 -- AND WE'RE DONE.

Catching My Breath After The Last Week

That thing that I was freaking about over at work is finally done. Done okay, I think. Not great, but not horrible. Time will tell if this makes a good impression or not. I am moving on to the next thing that I am freaking about over at work. I fly out tomorrow, spend two days in back to back meetings, and then fly home and have to pack up my office because we are moving, and then I move on to third thing I am freaking about over. Hopefully, though, after that, I will be able to catch multiple breaths in a row.

One thing is clear, though. My time doing this kind of work is limited. I've never loved it, but I loved being good at it, being one of the best kids in the class, and knowing that if I wanted it, tasted it, I'd be the one moving up in the world. That's not really sustainable anymore. I'm not quite sure how to extricate myself, but I do know I want to. This second, anyway. Most of the time I have these thoughts, I follow the thread and end up thinking that I'm so full of shit, that I'll be working in Corp Comm for the rest of my life, always trying to be the smartest kid in the class. Always worried that someone is going to figure me out.

This stuff is always rattling around in my brain, but there's been one GOOD development that's made it a lot louder lately. My writing class. It is fantastic! I'm having so much fun and loving the feedback that I'm getting from people, and again with the smartest kid in the class syndrome, I am loving that people think I'm good at this. For my second class, two women showed up and said that they couldn't wait to hear what I wrote. After ONE assignment. I'll be missing class for work travel this week, and that kind of blows. I love being disciplined about writing. It's not that I didn't write before (I blah, blah on this thing, after all, and I journal), but I wasn't writing stories.

The class is called Stories from Life, and duh, it's about using the stories from your own life as the basis for bigger and better things. For the first class, we had to bring an article of clothing that meant something to us and write about it in class. I brought the first pair of combat boots I ever bought. For the second class, we had to draw a four-panel cartoon and use it to tell a story, and then we later wrote a short story about it in class. I wrote about getting busted reading magazines and crappy books behind the Missle and Bible in Mass, when everyone thought I was the quietest, well-behaved kid in Church. The next assignment is to write about something related to weather, and I'm having trouble with it. I can't seem to think of anything, except for driving in the snow the Christmas day my Pop-Pop died. I'm so used to writing funny, ironic stuff that that is well out of my comfort zone. We'll see.

Another thought that's become very clear -- if feeding my family were dependent on my writing, I'd probably do more of it. Hmmmm....

Other good things:

* I ran my second 5K this weekend and smoked my previous time. I finished in 35:16, more than 3 minutes less than my last one. To be fair, I think the course was slightly shorter, but it had a horrendously big hill. I think that's it in terms of Massachusetts races, but I'm going to try and run one in NJ over Thanksgiving weekend.

* There is a race on November 4, but I'm skipping it because YG and I are now teaching Sunday School of sorts at our church. If you know me and you just read that, you've probably just either fainted or fallen down laughing. But, I'm serious. I'm not a fundie -- I just really like the church and we wanted to give something back other than money [because, really, we are still corporate money grubbers at heart. Kill the poor! Rarh! ;-)]. We had the first class today, and it was interesting. There were only three kids, but one antsy one, and I managed to suppress my urge to shout "shut the hell up and stop fidgeting and pay some frickin' attention," but I managed a more "godly" "shhhh..." We shall see.

* We had a great "I love living in the city" weekend. Yesterday, we caught some of the Honk Festival in Davis Square, and the MG and I danced around a bit before heading down to Harvard for a ton of Japanese food and a fantastic performer in the Square. Today, we went to Octoberfest and watched the Honkers parade, and it was awesome.

* Playoff baseball is here. I don't have much hope for the Yankees, but am quite impressed by the Rockies and that closer for the Diamondbacks. I am hoping that the Angels can pull off one game so I can rib YG a little bit, and that the Yankees don't blow it too bad. Right now, I'm resolving to not be too cranky. There's always next season.

Face the Fear (Or Something)

I have a long post in me somewhere about the outcome of all my bloodwork and doctor's appointments. The abridged version is that, basically, according to the nutrionist, I am "obviously overweight." And that, obviously, sent me into a tailspin. My inner monolouge is SO FUCKING LOUD right now, and I'm not able yet to process all that shit and get it down on paper. She said lots of nice things too that I'm now able to realize, where last week was a lot of "blah, blah,blah, you're fat, blah, blah, eat better because you are fat, blah, blah, FAT, FAT, FAT."

So yeah. Apparently this is not uncommon, though.

This project, Illustrated BMI Categories, made me feel a lot better. You should check it out. Like, right now.

Also making me feel better about being "obviously overweight" is the fact that I ran 3 miles and rode 15 miles yesterday and am running my next 5K next week.

And, oh yeah, my creative writing class started and it is awesome and fantastic, and I am so so so glad I did this.

I have been MIA and will continue to be MIA for a while because work is insane and my boss is out for a bit taking care of his newborn kid. But I will be back. And I will be fat and I will be awesome. :-)

38:52!

I finished it.

I ran the whole way and didn't stop once. I wanted to finish in the top 85% (heh), and ended up finishing in the top 87%. For my age range (females 30-39), I finished in the top 84%.

I raised money for a good cause and am doing another one in two weeks. And hey, free ice cream. :-)

Post race, with ice cream. More pics available here.

Notes on Wedding Planning

Not in the mood to be writing tonight, and I'm sure there have been multiple people pissing me off who deserve a good lashing, but I'll keep this to a few wedding-related rants:

* No matter how many times you say that you want something small and that you've done this before, catering folks just can't seem to refrain from talking about my "special day."

