(That's me as FBI agent Clarice Starling, and Betsy the Slutty Bee!
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
Happy Halloween!
I'm still alive, I'll try to write soon! Hope everyone has a fabulous Halloween. It's, of course, f-ing freezing here in Minneapolis...
(That's me as FBI agent Clarice Starling, and Betsy the Slutty Bee!
(That's me as FBI agent Clarice Starling, and Betsy the Slutty Bee!
Monday, August 07, 2006
Stealth
So there’s this girl in my office that drives me absolutely crazy, and I don’t even know her. I realize I’m a terrible person for having such negative feelings towards someone who I know next-to-nothing about, and I also know that it’s even more despicable that I have decided to go as far as to write about how much she aggravates me here, but to that, I say, “whatever”. I’ve never claimed to be nice.
What do I know about this girl? Hmm… let’s see, I know that EVERYDAY she wears white high-top sneakers and tapered jeans (which are way too tight and surely must be painful to wear, as they cause me, an innocent bystander, to wince with pain whenever I see her sporting those crotch-separators.) I know that she just recently got her hair cut because the style she’s sporting is that whole stacked short bob/triangle cut I’m sure you’re all familiar with, and it is very obvious that the back of her neck has recently be shaved. I also know that she and I have somehow gotten our bathroom usage routines almost perfectly in synch, which continues to aggravate me on a daily basis. Truthfully, this is the main source of my annoyance with her, so let’s just quit with the introductions and break it down right now. This girl is the most irritating stealth pooper EVER!
We’ve already established that she is pretty much in the bathroom every single time I go there. I know this because we either fatefully end up walking in there at the same time, or I see her glaringly white high-tops from under the stall as I enter. Well, I’ve come to find that the poor girl has some serious issues with taking a “number two” when another lady is in the room. This is not something I begrudge her, as I, myself, am a practicing stealth pooper, however, the way we differ is that I have perfected the well-known routine and she just camps-the-hell-out in the stall. FOR AS LONG AS SHE HAS TO. It’s without fail: if I have to take a crap (yea, I know, I hate that I do it at work but I am a very regular girl and it is just unavoidable), she will be in there, and it’s almost as if she’s waiting for me, just waiting to thwart my plans to do my business. Thus, I go into my stall, listen for her, realize she is making no sounds whatsoever which means she is in there for the long haul, so I make a quick piddle, wash my hands, and get out of there, hoping I can come back in ten minutes and, God-willing, she’ll be gone.
This crap also happens when I’m the first one in there. I sit down, ready to get going, and I hear the door open. At that point I know I just can’t do it until the intruder is gone (I guess I’m sort of a sad character in this story as well, huh?) so I usually try to stall for a minute, playing with the toilet paper, pretending to adjust my clothing, hoping they’ll be quick. If there’s not a lot of movement from the other stall, I resign to the fact that it’s just not going to happen and I’ll have to come back later. And what do you know… I swear to God nine times out of ten, whose shoes do you think I see when I exit the stall and head to the sink? You’re damn right; it’s those ridiculous white high-tops. Sometimes the whole situation makes me so angry that I take my sweet ass time while washing my hands, maybe I’ll start fixing my hair, adjusting my outfit, cleaning scuffs off my shoes, checking for smudged makeup, anything that will make her sweat in there just a little bit.
I mean, seriously! Why can’t she be the one to (just once-in-a-while!) surrender and try again later? She has some major resolve and some crazy huge balls, I know that. I should also mention that on the occasion that the two of us are concurrently in the restroom to perform the less foul of the two bodily excretory functions, and if we end up at the sink washing our hands at the same time, the chick refuses to look me in the eye. I swear she knows how much she pisses me off, and she’s scared of me. Even though I am evil on the inside, and I blog about the gross bathroom antics that take place at my workplace, I am very nice in-person. I always give her a little half smile and a nod when we’re at the sink together, or when we pass each other in the hall, but she just looks down at her feet like a scared little boy. To which I say… “Whatever, don’t look at me punk, I really couldn’t care less, but you need to seriously look into the etiquette of office pooping. There’s a courteous way of doing it, and there’s a bitch way of doing it. Figure it out.”
