And the Award Goes To...

It's awards show season, and everyone's a-buzz! Starlets are donning their bouffiest gowns and hoping they don't accidentally shut their excessive trains in their limo doors or drop them in the toilet*! Leading men are trying desperately to set themselves apart in a sea of tuxedos with facial hair and...well actually, that may be it! And probably only Christian Bale anyway!

Sigh. I just don't get into awards shows. Half the time I haven't even seen the majority of the nominated films, and really? I don't care who wins. Like these overpaid actors and actresses playing make believe every day of their cushy lives need more attention or recognition. That's what addiction and Celebrity Rehab is for.

Seriously, though, it's cool when someone who's good at their job is recognized for it. I do like that Colin Firth and The King's Speech kicked Oscar ass last night (no, I didn't watch - that's what my friends and twitter are for!). Congratulations to all those involved in the making! (I mean that sans sarcasm. Also, Colin, may I call you Colin? If ever you need a new *cough* leading lady, call me!!)

Still. What about us everyday people? Where's my Oscar (I'd settle for the bologna of the same name)?? Why don't I get recognized and get to do it while wearing Vera (Wang, not Bradley...)??

I in no way think I could do what they do. If I could, I would. Trust me, I wouldn't be sitting at this deck 40 hours a week every week, damning my eyesight to hell with this glowing computer screen of vision impairment.

But I digress. Awards shows just don't do it for me. Yeah, the stars may clean up nice, and can walk in heels without falling on their faces, but I'd rather spend those few hours doing something I really enjoy.

Sleeping.


* I'm pretty sure the dresses are only that big to hide the catheters the actresses don expressly to avoid this soggy and unfortunate scenario.

Sarah in Dreamland

I had another weird dream last night.

I remember being in a mall, one of those really nice ones. All fancy and shiny and clean. Anyway, we were standing near one of those mall kiosks, except it was actually a wagon. No, wait, that's wrong. It was definitely a wooden cart. Only it had a display on it, covered by glass.

While we were checking out the cart display, I happened to notice a somewhat hidden room behind it. And I saw the art I had made in college lining the walls inside the room!

"That's my art!" I gasped, and we ran over to inspect the room.

Who the "we" is, I have no idea. I just know I wasn't alone and that I don't recognize the people I was with.

Anyway, it turns out this secret room had been inhabited by a murderer. From Scandinavia. She had taken up residence on her mission (maybe she was an assassin!) and was apparently trying to frame me.

Uh oh. Bad news bears.

I remember inspecting the room, going over all the possessions she left behind, trying to figure out who she was, why she was doing this, and how to stop her.

Then I woke up.

If this has anything to do with my last weird dream, maybe her target had been the sleeping marine and I interfered. Or maybe he had been her boyfriend and she was trying to get him back by framing me so I'd end up locked up and out of her way. Or maybe she murdered that old dude shaving in my bathroom and since I lived with him she used me as the perfect fall guy.

I mean seriously. If he shaved and left all his gunky face hairs trapped in old, solidified shave gel remnants in the sink, I'd totally make a good suspect.

That ish is nasty.

The Reason I Feel Like Flabby Jell-O

In my quest to fit into my October pants, I decided to up the ante a little. A year ago I purchased 3 new exercise videos, only one of which I made any use of:

That one.

It was great. It has two ten minute and two twenty minute routines, so you can build a workout to your liking. I did all 4 routines daily. Did I say that it was great? Because it was great. I could feel it, and I could see it in my body.

Then I moved into an apartment with a friend. There was no place I could really work out in our apartment/town house, and, let's be honest, the gym's right out for me. I hate exercising in front of people. Hate it! I just refuse. I feel like no one needs to see me all sweaty and out of breath. At least, not anyone I'm not intimate with. You know what I mean? Exercising, for me, is an uncomfortable enough experience without others being there to witness it.

Also, I refuse to pay for being uncomfortable.

That said, I let my fitness regimen slide. A lot.

Still, I walked my roommate's dog twenty minutes everyday, and my meals were smaller, so I was eating more healthily even if only because I couldn't afford snacks.

Then, I moved home...and the holidays hit! I gorged myself. I gorged my inactive body full of sugary, fatty goodies of goodness! It was only a matter of time before it caught up to me.

That's when I started trying to get back into the above pilates video. I started slow, 20 minute sessions, then doing 30 min sessions, then working up 40 minutes everyday. I know this sounds like I worked out a lot, but it was really only over the course of four weeks? Maybe five? And even then I'd skip days. I think I even skipped on whole week once. So, really, don't be impressed. I cheated. A lot. Still, I had been making more of an effort than I had in the past six months so it had to be doing something, right? I couldn't tell. If there was any difference at all it was completely unnoticeable to me. Maybe it was all that Christmas candy I'd been eating?

So yesterday when I tried on those pants from October...and they did not fit...not even remotely (imagine something from "The People of Walmart" only, you know, tone it down just a liiiittle bit and you'll have what I felt like), I knew it was time to amp things up.

Enter Weight Loss Pilates:

This was one of the original three I had bought about a year ago. I didn't do it back then because it was "too hard." I attempted it once and then put it to rest in my work out video graveyard.