* I am still a 12 year old boy. Because everytime anyone mentions anything "intimate," I laugh in my head and imagine us having a big, crazy orgy of a wedding.

* This part (the appointments, the craziness, the carefully-crafted marketing brochures using aforementioned words -- intimate, special day, "moment" in soft silver script) sort of sucks. We know what we want. I hate having to suffer through a sales pitch.

* I bought two dresses. This part makes me wildly happy.

* See above about small. Do not act suprised or put off when I tell you that "no, there's no wedding party" because I JUST TOLD YOU that it's a small affair and that the three people who are most important (YG, MG, me) will be there and nobody ever died from lacking bridesmaids.

* Good food is expensive, yo.

Other things:
* I refuse to blog incessantly about my wedding.

* Race is Sunday. I put in 3.5 miles today. Have 4 planned for Thursday and Friday and then we'll see how I do.

* WORK! Arghhh.....

* Classes start next week. This is going to be cool.

* YG's 40th birthday trip is booked. THAT is going to rock.

* Still no word on my bloodwork (read: still no idea what the fuck is wrong with me) but nutrionist appointment on Monday.

Bleh.

In Lieu of a Real Post, I Present Engagement and Food Porn

My bling:




My rack and I just got engaged:



I am Magnolia's bitch:



So is he:



The one and only Joe's Shanghai soup dumplings:



Keeping it real on the Isle of Manhattan:





More foodie porn and bling shots available over on Flickr.

Where Am I?

Working. Working. Working. And trying to keep some of the engagement high going. Although I really just want to crawl under a table and huddle up and hibernate until mid-November (otherwise known as the time when work things MAY get back to normal).

Not a lot of time to talk/type? , but lots going on:

* Health woes continue. Blood work appointment on Friday included a blood pressure reading of 80/50 (hella low), puke, and me passing out. Good times.

* YG and I started looking at dates and places to get married. Right now, we're looking at either April 19 or April 26 (both 2008). We want to have something nice, but we don't want to be irresponsible. Irresponsible would be $10K for a wedding for under 60 people. Where is that "shocked" emoticon when you need it?

* My class starts in a few weeks. Yoga starts up too.

* Baseball = more and more interesting every day.

* Reading two different Geneen Roth books. Alternating between "wow! I so can relate" and "puke! This is so cheesy!."

* More reading -- There are some many great posts recently over at Shapely Prose that I don't know which ones to link to. This one really spoke to me, and I bookmarked it to comment later and then never got around to it -- consider my link my "rock on." There's a lot of fantastic debate on that site about fat activism and dieting and health at any size. I'm not sure where I stand as I alternate between actively trying to accept myself and actively trying to lose weight, but it's GREAT reading.

* I bought too many shoes last month, including the heinous Danskos I really wanted. It's a slippery slope from here to hippie skirts and grey braids. It's either a cry for help or I'm comfortable.

* I expanded my frequenting of JP Licks' locations in the area. The one in Brookline has nice booth seating, and I devoured a relatively awesome sundae with two friends last week.

* 2 weeks until my first 5K. I have all the training down -- now I just have to do it. Am debating whether or not attempting a 10K in November would be validating or ridiculous.

* I cannot keep a thought straight in my head.

What are YOU up to?

No Witty Title For This One

I am wracking my brain for something witty and amusing to say here, but I am not feeling either. Just feeling happy BECAUSE.....

I am getting married!

I was tempted to write "I am getting married again," but I stopped myself. Because I am getting married to YG and that is pretty fucking great as is. He asked and I think it's a fine idea so I said yes.

The backstory:
YG planned another suprise birthday weekend trip for me. He did this last year (we went to San Francisco) and I loved it so much because I've never had a surprise birthday of any sort. A few weeks ago, he asked if I had a "rain jacket" and "hiking boots" or at least "comfortable shoes." Um, hello? NO. I was secretly kind of meh about the whole thing because I assumed we were doing some kind of camping, and I think I finished off all the camping I need to do in this lifetime at Girl Scout Camp twenty years ago. Thursday night, YG gave me a clue by telling me that we were going "south" and that I'd be okay without the jacket, and that I would need one fancy outfit.

We took off on Friday morning and drove south. I was thinking Newport, Mystic? As we headed down 95 into New York, I thought we might be going to my family's house on Long Island, but it wasn't until we were headed toward the Triboro Bridge that I realized we were heading to Manhattan.

Another backstory: YEARS ago, YG and I had the perfect date that was not a date. We were both still married and at the time, just moderately friendly from work -- we didn't really know each other. He and some other work friends were staying at the W in Union Square for a trade show in the area, and a few others were supposed to meet up with everyone for drinks and dinner and a night of hanging out. As fate would have it (????do I believe in fate? I don't know), it ended up being just YG and I. We had a drink at the W, dinner at Sushi Samba, some more drinks at Flute, and then coffee and dessert at Coffee Shop in the hopes that I would sober up for my drive back to NJ. Very standard, somewhat touristy Union Square stuff, but a really fun night, and that's when we really started to know each other and became friends.

On Friday, YG checked us into the W and we walked across town and got some Magnolia cupcakes for a pre-birthday birthday present. Whenever I'm back in NJ, I never really get a chance to go into the city for anything other than quick drinks or food because I always have "family obligations." So it was nice to be out and out doing nothing besides enjoying the city and the weather.