What do I know about this girl? Hmm… let’s see, I know that EVERYDAY she wears white high-top sneakers and tapered jeans (which are way too tight and surely must be painful to wear, as they cause me, an innocent bystander, to wince with pain whenever I see her sporting those crotch-separators.) I know that she just recently got her hair cut because the style she’s sporting is that whole stacked short bob/triangle cut I’m sure you’re all familiar with, and it is very obvious that the back of her neck has recently be shaved. I also know that she and I have somehow gotten our bathroom usage routines almost perfectly in synch, which continues to aggravate me on a daily basis. Truthfully, this is the main source of my annoyance with her, so let’s just quit with the introductions and break it down right now. This girl is the most irritating stealth pooper EVER!
We’ve already established that she is pretty much in the bathroom every single time I go there. I know this because we either fatefully end up walking in there at the same time, or I see her glaringly white high-tops from under the stall as I enter. Well, I’ve come to find that the poor girl has some serious issues with taking a “number two” when another lady is in the room. This is not something I begrudge her, as I, myself, am a practicing stealth pooper, however, the way we differ is that I have perfected the well-known routine and she just camps-the-hell-out in the stall. FOR AS LONG AS SHE HAS TO. It’s without fail: if I have to take a crap (yea, I know, I hate that I do it at work but I am a very regular girl and it is just unavoidable), she will be in there, and it’s almost as if she’s waiting for me, just waiting to thwart my plans to do my business. Thus, I go into my stall, listen for her, realize she is making no sounds whatsoever which means she is in there for the long haul, so I make a quick piddle, wash my hands, and get out of there, hoping I can come back in ten minutes and, God-willing, she’ll be gone.
This crap also happens when I’m the first one in there. I sit down, ready to get going, and I hear the door open. At that point I know I just can’t do it until the intruder is gone (I guess I’m sort of a sad character in this story as well, huh?) so I usually try to stall for a minute, playing with the toilet paper, pretending to adjust my clothing, hoping they’ll be quick. If there’s not a lot of movement from the other stall, I resign to the fact that it’s just not going to happen and I’ll have to come back later. And what do you know… I swear to God nine times out of ten, whose shoes do you think I see when I exit the stall and head to the sink? You’re damn right; it’s those ridiculous white high-tops. Sometimes the whole situation makes me so angry that I take my sweet ass time while washing my hands, maybe I’ll start fixing my hair, adjusting my outfit, cleaning scuffs off my shoes, checking for smudged makeup, anything that will make her sweat in there just a little bit.
I mean, seriously! Why can’t she be the one to (just once-in-a-while!) surrender and try again later? She has some major resolve and some crazy huge balls, I know that. I should also mention that on the occasion that the two of us are concurrently in the restroom to perform the less foul of the two bodily excretory functions, and if we end up at the sink washing our hands at the same time, the chick refuses to look me in the eye. I swear she knows how much she pisses me off, and she’s scared of me. Even though I am evil on the inside, and I blog about the gross bathroom antics that take place at my workplace, I am very nice in-person. I always give her a little half smile and a nod when we’re at the sink together, or when we pass each other in the hall, but she just looks down at her feet like a scared little boy. To which I say… “Whatever, don’t look at me punk, I really couldn’t care less, but you need to seriously look into the etiquette of office pooping. There’s a courteous way of doing it, and there’s a bitch way of doing it. Figure it out.”
Thursday, July 27, 2006
Balderdash!
Finally, I present to you the long-ago-promised highlights from an intense game of Balderdash, played one scorching hot and sweaty July evening among eight good friends.
(That’s not really us, but it sure looks like they’re having fun doesn’t it?!)
I should probably preface this with one big fat, “You had to be there”, in case the absolute hilariousness of that evening is not quite as funny to someone who didn’t actually participate in it.
If you haven’t played balderdash, you basically have to exercise your twisted imagination and bullshit your way into winning. There are five categories: people, words (so very old-school), initials, movies, and laws, and I’m pretty sure I have highlights from each category. Seriously, I almost pissed my pants about 12 times throughout the evening. My friends are awesome.
Oh, one last note – none of these are mine because I am TERRIBLE at this game due to the fact that I am not quite as warped as my seven opponents. This game seriously stresses me out, and immediately upon receiving our word or movie or whatever, my heart starts beating crazily, my head starts spinning, and I furiously cross out words and scribble down nonsense until all other players are finished and ready to go. So yea. I suck. But as I said, my friends are awesome.
(That’s not really us, but it sure looks like they’re having fun doesn’t it?!)