Thing with this video is that it combined pilates moves with cardio bursts to keep your heart rate up the entire workout. This made sense in my head as being better for losing weight, so I tried it again last night. It too was broken up into smaller sessions like the previous video, but I, determined as I was, decided that I WILL CONQUER ALL!

It totally kicked my ass.

No, really. Some of the moves she pulled caused my muscles to abruptly faint and refuse to work again after, completely mistrusting my judgement. I only (barely) made it through one session. If my muscles could've curled up into the fetal position and rocked back and forth in a corner, they would have.

I'm pretty sure my heart didn't even know it could beat that fast. I know I sure didn't. Of all my muscles, I'm happiest that one didn't quit on me.

Let me just share with you some of the moves she had me do. They are intense. They may not seem intense, and maybe aren't as challenging when standalone, but on top of everything else she has you do in the video, your abs will be quivering in fear.

So, this generally isn't so bad.Except for the fact that we get there from lying completely flat. I'm used to getting to this position when my knees are bent. My knees are also usually bent while in this position. I know. I'm feeble. I think it was this position (though it may have been another) in which she then had us hold it while we beat out ankles together. OHMIGOSH it was hard! (see: I gave up and gasped for breath)

Zomg, this one! So, you keep your hands pointing straight ahead...while moving your legs in a circle. Yowza! I think I completed it once fully then collapsed on the floor.

This is the last I'll share with you. This itself isn't hard,  but there was one move that looked a lot like this, and it killed me. Dead. You lower one leg (but so it's still off the ground) and raise the other. With the raised leg, you do leg circles. I know, this probably sounds like a piece of cake. Either it is and I am far more atrophied than I thought, or this really is a lot more challenging than I can accurately describe. Try it. Go ahead! I dare you.

Anyway, despite the physical discomfort and the inability to do some of the moves, I'm really excited, because after one day, one 33 minute session, I am feeling it today.

This bodes well for my bod. And my October pants.

Ill-Fitting Honesty

I'm going to be honest here. I mean, I'm usually honest on here with my two readers, despite it technically being a public forum. But this is the kind of honesty I don't even want to admit to myself.

I've gained weight.

I am generally of the opinion that dieting is foolish. I am going to eat what I want to eat, and as long as it's in moderation I see no problem. It's my life, I'm not wasting it on papery health crap, or boring flavorless mush. It is not happening. Ever.

I also know that, during my life, my weight will fluctuate. And I am okay with that, too. I basically feel like the goal should be to be and feel healthy and happy, not limit yourself by truly meaningless numbers. For one, weight is personal. I don't go around shouting it from the rooftops. Weight is a measurement of my body's mass. My body. My mass. It has nothing to do with anyone else. So as long as I am comfortable, and healthy, I couldn't care less what someone else thinks about that number.

For instance, men. I have a very hard time believing some guy who is otherwise very interested in me is going to dump me because my triple digit weight is not to his liking. If that's the type of boy he is, then no thanks, you can be moving on now, you superficial jerkwad, you.

So, I take health over weight obsession, self-esteem over "romance." Everything in moderation, with sides of portion control and physical activity.

Unfortunately, as it's winter and all, I have been slacking in the physical activity department. Since moving home, I have also been less vigilant on portion control. And my-oh-my does it show.

Actually, I don't know if it shows. When I look at my de-clothed body I could tell areas had pudged out a little, but again, c'est la vie and pass the cheese! It wasn't until my work pants started feeling tighter that I really took notice.

Today however, was the nail in my "let it be" coffin.

A pair of pants I wore comfortably not even five months ago DO NOT FIT.

There's a chorus sounding off in my head of, "Danger, Will Robinson! Danger!" I guess the time has come to actually commit myself to lesser portions and upping my physical output.

Sigh. I had never experienced the feeling that comes when a once-loved pair of jeans no longer fits. It is not the most pleasant, to say the least.

So, new plan of action: kick it's sorry arse to the curb!

That's right, you heard me! Scram! Beat it! Hasta luego! And don't come back here again!

Monotony is the Mind Killer

Yesterday I had this idea for a post but, unfortunately, ran out of time to execute it.

So today, we're going to give it another try.

I stared this blog a year and one month minus four days ago. In my first post I discussed my need and desire for a new job. Well, one year and one month minus four days later, I am still sitting in the same chair and at the same desk as I did one year and one month minus four days ago. Needless to say my plan was wildly successful uneventful.

I oscillated between planning to take a few photojournalism classes at a local state school, dedicating myself to the pursuit of cake decorating, becoming a flight attendant, going to grad school, breaking into voice acting, opening an Etsy store and selling handmade goods, and several other well-intended but clearly short-lived pursuits.

As much as I want to break free of corporate America, I still have bills to pay. Student loans, actually. Loans that paid for an education supposedly preparing me for the real world, providing me with the ability to get a job that would make paying my loans back easy and, if nothing else, bearable.

This desk job is my only source of income. To leave without some idea of what direction I am headed would be foolish. Off and on in the last thirteen (minus four days) months I have entered information into job search engines, only to find more mundane work. That, or jobs that I don't want, and am also nowhere near qualified for. It's stagnant and it's boring. It's also disheartening.