We went back to the hotel and had some drinks and changed for dinner, went to Sushi Samba and then headed over to Flute. We chit chatted and worked on getting a nice champagne buzz, and then he asked if I wanted my birthday card. I opened it and it was really sweet and lovely, with lots of nice stuff about me, and then it ended with "Love, YG. P.S. Will you marry me?" And then he gave me the ring.

So, of course, I said yes. :-)

We walked over to Coffee Shop and talked some more and people watched and car watched -- there were two Lamborghinis randomly parked on the street so that made for a nice car-gasm for YG. [NOTE: we're at Diesel working on our laptops, and I asked how you spell "Lamborghini" and he said, "Do you want the model? It's Gallardo."] Minus the "yes" part, I'm guessing that was the high point of his evening.

On Saturday, we put on our gym clothes and walked around the neighorhood and ate MORE cupcakes. We ran into a woman that we had seen in the bar the night before, and she referred to us as the "cute couple from the bar" so we told her we got engaged. We had soup dumplings at Joe's Shanghai, did a Circle Line cruise around Manhattan (one of those tourist things I have ALWAYS wanted to do), dinner at Rosa Mexicano, more walking around the Village. Then for reasons unknown to both of us, we watched the end of Titanic on TNT?

On Sunday, we consumed even MORE cupcakes for breakfast, and then went shoe shopping and then met my family for brunch at The Water Club. I usually spend Labor Day weekends at my folks' house out in Long Island, and this was the first birthday in years that I wasn't going to be there. I was kind of pissed that nobody else thought that was much of a big deal, and they said they'd see me "sometime in October." I was happy to see them. They're all really happy for me, and there was much happy crying and planning and consumption of cheese. I think I ate Manhattan this weekend.

So there you have it. Some happy news for a change. I am happy. YG is happy. The MG was in on the whole thing, and said, "I'm so happy you said yes" and we're all happy, happy.

The More You Know

What network did the "the more you know" spots? Was it ABC? Or NBC? Google always knows. It was NBC. There are so many smart websites out there that sometimes I feel like I have a running more-you-know commentary in my head. [Note: I am not always reading "smart" websites. I spent precious work minutes today dissecting R Kelly and Trapped in the Closet with a coworker and watching Part I on Youtube.]

Big Fat Deal has an interesting post about Georgia artist Mark Wentzel's big fat Eames chair. I should say here that my understanding of art is pretty crap. I know what I like and what I don't like and I like to page through The History of Art just like anyone else, but I'm not great at critique. Also, I have, on occassion, gotten the famed Eames chair mixed up with the Aeron chair, so I am obviously no expert on design. I saw the picture and my thought was "large chair" and maybe "heh" and it stopped at that.

Then I scrolled through the comments and started to think about what people were saying and attempted to think about what Wentzel was trying to say. For about 5 seconds. And then I Googled. Mainly to see if anyone else had reviewed the piece. I didn't find much.

My two cents. I wasn't outraged. I like the idea of a piece about overconsumption, and I equate overconsumption with gobbling up mass quantities of crap and "useless" stuff you don't need. Like fancy schmancy chairs? I dunno. I probably wouldn't have equated the overstuffed chair with fat, but it was the artist himself who said, "It gives the opportunity to a particular viewer to grab their stomach and say, 'Wow. That’s me.'" He steered the conversation toward the overconsumption of food/fat bellies equal overconsumption, blah blah blah.

I'm stealing this directly from the comments section, courtesy of someone named MizShrew, because it sums up nicely what I was thinking.

"First of all, he assumes that the “particular viewer” does not already know they are fat, such that seeing this chair would produce a “wow” moment? Please. Then, of course the viewer who is fat is fat only because of over-consumption, “obviously.” And, of course, there’s the title, “useless” which really limits any greater discussion of the work, doesn’t it? He boils it down for us – chair is fat, chair is useless. This approach shuts down what could otherwise be an compelling look at form and function in our society. But no, instead he goes for an elaborate fat joke and calls it art."

Are we overthinking? Or is this what good art is meant to do? Provoke interesting discussion? I admit to reading a bunch of the comments and being perplexed, but I was overall happy to engage some critical thinking skills today.


Things I am NOT commenting on today:
* The Yankees game last night.
* The fact that the Yankees and Red Sox are playing right now. We've declared a cease fire in the house for now.
* The number that the shitty committee in my head is doing on me regarding my weight right now.
* The fact that I like the running and the biking, but chafing? WTF? This qualifies as TMI AND commenting, but I apologize to my coworkers for not wearing underwear to work today.
* The fact that my birthday is a week away and I haven't really thought about it.
* The fact that work is going to be insane and crazy starting in September so I have to pretend that September is not starting very, very soon.
* That I really think these are really cute and I really, really want them, and I'm afraid that means that any sense of style I ever had is just gone, gone, gone.
* That I only have a day and a half left before vacation, and it's keeeeeeling me.

And Oh Yeah, Read This

Courtesy of Good With Cheese regarding fat as a feminist issue:

"To most observers, I’m not fat. I’m just sort of in-between. I don’t get discriminated against, I don’t get called names, and I am well aware of how kindly society treats me compared to fatter women. But I’m also well aware of how much better society treated me when I wore a size 4. And it pisses me off, because my value is not dependent on my weight. "

Amen. Tell that to the JM in the previous post.