I should probably preface this with one big fat, “You had to be there”, in case the absolute hilariousness of that evening is not quite as funny to someone who didn’t actually participate in it.
If you haven’t played balderdash, you basically have to exercise your twisted imagination and bullshit your way into winning. There are five categories: people, words (so very old-school), initials, movies, and laws, and I’m pretty sure I have highlights from each category. Seriously, I almost pissed my pants about 12 times throughout the evening. My friends are awesome.
Oh, one last note – none of these are mine because I am TERRIBLE at this game due to the fact that I am not quite as warped as my seven opponents. This game seriously stresses me out, and immediately upon receiving our word or movie or whatever, my heart starts beating crazily, my head starts spinning, and I furiously cross out words and scribble down nonsense until all other players are finished and ready to go. So yea. I suck. But as I said, my friends are awesome.
1. Category: Movie. “Bongo”
Making of a label: How Bongo Jeans became an American fashion statement. ~Heidi
The story of a young boy and his only friend: the drum. ~Angela
An eclectic tale of Gloria Estefan’s career from the conception of the Miami Sound Machine to a tragic bus accident; the beat goes on. [Definitely the best one all night, I should have left it for last.] ~Andy
2. Category: Law. “In North Carolina, it is against the law to enter into a…”
…homosexual relationship on the third Wednesday of the month while wearing a flip flop on your left foot, and a snake skin boot on your right. ~Dan
…kosher bakery after eating bacon, ham, or other pork products. ~Heidi
…Long John Silvers drive-thru through the exit lane unless you are smoking a cigarette made in North Carolina. [Seriously, what?] ~Andy
...walk-in-freezer without wearing a hat or earmuffs. [Ok, I decided to include one of mine, cause I was feeling left out.] ~Alicia
3. Category: Initials. “N.A.B.R.”
Nigerian-American Boxcar Racing ~Betsy
National Association of Bridge Repairers ~Corey
National Avairian Bathing Reservation ~Andy
4. Category: Person. “Bernard Moeller”
Proved white guys can jump at a slam dunk competition in Compton. ~Heidi
5. Category: Word. “Zyzzyva”
A powder like substance used to make Egyptian corn bread used in religious ceremonies. ~Betsy
A word of Czech origin referring to the vibration of a fart. ~Liz
Russian slang for poop. ~Corey
6. Category: Movie. “The Cow”
Whoopie Goldberg was the voice of the cow who was being threatened to leave her range for selling LSD. [Another one of those that makes you go, huh?] ~Dan
A tragic short detailing the ups & downs of yo-yo dieting. ~Andy
7. Category: Law. “In St. Anthony, Idaho, it is illegal to read…”
…any propaganda stating the potato is not delicious or nutritious. ~Heidi
…the Bible while going poop. [Dan actually read this as “the Bible while I poop”, because he had written a “1” on the paper that he somehow misconstrued as an “I”. This was really what got us rolling on the floor.]
8. Category: Initials. “H.H.M.I”
Hungry Hippos’ Members Insight ~Heidi
Humongous Homosexuals March Intoxicated [That would be quite a sight!] ~Dan
9. Category: Movie. “Ladies Who Do.”
An encapsilating tale of four horribly disfigured women who won’t take no for an answer. ~Andy
10. Category: Law. “In Tennessee, a now outdated law said a man was forbidden to divorce unless he…”
…had accidentally married a large mouth bass, or his cousin. ~Andy
11. Category: Initials. “P.H.C.A”
Plane Helicopter Car Association. ~Betsy
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
Chicago Pictures!
Finally, I know. Sorry guys. Click on the picture and it'll send you on over to the set on Flickr.
Hopefully I'll be back blogging soon, but removing red-eye and uploading these mothers took me about three hours tonight, so I'm sorry that I don't have the time or energy to come up with any substance in this post. Later.
Hopefully I'll be back blogging soon, but removing red-eye and uploading these mothers took me about three hours tonight, so I'm sorry that I don't have the time or energy to come up with any substance in this post. Later.
Friday, June 09, 2006
Something's gotta give
I have been sitting at my desk, barely doing a thing all morning, in a trance-like state of exhaustion. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but I am just so tired. So very tired. I had to have a conference call with some evil corporate grouchy accountants at 9:00, which did not help make my morning any better. Honestly, I am feeling so lazy and so blech, I can’t even think of the words so I can write them here because my brain hurts when I try to use it.