Recently I read of a way to determine what you should do with your life. The idea is, you sit down and write (or type) out all of the possible vocations you could pursue. When you finally hit one that makes you cry - BINGO! That is what you should do.

Admittedly, I haven't tried this yet. I should, and I may yet. To me, in this moment, what I should do is vague. It's nameless. It's several descriptions of things I like and things I do not like. Lists of likes and dislikes. But there is no umbrella term to describe what it is, or if it is even something I could make a living doing.

I may, in some ways, sound lazy. The long lulls between job searching, not getting myself out there, or committing to a path and digging in and really working for it. I 'spose it is. I certainly thought so for a while. That maybe I've become too content with the familiarity of the job I hate, but at least know. This scares me. It terrifies me. I want more. I know that with every fiber of my being. It's just a struggle to figure out what "more" is.

I came to realize that had any of these paths truly sparked a fire in me...I would have pursued them. But they didn't and so I didn't. So I've let things rest. I'm not saying that has been the best course of (non) action. It's just what I have been (not) doing.

Yesterday, I tried doing another job search. This time it was on Idealist.org.

Nothing jumped out at me. Despite not being the biggest lover of people (more, I am an introvert as opposed to being an extrovert who can strike up a conversation with anyone, social interaction can be a strain for me), or having the highest level of patience, it can be strange to hear myself say "I want to help people." The thing is, though, that I do. I want to make a difference.

I taught at a summer camp once, and quickly decided that teaching wasn't for me. Although I thoroughly enjoyed the kids I worked with, it was far more stressful than rewarding and fulfilling. So, teaching's out.

Anyway, after my search on idealist.org, I came upon Servenet.org. I ran another search (I think just by location), and saw a lot of the same. Most things just didn't have that pull for me. Until I saw a listing for Teenvoices.com.

Let me show you their straight-forward, no-frills mission statement:

Our Mission


Teen Voices supports and educates teen girls to amplify their voices and create social change through media.

I went to look under their websites "Get Involved" section to see if they had any job positions available. Alas! They did not! And though one can volunteer (which I'd love to do), the opportunities to do so take place Mon-Fri from 9am-6pm. I work full time about an hour away from them. I assume the same would be true for their internship opportunities. I never participated in an internship in college, and I now wish whole-heartedly I had known of this magazine, and had been able to intern for them. I do, however, plan to keep my eyes peeled for an opportunity to volunteer or for any paid positions that may open up.

I continued to look at the descriptions of various volunteer/internship opportunities that they offer, and found one that more than piqued my interest:

Art Editor

Are you an artist or art historian who's interested in magazine publishing? Gain experience by working with our Editor-in-Chief to recruit art by teen artists for Teen Voices magazine, work with local organizations to engage local teen artists, manage incoming art submissions, maintain database of art submissions and artists, and more as needed.

 
Really? Jobs like that exist? That...that's a thing?? I suddenly felt excited again. How perfect does that sound?? Of course I can't know what the position would actually entail, but it immediately excited me. And that made me feel good. In a sea of corporate, dead-end job listings on the internet, I actually found something that excited me! Something I thought, without hesitation or doubt "I could do that! I would enjoy doing that!" Which, sadly, has been a very elusive feeling.
 
It also reminded me of something. Of being a senior in high school and writing college entrance essays. I wrote about wanting to make a difference to a specific group of people. To young girls. I remember witnessing friends go through some very trying things and wishing there was some way to be a positive influence through all the negativity that seems to surround our world.
 

Our Vision


Teen Voices envisions a world of equality and opportunity for all girls, in which we are a premier center for positive teen girl-produced media. With the support of an intergenerational network, we provide a space for girls to become competent, confident, and courageous leaders for change.

This is the sort of difference I had imagined in high school, but just didn't know existed. This is a positive force for young women. And the best part? It's creative.

Oh how I've yearned for something creative to do! Sitting at a desk doing various forms of data entry is not creative. There are only so many ways you can phrase a comment, "Made call out to..." "Outbound call made to..." "Called out about..." (and more often, with specific information, there is only one way).

If it isn't already known, I was a studio art major in college. I attended a small, private, Catholic college, that didn't exactly have the greatest art program. I originally went there for English, and soon realized I hated writing papers. And while my professors were fantastic and absolutely amazing in a plethora of ways, we were limited by supplies, facilities and thusly, in course selection. I suppose I should've transferred, but I was happy where I was.

So, a job that was creative and was also making a positive difference in the world of young girls?? It felt like bells went off...in my gut.

If that were an open (and yes, paid) position, I would, without hesitation, leave the job I have now in order to pursue it. Seriously. I don't even think I'd mind the hour plus commute.

Faced with the reality that it isn't, I will stay where I am for now. I will keep searching (if only there existed some sort of neatly packaged search engine for this kind of job!). And I will feel a little more relieved that, perhaps, I have taken one step closer in the right direction.

Hope exists. And it only took me a year and one month minus four days (and one novelle of a blog post) to realize it.