Too Tired

To say anything interesting. Did a bunch of running this weekend even though it was hot as balls out and am now suffering from "real" runner problems like chafing and shin splints and other sorts of ick. I bought a "fuel belt" today that I'm hoping will help keep me hydrated and help with the nauseau and light-headedness I feel when I run when it's very hot out.

I was hoping to ride my bike this weekend. I didn't.

Despite all the exercise and eating "normally," the numbers on the scale keep going up...a lot. Despite having quit WW and therefore not caring about being on a diet, I care. A lot.

I made an appointment with a nutrionist.

Things I Wished I Had Remembered To Blog About

I am back from my business trip and settling into a Friday night of catching up. YG is out grocery shopping (his week) and MG is in bed reading Beverly Cleary with a flashlight. I would have totally let her read with the light on, but she's very invested in the flashlight idea so go have it. She already wears glasses so I have no worries about stunting her development or anything. I'm all over the place so try and follow along.

1. I wish I could have live blogged my trip back from Orlando because it was weird upon weird upon weird, and I'm sure I've forgotten some of the details. It all started off with my misguided and somewhat insane thought of "I should try and save the company money." WTF? Dumb. I figured that the meals at a Disney resort were expensive so I should try and save money on the trip back. I think this kind of thinking is good when you are the CEO. When you are clawing your way up to middle management? Not so much.

My first mistake was taking a bus to the airport. I told my traveling coworker companion about this, and he immediately thought this was a dumb idea. I was not to be deterred. I had already spent (wait for it) $19 on my ticket and hoped to make the most of it. Only two people got on the bus at my stop so I felt most triumphant. At the next stop, a travel group of about 30 middle-aged women in a wide variety of poly blend "slacks" and "blouses" boarded. They were happy and Southern, and they wanted to talk. And they wanted to talk to me.

My second mistake was choosing a discount airline. Note to friends and family: NEVER choose a discount airline when you are traveling back from Orlando on a business trip. You will be one of few business travelers on the flight. You will spend much time at the check in line as various people attempt to justify that their small moving van is actually a carry-on bag. You may get into an argument with a woman about the size of her carry on bag, or actually, in a rare moment of clarity, you may decline to argue with the woman who wants to know what's in your carry on bag and why it's "approved" for, you know, carrying on. You will hold your tongue, smile, tell her it's regulation size and that it's holding ALL of your items from the past three days. You will not add "unlike your bag which is holding your much needed 'hot rollers' and probably some additional poly blend and white sweat socks from the Faded Glory collection." It will take you a while to get through security because non-business travelers apparently live under rocks these days and don't know all the rules and regulations. And then you'll end up in the last row, seated next to a woman with a small dog under her seat. She may take the dog out on the flight. The dog MAY lick your laptop screen as you attempt to read analyst reports. You may find talking to the lady with the dog more interesting than reading the reports and just give in.

Third was taking the subway home. Enough said. In my own defense, it was rush hour and I didn't feel like sitting in a cab in traffic. Plus, I started a great new book on the plane. I finished Marianne Pearl's book on the trip and was having a minor panic attack at the thought of being on an airplane and having nothing new to read besides work crap and Skymall. Terrified of buying towel warming racks or some Skymall shit like that on the plane, I picked up Evening at the airport. It's lovely. I read over 100 pages on the trip and can't seem to put it down.

2. The Detroit/Yankees game. That was awesome. We had dinner in Manhattan afterwards and given my family's need to make an adventure out of things that shouldn't really be an adventure, we drove all over the place: the Bronx, Bronx to Penn Station, Penn Station to Upper East Side, Upper East Side to the Park, back to UES, back to Park, FDR, GWB and finally a short stop over in the Whip. I miss Manhattan. We need to get back there soon.
And YG didn't die being at Yankee Stadium. Visual proof:



More from the game here.

Note my fancy new green glasses. Wrong prescription that will cost an arm and a leg to change, but I love them.

3. My parents came up the weekend earlier and we took them all around town. The Harbor Islands were gorgeous and the North End was awesome as usual. The night before they got here, I had a lovely Boston evening, walking around town and buying fancy new shoes on Newbury Street and watching a free concert with Fountains of Wayne.
Pictures here.

4. There was other stuff, but there is pie on the table and baseball on t.v. You understand.

The Happiest Place on Earth

I am on a business trip in Orlando, staying at a resort on the Disney properties. It's surreal, with a weird combination of people in suits and lots of families and more white sneakers and jean shorts that I ever imagined existed. The happiest place on Earth feels slightly depressing when you are by yourself and your dinner plans fall through. I did my work today and then went to the pool and read, and then went to dinner by myself and read. And then I watched the fireworks because I love fireworks and they never cease to make me happy.

If I was a good worker, I would have brought my analyst reports to dinner and read them, but I needed a break, and I can't put down my book.

I'm reading A Mighty Heart by Marianne Pearl, and while I knew how it was going to end -- it's a true story and we all were there -- I still sobbed out loud when she writes about finding out that Danny Pearl was dead. I couldn't help myself. I cried a lot with this one. Highly recommended.

It made me miss YG and the MG more than I already miss them. It's a weird place to be in when you miss your family. As much as I despise Disney and want to rant about their corporate culture and their insistence on marketing crap to kids (Disney Princesses? WTF?), I know that the MG would totally dig this. When I left for the airport, she told me to look for Mickey and to tell him that "MG says hello and that I will come to visit soon." Fuck, man. Who wouldn't be into that?