I’m feeling very uninspired with my job lately. I’m bored, and when I get bored, my motivation and ambition just fly right out my imaginary office window. I don’t know what I want to do with my life, but, my God, I can’t imagine 50 more years of this. Hell no. I want to do something creative, something that makes me excited, something that matters. The problem is, I have no idea what that is. This all sounds so cliché, and I hate that. Can’t I just be one of those people that makes good money doing a job that is just that, a job, and is happy in the rest of her life, happy with the people she’s chosen to spend her life with, happy with the things she does after work and on weekends and on vacations? I mean, there are lots of people out there that live their lives like that right?
Maybe it’s just the industry I’m in, I don’t think I necessarily hate being in finance, maybe I just hate working in government defense, that seems like a more logical explanation. Well, I hope that’s it, because changing jobs is one thing, I don’t know how to completely change your whole career path. It’s actually a really scary thing to think about, because I feel like I’ve let myself become so reliant on my income, and I’m not sure we could handle the adjustments that would have to be made as a family if that changed. And furthermore, I’m not sure I could handle that kind of pressure, the pressure that comes from making a huge life-changing decision. What happens if I don’t like the new career either? What happens if I fail? What happens if I change my mind? Being married means that these decisions are not just mine to make, what I do affects Dan and our future life together. But people do that kind of thing all the time, change careers, right? I’ve got to assume it works out sometimes, right? The one thing I’ve always wanted was to be an entrepreneur, but I’m such a chicken, terrified of loosing a shit-load of money, terrified of failing, letting myself down. But how great would it be if I didn’t fail? How amazing would it feel to have pride in what I’m doing, to get up in the morning excited about what I’m going to do that day?
I wonder if I’m just in a funk. I can’t even bring myself to do my hair in the morning lately. I’ve worn it up in a messy frizzy bun 4 out of the 5 working days this week. How’s that for cute? Today, I didn’t even bother getting out the blow-dryer at all. I just pulled all my wet, color-faded, split-end ridden hair back, slapped on some bronzer and mascara, grabbed my favorite comfy jeans from the laundry basket full of clean clothes that has been sitting in the living room for a week waiting for me to put them away, and topped the whole look off with flip flops that are not technically “suitable office attire”, even for casual Friday. Yes, I’m quite the professional.
I’m getting too comfortable. Being comfortable in a career should be a good thing, but I’m starting to worry that I’m not moving at the pace I should be. I need to get my MBA if I want to be on track with the people that all graduated when I did, but it’s hard to get motivated about doing that when I’m not sure I’m happy where this whole career thing of mine is going.
And then there’s babies, it all goes back to those damn babies doesn’t it? At some point here, I’d like to start having babies, and then will I even care about my career anymore? I almost feel like the answer to that question is no, but then I worry that the only reason I feel that way is because I am so bored with where I’m at now.
I just don’t know. Something has to change here though, at some point.
I’m feeling very uninspired with my job lately. I’m bored, and when I get bored, my motivation and ambition just fly right out my imaginary office window. I don’t know what I want to do with my life, but, my God, I can’t imagine 50 more years of this. Hell no. I want to do something creative, something that makes me excited, something that matters. The problem is, I have no idea what that is. This all sounds so cliché, and I hate that. Can’t I just be one of those people that makes good money doing a job that is just that, a job, and is happy in the rest of her life, happy with the people she’s chosen to spend her life with, happy with the things she does after work and on weekends and on vacations? I mean, there are lots of people out there that live their lives like that right?
Maybe it’s just the industry I’m in, I don’t think I necessarily hate being in finance, maybe I just hate working in government defense, that seems like a more logical explanation. Well, I hope that’s it, because changing jobs is one thing, I don’t know how to completely change your whole career path. It’s actually a really scary thing to think about, because I feel like I’ve let myself become so reliant on my income, and I’m not sure we could handle the adjustments that would have to be made as a family if that changed. And furthermore, I’m not sure I could handle that kind of pressure, the pressure that comes from making a huge life-changing decision. What happens if I don’t like the new career either? What happens if I fail? What happens if I change my mind? Being married means that these decisions are not just mine to make, what I do affects Dan and our future life together. But people do that kind of thing all the time, change careers, right? I’ve got to assume it works out sometimes, right? The one thing I’ve always wanted was to be an entrepreneur, but I’m such a chicken, terrified of loosing a shit-load of money, terrified of failing, letting myself down. But how great would it be if I didn’t fail? How amazing would it feel to have pride in what I’m doing, to get up in the morning excited about what I’m going to do that day?