Murphy is Kicking My A$$

Last night I spilled my wine. And though I'd sooner cry over that than milk, I did not shed even a lone tear. Probably because I was utterly shocked at how epic the spill was.

Right before my eyes my own room had been transformed into a crime scene. Wine was spattered and dripping down my wall, my white duvet cover was speckled with droplets, my hoodie was splashed with the red liquid and my cuffs were soaked. Even my alarm clock had been well doused in it.

I cleaned it all up.

As I was cleaning it up in my laundry room, my cat decided that was the opportune time to take a poo.

It smelled. I held my breath.

Have you ever tried scrubbing a wine stain out of a white duvet with a toothbrush whilst holding your breath? I don't recommend it.

I went to bed about an hour later than expected.

The next morning, this morning, MONDAY morning, I was supposed to come in a half hour early. I awoke ten minutes after my alarm should've gone off, to find in my haste to clean up last nights mess I had inadvertently turned the sound off.

I got to work. Fifteen minutes later than I should've, but still earlier than usual.

I have been corrected twice (so far) by my supervisor for mistakes I have made this past month.

I suddenly remember I was supposed to enter my time by midnight last night, which means I may not get this paycheck until next week.

In the scheme of things, these are all very small disturbances. And I know that. And I do appreciate that these are the worst of my problems. But I am still left wondering, who the hell is Murphy and WHY did we ever think they should have a law?? Was this some terrible result of an errant game of kings?

I'd like to retro-actively veto it, if I could. Let's start a petition. Signatures will be taken in the comments section.

I always wanted to help change the world.
I think I've finally sound my chance.

Watch your back, Murphy. I'm coming for you.

Winter Heave-ho!

Winter. It's still here. Don't be fooled by this surprise "heat" wave. It's totally just a tease. I remember at the end of summer, going into fall, I was just itching for it to be cold enough to wear boots, and sweaters. But now? Now I need me some short sleeve, flats & flip flops weather. And here's Mother Nature, taunting me.

What I truly desire is for all this snow and ice to melt. I do enjoy snow. It's cold, which means I get to dress snuggly warm (my favorite!). It's also pretty and creates a magical, wintery wondery landscape!

That is, until it get's plowed and startes melting into a disgusting, brown, rock wall.

No, really. That stuff will take you down.

My friend was about to leave her house for work when her car slipped on some ice. In her own driveway. She ended up bumping into a snow bank. In her own driveway. Generally we Northerners would think "Oh, phew! I just hit a snow bank! A tree, big rig or person would've been much worse!" I am positive she thought the same.

That is until she pulled out of her driveway and realized her bumper was dragging on the ground.

Let me just remind you, this happened in her own driveway. I just want to make sure I've made that clear. Anyway, it's been duct taped for the time being, but now she's looking at a 500$ deductable. Winter is fun!

Also, the roads are a mess. The warming up, then freezing, then warming, then freezing again is doing a number on them. They are heaving. Which isn't pretty when people are cats do it, and it certainly isn't when roads do.
 
Frost heaves* leave perfectly respectable New England roads looking like this:
 
 

Then, of course, you must add in some pot holes:

Spice with freeze-thaw damage:

And you've got youself a damn mess, is what you've got:

Icky! It doesn't help that the roads are also smaller now, due to the massive, bulging...snow banks (what did you think I was going to say?). There's also these fun little ice ledges, as I like to call them, on most roads, acting like bumper car or bowling alley bumpers. So, if, let's say, a massive SUV is barreling down the newly miniaturized road and you, the tiny car that you are, try to move as close the edge of the road as possible, said ice ledge will BUMP you right back out into the road directly in the path of the monster truck. No wonder I've never liked bumper cars.

So, Spring, please get here quickly. Then towns can attempt the massive undertaking that is repairing the roads, and I can more deftly navigate out of the paths of immense vehicles determined to squish me.

Please and thank you.

* Did you know Vermont has a basketball team? Did you know they're called the Frost Heaves?? Me neither! Leave it to Vermont.

Daily Surprises

I have come to decide that when you are married for any length of time, you become desensitized to certain things.

I am not married, for the record. But my parents are, and I observe.

Yesterday, in my rush to go to the bathroom, I accidentally knocked my dad's bathroom reading off the sink counter. What I can only assume was his bookmark was laying on the floor next to it. It was a tampon. I'm pretty sure he was using a tampon as a bookmark. I guess when you grow up and get married, tampons don't have the same "ew" power as they did as teenage boys in high school.

Though, if not, he's going to be really surprised when he finds a tampon in his book.

Urgent Need, The Great Humidifyer Search, And Why I'm Never Asked Out On a Date

When I last left you, I was soon to be leaving work and in need of a bathroom. I had every intention of going on my way out, but failed miserably. If you haven't caught on by now, I'm awkward. It's just a gift. A cursed gift.

I was going to try and describe for you the set-up of my building, but since I am also gifted with cursed descriptive skills, I'm just going to draw a lil' somethin' in paint.