The plane ride down here was bumpy so I read a lot and then wrote for over an hour. Here's what I had to say about writing:

I used to write a lot more. In college, I filled a journal the same size as this in my semester in London alone. I always carry this journal with me, but I don't have the urge to document everything anymore. Maybe because it's the same old shit I'm dealing with all the time. But I haven't been documenting all the everyday coolness of living in Cambridge and the people watching in Davis Square.

I'm taking a creative writing class in the fall and I'm excited and nervous at the same time. What if I suck? The last time I took a writing class was Writing Studio in London, well over 10 years ago, and I had Jane and at least some of the class convinced that I was a good writer, and even better, a funny writer. Was that talent? Or just that rare occurence of being suitably charming and funny at the right place and dtime? And already I'm getting ahead of myself because I took the class to get into the better practice of writing and not to impress anyone. I just want to do it. Be forced to put pen to paper and come up with something with a beginning, middle and an end. That isn't a journal entry on a plane or a blog entry.

The blog thing is just weird. I read tons of them and am practically obsessed with some. And I'll see these things on the street or I'll have an interesting conversation with someone or see something funny, and I think, "hey, I should blog about this." Yes. And then I die from the weight of my self-importance.

I guess I'm looking forward to being held accountable for my writing. In Writing Down the Bones, one of my favorities, she talks a lot about just putting it out there and writing to write-- that eventually it will find some shape eand flow, or that maybe there will be a kernal of something that you can use later on. And yes, maybe. I'm thinking of all those old journals, diligently kept from age 10 to now. Over 20 years. There has to be something in ther somewhere.

It's very weird to type from a journal. The awareness of my bad grammar and spelling is great, as is my urge to edit. RESIST!

And Tomorrow, We Go To The Bronx

Go Yankees! Half a game back in the Wild Card!

Why I Don't Go To The Doctor

I realize that not going to the doctor is kind of dumb. And I am not anti-doctor -- I have regular dentist appointments and ob/gyn appointments and yearly eye check ups, along with being rather obsessive compulsive about the dermatologist. I'm good about the regular stuff. But with irregular things, I seem to have adopted my family's attitude that whatever the problem is will either go away by itself or you will die first -- no need to bother the doctor.

So when I went to the eye doctor this year about the chronic eye infections I keep getting AND the headaches I was having, I was suprised when the doctor said, "for how long?" and I was even more suprised when he nearly dropped down dead when I answered "oh, on and off for about 15-16 years now." I KNOW. Stop judging.

The headache was an easy fix. I had the wrong presciption. Now I have new glasses and they are cool and green and I would show you if I wasn't too lazy to upload the pictures to Flickr. For the infection, we first tried an antibiotic and then we tried another antibiotic and then we tried a steroid and then all that shit together made my eye swell and it interfered with my sight. And then I couldn't see for shit.

And then the kicker? I have dry eyes. REALLY dry eyes, and that is making this whole mess even worse so my doctor suggested that I try this stuff. It was awesome to an extent -- my eyes feel great. I can see. No crusty skeeve eye in the morning. No YG smacking me in the back, telling me to stop clawing my eyes out. Good times, no?

No. I am so fucking tired and lethargic, and I could not figure out why. I thought it was all the running, but I'm getting TONS of sleep along with running so that didn't make sense.

If you read the fine print on the eye vitamins, you'll see that I'm getting 614% of my recommended Vitamin E intake. Add on my "one a day" vitamin and my "hope your ovaries don't dry up, you divorced thirtysomething hag" vitamin which both also have tons of vitamin E and you get a bit of a Vitamin E overload. Oh, and random projectile vomiting when you are certainly not pregnant or don't have the flu.

Side effects of too much Vitamin E? "Symptoms of a vitamin E overdose may include fatigue, weakness, nausea, headache, blurred vision, flatulence, and diarrhea."

Awesome.

I apologize if I haven't called you or written to you or returned something I owed you. Me and my skeeve eye will be all over that shit soon.

Funny Things Your Partner May Say To You

-----Original Message-----
From: YG
Sent: Tuesday, August 07, 2007 1:27 PM
To: JM
Subject: For future reference

When you are going for a brisk walk at lunch and forgot to bring in a
change of underwear, your choices are:

1) Go commando on the walk so you have a relatively still fresh pair to
slip into after your shower, or

2) Use underwear for support during the walk (especially if you are the
owner of a large pair of swinging testicles) and go commando for the
rest of the afternoon.

When faced with this choice, ALWAYS choose option 2. Always.

Owwww :-(

I snorted out loud over that one. It's only fair, as he's been listening to me bitch about my chub rub for weeks now. When you Google "running" and "chub rub" you get a number of interesting hits, and by "interesting" I mean "weird" and "porny." I finally settled on "running" and "inner thigh chafe" and found that I'm pretty much doing what I can in terms of shorts and that I should try BodyGlide or Vaseline. Lubing up for an activity of one. Nice. I also learned more than I ever need to know about how to handle your swinging testicles when running. Serious design flaw.

For those following along, this is my 100th post -- it's fitting that it's about balls and lube. :-)

Do I Hear A "Woot!"?

I did it! I finally got my 3.2 miles or my 5K and to reward myself, I registered for this. If you're reading this, that means we're probably friends or related, so I'll be hitting you up for a donation soon. September 23 -- that gives me a little over a month to get my times down. Right now, I'm running at about the same pace as 14-year-old girls and 60-year-old men.