I wonder if I’m just in a funk. I can’t even bring myself to do my hair in the morning lately. I’ve worn it up in a messy frizzy bun 4 out of the 5 working days this week. How’s that for cute? Today, I didn’t even bother getting out the blow-dryer at all. I just pulled all my wet, color-faded, split-end ridden hair back, slapped on some bronzer and mascara, grabbed my favorite comfy jeans from the laundry basket full of clean clothes that has been sitting in the living room for a week waiting for me to put them away, and topped the whole look off with flip flops that are not technically “suitable office attire”, even for casual Friday. Yes, I’m quite the professional.
I’m getting too comfortable. Being comfortable in a career should be a good thing, but I’m starting to worry that I’m not moving at the pace I should be. I need to get my MBA if I want to be on track with the people that all graduated when I did, but it’s hard to get motivated about doing that when I’m not sure I’m happy where this whole career thing of mine is going.
And then there’s babies, it all goes back to those damn babies doesn’t it? At some point here, I’d like to start having babies, and then will I even care about my career anymore? I almost feel like the answer to that question is no, but then I worry that the only reason I feel that way is because I am so bored with where I’m at now.
I just don’t know. Something has to change here though, at some point.
Wednesday, May 31, 2006
There really is no sensical title for this post
Seriously, I am such a punk. I haven’t blogged in almost a month… again. In my defense, it’s been a crazy couple of weeks at work, and at home, well… it was May sweeps, and that means lots of really good TV and laying around on the couch eating frozen berries. So now that Grey’s Anatomy, Desperate Housewives, How I Met Your Mother, What About Brian (I know, that one's embarassing), 24, America’s Next Top Model, Lost, The Office, The OC, and Without a Trace are over for the season, I can start getting back into the land of the living, and start interacting with people in the three-dimensional world. Actually, I’m sort of lying, and I don’t know why! Who lies to their blog? In truth, my DVR is still packed with crap I haven’t watched yet, including the season finale of The OC (I know Marissa dies, I just haven’t gotten around to joyfully watching that episode yet), the season finale of 24 (and avoiding spoilers online has been so painfully difficult), and like the last six episodes of Without a Trace. But the fact that I have all that stellar TV to still watch furthur accentuates my point that I have been a busy girl.
Before I go on though, holy crap was that some good TV! Betsy got me hooked on America’s Next Top Model and I will forever be greatful for her wisdom, because that shit is like crack. I was so glad Danielle won, makes the fact that Biyatch Tyra made her close her signature gap (even though she’s constantly waxing poetic about models who have their own look and individuality) sort of worth it. Oh, and isn’t Twiggy just the sweetest little thing? I heart Twiggy. Jim’s declaration of Love to Pam and their kiss on The Office was such a pleasant heart-pounding surprise, though I was terrified for a second there that he was going to hook up with the rejected Jan. Lost was a whole two hours of going, “Holy crap!” And finally, Grey’s Anatomy is without a doubt my favorite show of all time. I am totally rooting for Addison to get some next year, because I love her and it is quite obvious that her and Derek should not be together. I say she should go for vet-boy Chris O’Donnell, because we all know that boy is going to be experiencing some major heartbreak in the near future. Poor scruffy hunky vetrinarian.
I’m listening to the radio here at work and they’re talking to the authors of The Nanny Diaries and I am so ridiculously excited for the movie to come out next year. Scarlett Johanssen is the perfect Nan, even though I heard they actually gave her a real name in the movie, and completely changed the ending, and added a best friend character played by Alicia Keys. Whatever, it still sounds awesome, Laura Linney and Paul Giamatti as Mr. and Mrs. X! Cool. Yea, I’m totally like transcribing the radio interview here, I’ll stop.