Okay, so maybe the drawing didn't turn out quite as well as I'd hoped

 So let me go back a bit and explain that there is one attractive guy at work. One. O-n-e. He is cute. I am also fairly certain nothing will come of my having noticed his physical attractiveness, but I still feel like a fool around him. As I am wont to do.

Yesterday, when I left at 4:30pm, he was hydrating himself at the bubbler. Yes. I am from Massachusetts. Good detective skills.

Anyway, there he was, and there I was. I made eye-contact and smiled, in a rare show of put-together-ness (I really wish dictionary.com had a reverse search option).

As we have already covered, as I was leaving work today I was in dire need of the rest room. I came through the double doors on my way to relief only to see him AGAIN at the bubbler. Second day in a row! The only logical conclusion is that he timed his H2O intake around my schedule so he could see me again. Anything else just doesn't make sense. Like, he couldn't possibly have just randomly been thirsty two days in a row at the exact same time as I was leaving. He couldn't possibly be concerned about the environment enough to opt to use the bubbler instead of the un-biodegradable styrofoam cups in the cafeteria. He probably isn't trying to flush his system in order to pass a drug test. He probably isn't trying to lose weight, or cure his urinary tract infection (do guys get those?). I'm also going to go out on a limb here and say he isn't suffering from water intoxication, or mental problems. Therefore, it's obviously me!

So there he is, bent over at the water fountain (he has a really nice butt, not that I was looking). Just as he is turning around and I am realizing it's him, two people come through the "other" door on the left (I really have no idea where that door goes). My brain suddenly starts screaming "ABORT! ABORT!" and though I badly have to go to the bathroom, I obey. 

Everything was timed out perfectly. Had I tried to make it in front of the two randoms coming out of the other door, I would've awkwardly cut them off. The speed cute-guy was turning and walking at I would've either run into him quite literally while trying to swiftly cut across the other two, or stood there awkwardly waiting for them to pass and just looked like a weirdo who forgot how her legs worked.

Unfortunately for me I needed to go to the mall and Target before going home. Which meant I had to hold my necessity in for another two hours. TWO HOURS, people! I know, I could have gone at Target or the mall. But I dislike using public bathrooms normally, let alone when it's gasp! number two. So I suffered. I suffered so that cute guy didn't think I was awkward, weird, or about to go poo. All unacceptable but completely true things. He and I just aren't at that stage in our relationship yet.

After that near brush with awkwardness, I headed on over to Target. I was on a mission. I needed a humidifier and nothing was going to stand in my way!

Almost an hour later, searching high and low, I walked out of there the proud owner of...a Camelbak water bottle!!

 

 Oooh, preeeettyyy!

I looked everywhere! I first went to look by the vacuums. For some strange reason  was convinced that is  where they keep them. I was wrong. I looked down every aisle. I even remembered to look in the "Home Improvement" section that I always, without fail forget exists. They had humidifier filters but no humidifiers. I finally found one, though. In the baby section. Guys, for the record, I am not a baby. And anything that says "safe" on it, you can bet I won't be able to operate. So I left without it. Also, it was 30 dollars.

I am cheap. Now you know. I would rather suffer a bloody snotty booger nose than spend 30$ on a safe baby humidifier.

Which brings me to my next story. They actually aren't even a little bit related, but I'm not good at segues.

My friend Wife's sister is trying to set me up with a guy. I know, right? Awkward! But that's not all! Oooh no! Let me describe him a tad and see if you have the same reaction I did:

He's eight years older than me, and...

...he's recently divorced.

Oi. Also, I creeped him on facebook. I did not find him particularly attractive. I know, I know, that is SO shallow, and I'm judging a book by it's cover, yadda, blah, blah, yadda! I agree. He could be the sweetest guy in the world. Wife said he is probably looking for something serious, marriage, kids, the whole American Dream. Which, right now, to me, is the American Nightmare.

I am currently trying to figure what the heck I want to do with my life. That means it's me time. I need to focus on myself in order to find what makes me happy, and what I want to put time and energy into accomplishing. It's selfish time.

Does that mean I am opposed to relationships at this point? No. (Did you get that Cut-bubbler-lovin'-co-worker??) Not opposed. But they aren't a priority. I seriously have no idea what I want to be when I grow up, and here I am, growed up, and a relationship is just going to confuse the issue. 

Did I mention I don't want kids? Like, not even a little bit. If I ever change my mind, because I allow that it is vaguely possible it could happen, I will adopt. But this whole pregnancy schtick just ain't for me. If my husband or baby daddy wants to carry and birth this thing, then hey, go for it! You can also be on diaper duty while we're at it. Otherwise, my uterus is closed for business.

So anyway, you see my dilemma. Especially when Wife's sister then sends out a facebook message to me, this Divorcee and about 3 other people I know, asking if we'd all go to a party if she threw one. A thinly veiled, yet totally obvious ploy to have us both "randomly" meet and have things between us evolve "organically."

Double oi!

I completely ignored the message. I feel bad because apparently the Divorcee and the Sister are both dogging Wife for my phone number. It is a test of our friendship that she is holding out so strongly. No wonder I love her!

And no wonder I'm single.

I realize this one post could've been three different posts, but, honestly? I don't have the patience. Hence three posts in one day.