Other things I am happy about or have giggled about in the past few days:

* Ann Taylor "Julie fit" pants. "Julie -- the new curvy fit. Contoured through the hip and thigh." Margo, that slut, sold me out, but Julie -- Julie, she's a doll, with her freedom from camel toe and ass support and whatnot.

* Knocked Up. Bourne Ultimatum was sold out, so I got to see MY movie choice. "Don't let the door hit you in the vagina on the way out." Hee. That shit was hilarious.

* The Restaurant Week menu at Harvest. Corn soup...mmm. I chose the beef, and it came out as fancy beef should (not totally dead), and I was slightly embarassed to ask them to ruin it for me by charring it up. But they did, and it was awesome. Tonight, we went to Red Bones. It's a plethora of meat.

* 0.5 games back in the Wild Card. Boston fans starting to freak a bit.

* I was driving to an eye doctor appointment in Burlington over the weekend, and I saw a bunch of signs in the road for "Pride Day: Burlington" and thought it was really cool that this sleepy, little suburb would have it's very own gay pride event. And then I drove by -- minivans, cat sweatshirts, funnel cake and hot dogs, thousands of kids -- and quickly realized that it was just a typical civic pride gathering, exactly like those from when I was a kid, back when I was rockin' my Z.Cavaricci's at Malpardis Park. Still, it would have been awesome if a bus full of drag queens pulled up and danced around on the trampolines with lots of glitter and good cheer. That would have totally made my day.

* Lazy weekends in Cambridge. YG and I hung local and made dinners on the grill and bar hopped and read the Sunday paper and drank coffee. In essence, what I would do if I was unemployed.

Quickie

1. Three miles! I completed two three mile runs this week. I'm sore, but not dead. And I hope to head out tomorrow.

2. Woot! We found a babysitter. YG and I are doing a test run tonight to see how this works out. We have a few Friday night out evenings planned in Sept. (Rilo Kiley!) and we wanted to find someone local to help us out on the nights we have the MG but have scheduling conflicts. Fingers crossed. We're going to the movies. I want to see Knocked Up, but he wants some testosterone-filled man shit, so we're seeing The Bourne Ultimatum. He's lucky it's getting fantastic reviews.

3. I am the biggest douchebag ever. I was all cranky driving home and marginally cranky about the movie choice, and I walked into the bedroom and there was a vase full of sunflowers that YG bought because he knows I like them. He also brings me coffee in bed every morning. Yeah, I suck.

4. I quit WW this week for reals. Fuck that noise.

5. My family is visiting next weekend and I'm excited. It's also Restaurant Week. Yummm.....

6. Lily Allen. That album? Is too much fun.

7. Reading: The Amateur Marriage by Anne Tyler.

8: Listening to: Lily Allen (see above) and really, really bad workout music for when I run. I knew that Poison's Greatest Hits would come in handy someday.

9: Watching: Rescue Me (yay!), The Bronx is Burning (meh), baseball. As much as I love Baseball Tonight, I'll be happy when some of my crap shows come back. And that new VH1 show "I Hate My 30s" is a very unfunny attempt at being another version of the very funny and soon coming back "It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia."

10. I don't have a ten, but it seemed weird to just have 9.

The Worst Part of the Weekend

This is the worst part -- when all the work is done and you've just settled into knowing that you have to go back to work tomorrow and that the weekend is over. This blows. I am still not independently wealthy.

I AM very sore. I pulled a muscle in my lower leg when I went out running last Thursday night and decided to rest a bit. It's been hot as balls here, or what the media calls "oppressively humid." The Thursday run was miserable and I nearly cried walking back. Today, I decided to wait until it was a tad less opressive and went out around 5. I've mapped out a few 3 mile routes in the area, using my new best friend, Google Maps. Unfortunately, my new best friend does not tell you when your selected 3-mile-run-in-humid-90-degree heat is almost all uphill because she is a bitch like that. I made it about a half mile, then had to walk, ran another 10 minutes and had to stop, and then had to stop again. I did get a solid mile in toward the end, but I was panting and my fucking chub rub was so bad, I wanted to scream. I HATE wearing shorts. Absolutely hate it, but it's frickin hot. I dragged my sweaty, red raw ass into the house and YG commented that he had never seen me looking so wet. And...heh. I'm twelve.

And then I cooked dinner for the three of us. For reals. I used THREE burners.
Very exciting.

Other than that, a nice low key weekend in Cambridge. I got my car cut yesterday morning and then we went to the Museum of Science. The cab we were in got in a minor fender bender on the way home, but nothing terribly interesting. We had some pizza at Mike's, people-watched in Davis, and then took the MG to see The Simpsons movie which was frickin' hilarious. Today: church, brunch, bill paying, a very glamorous cleaning of the litter box and disinfecting of the recycling bins, and the run. Ho hum.

I'm making an effort to not talk about work right now because it will only make me sad. And everything else is good and normal and content. I need some angst. I need some angst so I can pen my opus. Right now, my opus is reading a bit "Slouching Toward The Dry Cleaner in My Suburu Outback." Whatevs.

I Could Use Some Wine Right About Now

And a lot of it.




More vacation pictures here, plus some of Plymouth with the rock (yep, that one). It's more like a boulder, not the huge beckoning cliffs I imagined.