Should we talk about something other than TV and movies? How about my running schedule? It’s actually going pretty well, although so far this week I haven’t worked out at all, but I blame that on the long exhausting Memorial Day weekend at the cabin with my in-laws. As a whole, it’s turned into about every other day that I get up at 5:00 AM and run on the treadmill. I had hoped to do it every day, but I have very little will-power. Last week was a good week, I ran Monday, Wednesday, and Friday morning before work and then Dan and I went for a run Saturday morning at the cabin (which totally kicked my ass because I am not used to running outside, let alone in 80 degree heat). I must give props where they are deserved, however, because on Wednesday I was so close to not getting up until Dan sleepily whispered, “I am disappointed in you.” It is exactly what I needed and he knew it. What an awesome husband I have, the best workout buddy ever. When I think back to working out in college, I can’t help but laugh, because I remember Betsy being able to plant the tiniest seed in my head, like, for example, “Maybe instead of going to kickboxing class we could stay home and watch TV and order Little Caesars”. At that point, all hope of getting out of the house was completely lost. How did we ever justify substituting a pizza for a workout? [Hee!] College Alicia and Betsy were funny. Anyway, I have actually noticed a tiny difference in the way my pants fit since I started up running again, but it hasn’t been very drastic. I think what I really need to do is give up going to Zantigo with the ladies at work twice a week. I know, it’s terrible, but have you ever had Zantigo? The chilitos are so ridiculously scrumptious, I just can’t say no to them. But I need to. Must. Say. No. [Note to self: also must say no to Starbucks iced vanilla non-fat lattes and low-fat bran muffins, having low-fat or nonfat in the name does not a healthy breakfast make.]
I had the best sex of my life last night. Haha, told you Dad, read my blog at your own risk. ;)
Yuck, I just grossed myself out by having “Dad” and “sex” in consecutive sentences. I think that should be it for today.
Sorry Dad, I’ve been tempted to do that for some time now, and I guess I’m just feeling spunky enough to do it today.
Before I go on though, holy crap was that some good TV! Betsy got me hooked on America’s Next Top Model and I will forever be greatful for her wisdom, because that shit is like crack. I was so glad Danielle won, makes the fact that Biyatch Tyra made her close her signature gap (even though she’s constantly waxing poetic about models who have their own look and individuality) sort of worth it. Oh, and isn’t Twiggy just the sweetest little thing? I heart Twiggy. Jim’s declaration of Love to Pam and their kiss on The Office was such a pleasant heart-pounding surprise, though I was terrified for a second there that he was going to hook up with the rejected Jan. Lost was a whole two hours of going, “Holy crap!” And finally, Grey’s Anatomy is without a doubt my favorite show of all time. I am totally rooting for Addison to get some next year, because I love her and it is quite obvious that her and Derek should not be together. I say she should go for vet-boy Chris O’Donnell, because we all know that boy is going to be experiencing some major heartbreak in the near future. Poor scruffy hunky vetrinarian.
I’m listening to the radio here at work and they’re talking to the authors of The Nanny Diaries and I am so ridiculously excited for the movie to come out next year. Scarlett Johanssen is the perfect Nan, even though I heard they actually gave her a real name in the movie, and completely changed the ending, and added a best friend character played by Alicia Keys. Whatever, it still sounds awesome, Laura Linney and Paul Giamatti as Mr. and Mrs. X! Cool. Yea, I’m totally like transcribing the radio interview here, I’ll stop.
Should we talk about something other than TV and movies? How about my running schedule? It’s actually going pretty well, although so far this week I haven’t worked out at all, but I blame that on the long exhausting Memorial Day weekend at the cabin with my in-laws. As a whole, it’s turned into about every other day that I get up at 5:00 AM and run on the treadmill. I had hoped to do it every day, but I have very little will-power. Last week was a good week, I ran Monday, Wednesday, and Friday morning before work and then Dan and I went for a run Saturday morning at the cabin (which totally kicked my ass because I am not used to running outside, let alone in 80 degree heat). I must give props where they are deserved, however, because on Wednesday I was so close to not getting up until Dan sleepily whispered, “I am disappointed in you.” It is exactly what I needed and he knew it. What an awesome husband I have, the best workout buddy ever. When I think back to working out in college, I can’t help but laugh, because I remember Betsy being able to plant the tiniest seed in my head, like, for example, “Maybe instead of going to kickboxing class we could stay home and watch TV and order Little Caesars”. At that point, all hope of getting out of the house was completely lost. How did we ever justify substituting a pizza for a workout? [Hee!] College Alicia and Betsy were funny. Anyway, I have actually noticed a tiny difference in the way my pants fit since I started up running again, but it hasn’t been very drastic. I think what I really need to do is give up going to Zantigo with the ladies at work twice a week. I know, it’s terrible, but have you ever had Zantigo? The chilitos are so ridiculously scrumptious, I just can’t say no to them. But I need to. Must. Say. No. [Note to self: also must say no to Starbucks iced vanilla non-fat lattes and low-fat bran muffins, having low-fat or nonfat in the name does not a healthy breakfast make.]