You're welcome.

Update 2/19/11: Apparently cute thirsty dude was just a thirsty dude. After that I never saw him again. Sigh. I should've told him I could be his tall drink of water.

Let Me Hear Your Body Talk: I Don't Think This is What Olivia Newton John Meant

This is going beyond TMI. At least, the most I've ever shared on this blog. (I think.)

I'm sitting at work. In the supply closet they converted into an office. I kid you not. In this office there are two desks. One is occupied by me (obviously), the other by my co-worker...Boston, we'll call him.

So, anyway, I'm sitting at my desk. Reading a hiiii-larious blog, minding my own business, and accomplishing next to nothing. When all of a sudden my bowels let loose a sound the likes of which I have never heard. I've been with my body for a long time, through good times, and really, really bad times, and this was unprecedented.

It was a massively loud, gurgle/death growl. I'm pretty sure he heard it too, despite the fact that he is listening to his iPod. It got really silent in here immediately after, and I am generally inclined to believe it could not possibly be a coincidence.

I could tell the gas was a-rollin' 'round the ol' intestines, but since I get off work in 15 minutes, I assumed I could wait to use the facilities until then. My body disagreed. And had had enough. And decided to let me know. Semi-embarrassingly. I think perhaps irritable bowel syndrome is less a physical affliction, and more an emotional one. Though, I can really only speak for my own colon, here.

My first instinct, after my intestinal scolding, was to run to the bathroom, though I knew this would totally blow my cover of pretending nothing had happened. Like my bowels had not just verbally threatened me.

Which is why I wrote this.

Thanks for being my cover guys!

Adventures in Failed Home Beauty!

So, Valentine's Day. That was Monday. I told you that day I was going to give myself an acne fighting facial, appropriately colored for the occasion.

Well, as with many things I attempt the first time out, it didn't go exactly as planned. Here's the recipe I was making from the Crunchy Betty website (She's awesome! Go check her out, my sole reader! Now! I'll wait...)

Homemade Tomato Juice Peel Off Mask

• 1/2 c. tomato juice (for oily and acne-prone skin), peach juice (for dry skin), milk or water (for normal skin)  
• 1 packet (approx. 1 Tbsp) plain gelatin

It's always suggested you use the freshest ingredients you can, so I decided to squeeze my own tomato juice. Which brings me to the first question. How does one squeeze a tomato for it's acne fighting juices?? I have no idea. But this is what I did:

I basically just made a mushy mess. But! There certainly was juice below! Just...not a half cup. Not even a quarter cup. I had mistakenly thought one tomato would do the trick. I mean, c'mon, they are pretty juicy! Still, this was only a minor set back and I was determined! What could go wrong with just using less tomato juice?

I soldiered on. I mixed in the entire packet of gelatin and microwaved the mixture to combine them. So far, so good. Into the fridge you go!

You'll note it never crossed my mind to lessen the amount of gealtin I used. Keep this in mind as we proceed.

I stirred it several times int he 15ish minutes it congealed in the frigde. Voila!

Ready for my face! I slathered it on. I just used my fingers because I don't have any brushes I didn't mind getting goopy.

The result:

Happy as a tomato faced clam!

I let it dry. I could feel it stinging a bit. I assumed this was from the tomato juice ninjas kicking acne butt all over my face. I could feel it tightening my skin!

I waited around my room. My cat stared at me like I was crazy. She was partially right. I think she's psychic.

I even chatted on the phone!

Trying to demonstrate my multi-tasking skill and give you a visual of the mask drying. Neither is conveyed particularly succesfully...

We finally hung up, and I knew it was time to peel-off the mask to find clean and clear skinned glory!

But...oh my. It...it doesn't seem to want to peel off. And I kind of got some in my hair...OH and my eyebrows! I didn't even think about trying to avoid them. At least I kept clear of my eye area. Wait, what the! How did I get this mask on my eyelid?? This isn't looking good, guys...

It was an all out battle. It just did NOT want to peel! Finally I made some progress. But even then I would get only the tiniest little strips up! And it hurt! The part I had been really excited about peeling was my nose. And that almost didn't even happen. 20 minutes of attempted peeling and I only got half my nose peeled. Barely even half of my face had been successfully peeled before I gave up and hit the shower.

I will say this, though. I'm certain this was all my fault. Had I actually used a half cup of tomato juice, I do not think I would've had this problem. Despite my mistake, my skin did feel super soft afterwards, and the pores on my nose looked smaller and less black-heady. So, I will definitely be trying this again...just the right way net time.

If nothing else, I'll have a super good recipe for fake vomit this Halloween!:

Blech!

Valentine's Day and Learning to be a Considerate Human Being

Today is Valentine's Day, and while I am currently single (and have been for every Valentine's Day for which I have had breath in my lungs), I do not hate the fauxilday. That's right, I called it a faux-holiday. I know! I am so clever! Hah!

I am a lover of holidays. Any reason to celebrate and wear a specific color outfit makes me kind of giddy. And while today I inadvertently dressed myself like Cupid's happy sailor friend, I am still beaming inside (or maybe that's gas?).