When Others Say It Better or WW-related Stuff

I briefly wrote before about how I'm thinking of quiting Weight Watchers and "watching what I eat"(read: diets) in general because I end up feeling like shit about myself. I've even read Intuitive Eating and all the Geneen Roth books, and I've talked to people who said that (amazingly) when you stop obsessing about the food, you feel better. But then I get really, really scared and go back to that thing that I know -- the points, the meetings, the sameness -- because it's worked for me before and I am deathly afraid of being out of control with my eating. Like if I give up the points, I will do nothing but loll about and stuff myself with cookie dough all day. I am a creature of habit.

Lately, though, I'm not feeling the WW so much. I read this post about a month ago and had this strange feeling that someone had gotten into my head and stolen my thoughts while I was throwing up a little in my mouth at the Sweat, Tears and The Sea meeting. I'm haven't been too happy with our WW leader for a while, but I've noticed a distinct change in this past 12-week session (I'm an at-work member). She covers the topic at hand and ONLY the topic at hand, and the "featured product of the week" makes me want to scream.

Last week was the meeting on exercise. I should be feeling really good about exercise. I've always been good at the gym and walking and working out because I ENJOY it. It's not a chore -- I like this stuff. And I've been feeling like a rock star lately with all the running. I am RUNNING, people. For MILES -- plural! I should feel awesome. And most of the time I do. Except for when I get on that scale at the WW meeting. Then I feel like a schmuck because either the number doesn't move or it goes up, and I come up with a list of things I "should" have done. I should have eaten better. I should have ran more. I should be biking too. I should drink more water. And seriously, what the fuck? Regardless of the scale, I should still feel fantastic about achieving something. But I don't for that one hour on Wednesday. I feel fat and I feel like a loser.

This has been going on for a few weeks now, but last week's exercise meeting pushed me closer to a decision about leaving. Even though the vast majority of our group runs or regularly goes to the gym, WW Leader insisted on doing a full frickin' meeting about desk stretches and other random shit designed to put "at least 10 minutes of moving around into your day." And we weren't allowed to call it exercise because then, supposedly, we wouldn't do it. I get that, and I get that there is a large majority of people who have trouble getting any physical activity into their day.s It's fantastic that WW has designed a meeting to help them get over that. What I do have a problem with is when the Leader refuses to change the meeting when it doesn't appeal to anyone in the room -- because that would mean not following the meeting guidelines. Grrr....

And the kicker? WW Leader: "We just want to lose weight. Nobody here wants to be an athlete." Huh? Speak for yourself, Crazy. Maybe I DO want to be an athlete. Maybe I want that more than to lose weight. Maybe I want to lose weight by being more athletic. Maybe I use the points system to help me figure out what is the best food to use their dumb terminology, "fuel my body." Like, seriously?

And now here's the point where I tell you that is all bullshit. I am enjoying my new-found athleticism, but I would really, really like to be thinner. Do I hate myself? Am I delusional? I don't think so, but you never know. I talk a good game about wanting to be healthy, but most of my quest-for-health-activities have always stemmed from a deep desire to be thinner and to escape from my body. I've ALWAYS been this way, and I have always had body issues -- and I've never been that heavy or that thin. I just am.

So, where was I going with this? I've been reading all the recent blogosphere posts about weight loss vs. fat acceptance with interest, because I'm not sure how I feel or what I feel, but a hell of a lot of people are much more literate than me.

All of these found via Elastic Waist [yes, I've plugged it before, but seriously, read it]:

Fat Loss vs. Fat Acceptance, redux

Do I really hate myself?

Poundy, of course. I have loved this blog for years.

And not related to the debate, but awesome anyway -- this thing on J.K. Rowling's site. I should note that I've never read a Harry Potter book, nor do I really care that much about Harry or Rowling for that matter. I just like this.

And oh so unrelated to anything: right after I gave up all hope, the Yankees are on a tear again. 5.5 games back in the Wild Card. I'm giving a respectable, restrained "woot!" at this point.

Fat Lard in an Ugly Shirt

File under: this is what an "adult relationship" looks like
Also under: thank god for giving me someone that can deal with the crazy in me head

JM: Do you ever have days where you wake up and look at yourself and think "I am so frickin' busted looking and old?"
YG: Um, not really.
JM: I do. I look gross.
YG: Is that the shirt from California?

[Editor's note: The shirt from California can also be described as the only thing in the JM warddrobe that YG said he didn't like. And he did not technically say he didn't like it. He technically said that it didn't play up JM's many good assets. His words, not hers. JM was very riot-grrll and super-feminista about it and said that she could keep the shirt even if YG didn't think it looked good on her because she doesn't need a man to tell her what does and doesn't look good. And then she threw it out a few weeks later, because he maybe might have been a teeny bit right.]

JM (with look, you know, that one): Noooo, it's not the shirt from California. It's a different one that may be cut similarly.
YG: Oh.
JM: (looking, looking, looking)
YG: (examining shoe, folding underwear)
JM: So you HATE this shirt?
YG: I don't hate the shirt. I asked if it was the shirt from California.
JM: The shirt you hated and said I looked fat in.
YG: I didn't SAY that. You make these things up because you are so very, very, very crazy.
JM: I'm not crazy. I am just, apparently, a fat lard in an ugly shirt.

And then we laughed hysterically for a while, because, really, that's funny. Fat lard in an ugly shirt. Hee.

In other news, I just finished reading How Sassy Changed My Life: A Love Letter to The Greatest Teen Magazine of All Time and OH MAH GOD, the nostalgia. Sassy was the first magazine I ever subscribed to, and the only one besides New York Magazine. I loved it, loved the writers, loved the music and it certainly made the idea of giving up my dream of being a writer to go major in the more parentally-acceptable journalism more palatable. I think, in high school, that I had a brief moment of thinking that I was going to grow up and be Christina Kelly and that I would FINALLY be cool.