I had the best sex of my life last night. Haha, told you Dad, read my blog at your own risk. ;)
Yuck, I just grossed myself out by having “Dad” and “sex” in consecutive sentences. I think that should be it for today.
Sorry Dad, I’ve been tempted to do that for some time now, and I guess I’m just feeling spunky enough to do it today.
Tuesday, May 02, 2006
More tales of the treadmill...
At the risk of jinxing myself by talking about this, I have decided on a new workout schedule. It’s going to be hard to get used to, but I think if I can stick with it for a couple weeks, it will become a habit.
Lately, I have been having so much trouble staying motivated to run after work. At the start of my day, I fully plan on working out when I get home, I find myself actually excited about it. As I sit at my desk playing with spreadsheets and punching numbers into my calculator, I can literally feel my ass getting wider and flatter, and I look forward to a good run at the end of the day to counter some of the widening and flattening. But that's all forgotten by early evening when I walk through my back door. Seriously, I am the queen of excuses, and I hate myself for it. The fact that summer is rapidly approaching only adds to my list of excuses because I actually have a life in the summer. After nearly three weeks of, “I just have too much of a headache from the terrible traffic, I’m not going to run today,” and, “Yea, I’ll skip my work-out today so we can go out to dinner with my parents,” and lots of, “It was such a long day and I’m just too tired and hungry to get on the treadmill, " I've decided I need to take a different course of action.
I’ve decided that my only real option is to drag my ass out of bed 45 minutes earlier than usual and jump on the treadmill before getting ready for work, because bitch, I want to look hot in my tank tops and short skirts this summer! (Let’s not even mention the whole swimsuit issue, because yes, it is certainly an issue.) I meant to start this whole work out plan at the beginning of the week (Monday morning), but I’ll admit that didn’t happen. Thank God I have such a prick of a husband who has no faith in my discipline whatsoever because his snide comments about my failed attempt the day before were swimming around in my head this morning at 4:53 AM as I lay in bed anticipating the screech of the alarm clock radio. Those thoughts provided me with that extra little kick in the butt to get up and do it… “I’ll show him!” I muttered to myself as I stumbled around in the dark, frantically rummaging through my dresser drawers in search of my favorite sports bra.
I am soooo not a morning person.
Anyway, so I did it, and the first step out of bed was, of course, the worst part. The run felt incredible, and I got to watch Soledad O’Brien do her thing on the CNN morning news show while becoming an actual informed citizen of the United States - - I can’t even recall the last time I watched a national news program, unless Regis and Kelly on my Fridays off counts, which I don’t think it does. ;) I’m going to do my best to keep it up. Even on days when I don’t feel up for running, I’ll get up at 5:00 and walk instead. I can do this, right? Hell yea I can!
Now please don’t let this be part of that whole blog curse where you write about a big lifestyle change or vow to do something and it totally falls to crap immediately.
Lately, I have been having so much trouble staying motivated to run after work. At the start of my day, I fully plan on working out when I get home, I find myself actually excited about it. As I sit at my desk playing with spreadsheets and punching numbers into my calculator, I can literally feel my ass getting wider and flatter, and I look forward to a good run at the end of the day to counter some of the widening and flattening. But that's all forgotten by early evening when I walk through my back door. Seriously, I am the queen of excuses, and I hate myself for it. The fact that summer is rapidly approaching only adds to my list of excuses because I actually have a life in the summer. After nearly three weeks of, “I just have too much of a headache from the terrible traffic, I’m not going to run today,” and, “Yea, I’ll skip my work-out today so we can go out to dinner with my parents,” and lots of, “It was such a long day and I’m just too tired and hungry to get on the treadmill, " I've decided I need to take a different course of action.