Last year I nearly went on my first date with a guy I'd met at an Anti-Valentine's Day party, who probably never should've gone off his anti-depressants (no really). I mean talk about pressure! I'm glad I politely declined. I was feeling a tad under the weather, so it wasn't for nothin'.

This year I am spending it at home, with my fam, drinking (red!) wine, eating (red!) spaghetti, and giving myself a (red!) acne fighting facial. Clearly, we have embraced the V-Day theme. Despite my mom wishing me a, "Happy VD day! Haha!" Isn't she the sweetest?

She has always made us little Valentine goodie bags, which has probably helped to make this random February day feel special. Any day I receive chocolate as a gift is an extraordinary day to me!

In all of my 24 years, I have, regrettably, never reciprocated. That's why today on my lunch break I will be running out to try and search through the aisles or Target for something to show her, "Hey! You didn't raise a callous, inconsiderate jerk! Yay!"

Being thoughtful is on my "to-do" list. I don't make resolutions every New Year, but I do try to continually improve myself. It's a long list...kidding! I am awesome! But really, thoughtfulness is something I generally lack. Or maybe forethought. Or maybe they're kind of interrelated? Hm. Anyway, I generally have good intentions, but have poor execution. This being the perfect example. I want to surprise my mom and show her I care with a small little gesture of luurve on this Valentine's day, but I unfortunately did not plan ahead and will thusly be going out to pick through whatever is left in the store today. THE DAY OF. Sometimes I'd swear I was a guy.

Since I've never been in a relationship on this fauxilday, I don't really know what I'd expect. I kind of think, though, that I'd enjoy a low-key, no-pressure kinda night. Stay in, maybe fance up dinner a bit more than the usual Monday fare, and just hang out. Maybe do some of that cuddling stuff. Gifts aren't necessary, though chocolate is always appreciated. But really, love is the point. Not cards, not jewelry, not candy, not flowers. Spending it with people I love is celebration enough. It may be an over-commercialized fauxilday, but it seems to me people sometimes forget to appreciate the ones they love, so if this day can act as a little reminder during the mid-winter death-haul, then Valentine's Day and me are cool, yo. 

So, however you celebrate (or don't), I hope you have a Happy Valentine's Day!

You Live, You Learn. Thank Goodness!

I just recieved this text from my friend:

"A year ago tomorrow, you started dating the craziest fuck on the planet. Congrats on not having to celebrate a year with that."

Amen!

Sometimes breaking up ain't hard to do.*



*Okay, so it was hard at the time. But still, one of the better decisions I have made in my short lifetime.

How Facebook Changed my Life: A Country Song

I realized the other day, whilst looking at all my friend's facebook stati, that despite not liking the music, I could be an excellent country song writer with all this inspiration.

Seriously, I show you:

She just joined the NRA
Marryin’ a man that’s twice her age
Ol’ Mac’s lost all his teeth
But she sure loves his Chevrolet

He’s drivin’ back to the Lone Star State
Love means freedom and a pick-up truck
But soon he’ll find he’s out of luck
Cause loneliness is the heaviest weight

Another one’s just broke her heart
She ain't sure it'll ever work out right
Prince Charming lost his charm 3 beers ago
Just tryin’ now to mind her son
Feelin’ right back at the start

See?? Brilliant, right?! That's just the start, of course. It definitely needs more work. I kind of started to run out of facebook fodder, so I'd have to start improvising a bit more. Definitely throw in some more beer references. Something about a faithful dog. A couple "y'alls" and maybe a few hunting references too.
 
Boy oh boy! I may just have found a career, folks!

Dreams: Proof my Subconscious is on Drugs

Last night I had quite a strange dream.

After going to a sort of country fair with my friends Wife and English, I went for a morning walk with Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs and Director Leon Vance. Why, yes, I have been watching too much NCIS. Why do you ask?

On our walk, we happened upon the body of a man. Since he wasn't dead (but was presumably a marine), I took him home. Yes. Much like finding a stray cat, or a hurt bird you find and place in a shoebox so as to bring to the vet without getting your smell all over him, I adopted this stray marine.

He was asleep, or unconscious anyway, so when we got home I put him on my couch because I am a beast and can carry heavy muscley men all by myself like that. Apparently the house I live in in dream world is full to the brim with people, and is like the clown car of houses. I don't even know some of the people living there. I vaguely remember some older gentleman shaving in the bathroom mirror, but I have no idea who he was as he was not Leroy Jethro Gibbs. Sigh! Too bad!

My former college roommate lived with me too, and maybe even some of my own family. I really can't be sure, there were just that many people.

When the marine started to awaken, my two cats (who in real life hate each other) jumped all over him, and were beyond friendly with him AND each other, nuzzling and snuggling all over the place. It was a miracle! Everyone in the house was in awe. This miracle marine magically made warring felines friends! Huzzah!

He was also ridiculously good looking. Duh.

We talked a bit and I explained we found him and I took him in. Much flirting occurred.

As soon as I thought, "Hey, maybe this is going somewhere!" CLICK! "She's just a small town girl. Living in a loooonely woooorld!" My alarm clock abruptly woke me from my restful reverie. Always when it's gettin' good! Dangit, Wednesday Morning! So not fair!