And alas, it's more than a decade later and I am still me, not being all that cool and kind of a nerd but kind of okay with being kind of a nerd. And while you grow up and accept all the life choices that you make and sort of understand why you make them, there's this little part of me that thinks if I just find that right job or write the best short story or live in the hippest neighborhood and see the best band, then I will finally, finally be cool. I will be Kim Gordan and YG can be Thurston Moore. The MG can be Cocoa. :-)

[Note: I understand that wanting to be cool is so not cool. And so, so lame. While I'm at it, can I say that I want to be skinny and cool? And have really great, cool hair in a perfect shade of rebellious-yet-corporate-acceptable red?]

What a trip down memory lane, though. All the fashion articles (Kim France pants? Under my kilt with fishnets and a combat boot?) and the music articles (Ween!) and the Kurt and Courtney cover and the Junk Food Taste Test. It makes me want to go read all the old issues of Sassy which I think may still be in the basement at my parents' house if my mom or I didn't throw them out in a fit of making room for other stuff that we don't need. [Note: if anyone is looking for any birthday present ideas and you might be somebody related to me that might have access to the cabinet in the basement, check that shit out pronto]

Sassy, man -- I am frickin old. Sigh.

What I Meant To Say

I am running 2.5 miles THREE times a week. Not just once a week. And I was indeed up at weigh in. Violence was avoided. Boring talk about stretching more and the horrifying mention of Curves For Women was not.

Banned

"There will be no using of the ass word from now on."
--The Management
[Otherwise known as the MG]


In other news, my job can blow me.
In other other news, my job blowing has seriously helped my work out regime. I am almost done with Couch to 5K and am now running 2.5 miles a week. Hope to finish the program in two weeks.
In other other other news, the running has helped save my sanity during weigh ins at WW. I am stuck, stuck, stuck in the same place, gaining and losing the same three pounds. And when Neurotic Fakey Happy WW Leader asks me "were you expecting this?" when the scale points up, the running helps me from beating her face in and shouting, "were you expecting THAT, bitch?" and then running [quickly] approximately 2.5 miles away.

First Post From the New Digs

Technically, we've been here a month, but YG set up the desktop PC today. That should tell you how much of a technophile I am -- I haven't missed it, I didn't die and I don't need an iPhone.

Things are settling down. We moved here and then YG went to Chicago for a week, then we were in Long Island, then I went away, then we had a family party and that's our first month. It's already the middle of the summer and we're only now getting around to hanging pictures and going through the piles of mail that have accumulated. Here's hoping this is the beginning of our "normal" life. We still need a desk and some other odds and ends.

I keep justifying that it's the PC and the desk that are preventing me from writing, but that's such bullshit -- I can write in Word and post later and it's not like I don't have a laptop. I just haven't had much to say that I really would like to deal with or process. I am so down on work -- the fact that it's 4 p.m. on a Sunday and I "should" be online checking work mail makes me die just a little bit inside. I've had a couple of days where I've seriously contemplated quitting, figuring that if I was under diress, I would figure out some other way to make money. It's not that the job itself is horrible and I do like my coworkers; it's just that it's not for me. And beyond my small circle of coworkers, there's nobody that I'm overly impressed with. I like working in a place where you look at the people above you on the chain, and you want to be like them or work with them or work for them. I don't have that where I am now, and I haven't had that for a long time. It isn't like my last job where I was convinced everyone was seriously mentally deficient -- I'm just not...impressed.

I'm just to a point where I can't contemplate doing this for the rest of my life. Or even for the rest of this year.

But what then? That's why I don't want to talk about it. Because what then? I'm blocked on my next move. Writing? School? Bleh. I'm lucky that I'm fortunate enough to have such "problems."

In the meantime, there are plenty of things going right. The new house is great. Living with YG and the MG has been a non-issue. I've gotten home enough to enjoy the time with my family. And I've survived this first year in Massachusetts, and it doesn't look like I'm going anywhere. I've been reading a lot, eating at a lot of great restaurants and generally just enjoying the city. So, if you've got any ideas for what I should be doing job-wise [or ways to make money other than stripping or selling drugs], comments are open.

Bitch, Please!

Internet access in Long Island? Seriously? We just got cable a few years ago. And now? Now, we have the untapped power of the Information Superhighway.

Missing in Inaction

Two quick notes:

* Not dead -- moving, crazy at work and getting ready to leave for VACATION. One week in Long Island and then a weekend with some girlfriends up here in Mass. One week of NOT WORKING. Thank you, Jesus.

* I love you, Jeff Tweedy. You rocked last night, and you played everything on my "best of Wilco" playlist: Hummingbird, Handshake Drugs, I Am Trying To Break Your Heart, I'm The Man Who Loves You, California Stars. Everything! I lurve you! And I'm still on my concert high.

Last Few Nights of Living Alone

I should be packing, but I feel I should relish this special moment of being alone prior to moving in with YG: because in a few days, I will probably be embarrassed if anyone else came home and saw me on the couch drinking beer and eating cheese in my pajams trying to pretend like I wasn't thoroughly enjoying "The Starter Wife" on TBS.

Weekend Visitors

How could you not love this face?






Or this one, for that matter?






More weekend fun here.