This, however, is why dream analysis is useless for me. Those handy dandy dictionary-like guides never have quite specific enough categories: "Rescued sleeping marine with Snow White-like effect on animals" or "Clown car home with strangers, friends and battling cats" just aren't in there.

If anyone feels like reading into this subconscious mess further, feel free.

I do have a request, though. Next time, Subconscious, I wouldn't oppose a dream about finding a near frozen McGee and DiNozzo, and, in order to save them both from hypothermia, I, being the wonderful human being that I am, sacrifice my modesty, stripping us all down and sandwiching myself between them so that my body warmth may save them from their icy and deadly fate!

But, you know, just a suggestion.

The Dead Stump Post: My Terrible Memory and Scary Movies

I have a bad memory. I was going to liken it holey Swiss cheese (is there any other kind?), but that might be giving it too much credit.

I often have genius blog post ideas that STRIKE like lightening in the night, but then when I wake in the morning the lightening is gone, and the only way I even know it ever happened is the charred, dead, stump of a tree in my back yard.

I recently had one such magnificent idea. All I can now remember is it related to the movie Poltergeist. That movie scared the bejeesus out of me before I even knew I had bejeesus in me. In about sixth grade I had a sleepover party on Friday the 13th, for which we rented many a scary movie. You'd think, knowing at this stage in the game that I'm such a scaredy-cat cry-baby, that I would never in a million years attempt such a thing. It was Friday the 14th that I first questioned if I was perhaps slightly autistic.

Anyway. My girl friends arrived. We had rented Poltergeist, Carrie, Firestarter, and...actually that may have been it. We never even got around to Firestarter, such big babies are we. We waited until nightfall and gently slid the black rectangular VHS tape into my now-ancient VCR. The movie? Poltergeist. I have never been the same since. Everyone in the room was scared out of their tiny, not-fully-formed adolescent minds. We couldn't even go to the bathroom alone. We went in pairs of two, one using the facilities while the other turned her back and stared at the closed door, on silent watch for all things creepy and haunted.

One friend took it upon herself to break the tension. We were all huddled close together in the hallway between my kitchen and the pantry door, hoping above all that "safety in numbers" worked against evil spirits too. BAM! She ripped open the pantry door! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHEEEEEEEEEEEE!!! Eight little unbearably shrill voices screamed in unison. If I had known what the "F" word was, I would've used it. Yes, she only opened a door. Yes, we were giant chicken shits. I unfortunately cannot argue with you there. But that movie SCARRED me for the rest of my life.

For years after, I would stare at the wall in my shower, praying nothing was going to come through it and drag my naked body to the depths of hell. I wondered if there was any way to find out if my house had been built on an ancient Indian burial site. Even now I wonder, as I pass houses up for sale, what it is they're built on, and are there some sort of Native American archives I could visit, just to check. I still cannot handle seeing snow on a TV set. I immediately shut it off, as if my very life depends on it. This was compounded when I saw The Ring. I now have a general distrust of televisions. Basically, I'm pretty much tapped. Seriously, buying a house someday will be SUCH a process for me. You can bet we won't be having an in-ground pool, let me get that straight. Oh, and absolutely no creepy clown dolls. But I think that one goes without saying.

On the other side of all this is my sister. She and her friend watched the P movie when she was even younger than I was. And do you know what happened? Do you? She LAUGHED. Laughed! She did not quake with fear! She found possessed crawling meat to be comedic genius! I note this is further proof that we are NOT related.

Truthfully, though, I am jealous of both my sister and father. Both of them can handle horror and scary things without being even slightly phased. My dad reads the most ridiculously scary books (okay, judging by the cover...) and it's nothing to him. I can't even watch the previews of scary movies without peeing a little in terror. I got saddled with the pansy gene. How come this fear-free gene skipped me? What gives!? I demand a refund!

I can, however, handle vampires. And, generally, werewolves. I guess because I can safely classify them in my brain files as "mythological." The paranormal and aliens, though, these cannot so easily be disproved. For all I know, they could exist. Which is why after bejeesus left me, it never ever came back.

 I like vampires the best. I remember seeing Fright Night for the first time and loving it. Buffy The Vampire Slayer movie and TV series? Check and check. Angel? Lost Boys? From Dusk Till Dawn? Blade(s)? Interview With The Vampire? Bram Stoker's Dracula? Underworld(s)? Van Helsing? Checkitty check check!. And yes, even Twilight. I am not ashamed though, because I laughed through the entirety of both the films I've seen.

As such, I am terribly excited about the re-make of Fright Night. I'm a sucker for Colin Farrell (oh how the dark, accented set make my heart beat so!) and, despite it's campiness, I am just in love with the film. I hope they keep the camp and don't try to make us take it seriously. Because I can tell you now, we won't.

Anyway. Gah this is long. And pointless. I should probably start carrying around a little notebook so that when lightning strikes again I can write it down before it's a dead stump. On the plus side, you can never challenge that these ideas were absolutely brilliant in their original form, because, well, you don't even know what they were. Score! I think?