I’ve decided that my only real option is to drag my ass out of bed 45 minutes earlier than usual and jump on the treadmill before getting ready for work, because bitch, I want to look hot in my tank tops and short skirts this summer! (Let’s not even mention the whole swimsuit issue, because yes, it is certainly an issue.) I meant to start this whole work out plan at the beginning of the week (Monday morning), but I’ll admit that didn’t happen. Thank God I have such a prick of a husband who has no faith in my discipline whatsoever because his snide comments about my failed attempt the day before were swimming around in my head this morning at 4:53 AM as I lay in bed anticipating the screech of the alarm clock radio. Those thoughts provided me with that extra little kick in the butt to get up and do it… “I’ll show him!” I muttered to myself as I stumbled around in the dark, frantically rummaging through my dresser drawers in search of my favorite sports bra.
I am soooo not a morning person.
Anyway, so I did it, and the first step out of bed was, of course, the worst part. The run felt incredible, and I got to watch Soledad O’Brien do her thing on the CNN morning news show while becoming an actual informed citizen of the United States - - I can’t even recall the last time I watched a national news program, unless Regis and Kelly on my Fridays off counts, which I don’t think it does. ;) I’m going to do my best to keep it up. Even on days when I don’t feel up for running, I’ll get up at 5:00 and walk instead. I can do this, right? Hell yea I can!
Now please don’t let this be part of that whole blog curse where you write about a big lifestyle change or vow to do something and it totally falls to crap immediately.
Friday, April 28, 2006
Sum-sum-summertime!
It’s official, summer is on it’s way, and lately I find myself noticing the countless signs pointing to the approaching season:
1. Yesterday I got my first mystic tan of the season, so I am looking pretty darn orange here at work. I guess I’m not as good at blending into the crusty beige walls as I used to be (I suppose that’s what happens when you actually start socializing with your coworkers), because while last year no one in the office made a mention of my sudden tan-ness when I came into work the day after a session with the spray-tan booth, today I can’t seem to get people to shut up about it. Thankfully, it has all been good attention, and I’ve been praised by many for not succumbing to the allure of the early death and leathery skin causing tanning bed. I’ll be “thankful when I’m older” they all say, and I will have beautiful cancer-free skin to show off in the nursing home. To that I say, bitch it god damn better pay off, because if I have to suffer through weird brown patches on my dry elbows and knees and noticeable white lines on my hands and fingers where I was obviously not careful enough with the “barrier cream”, then I better have god damn gorgeous porcelain skin when I’m 50. For those of you contemplating trying Mystic Tan, I am totally exaggerating (because that is what I do, I exaggerate) and would 100% recommend it. Just be sure to exfoliate and moisturize REALLY well before you go. The first time is always tricky, and yesterday was like the first time for me because I had totally forgotten how important all that prep stuff is when I half-heartedly ran the louffa and Dove exfoliating body wash over my body in the shower, and then forgot to put lotion on anything but my legs. Whatever. I still feel thinner and more attractive with my patchy tan skin.
2. Dan had his first softball game of the season last night. It was a gorgeous perfect night, and the dog was so good and so happy to be at the field. Makes me really look forward to a summer of balmy nights at the softball field, gossiping with the ladies, occasionally cheering on my husband, throwing the tennis ball around for Bella, and just generally enjoying the beautiful Minnesota weather. I can’t wait. It was nice to get a little taste of it last night.
3. I’m eating salads again. I’m no longer craving the heavy starches and steamy creamy soups like I did for the last five months. I’m still hardly doing any actually cooking at home, but when I find myself eating out for the 56th time in one week, I find myself getting my 56th salad for the week. Definitely not a bad thing.
4. On a similar note to the salad thing, I have been forgoing the huge glasses of delicious red wine for margarita after margarita after margarita. I simply can’t get enough of the margs (as Betsy so hilariously refers to them). Furthermore, I suddenly have no problem being the only one in my party to order a drink whenever we go out, I have no idea where that came from but it has to have something to do with the weather getting warmer. Right?
5. The upcoming weekends are slowly filling up… a road trip to Chicago, weekends at the cabin, a trip to Lake Geneva for the Music by the Lake festival. I know it’s that time of the year again when we’re trying to set up a weekend in July for a trip to a friend’s cabin up north and the only one we can all agree on is the last one.
6. Two words. Iced Coffees. Mmmmmmm…
7. The parking lot at work is virtually empty on Fridays by 2:00 in the afternoon. You won’t hear me complaining! In fact, I don’t know what I’m still doing here right now, I need to be heading off to happy hour anyways for my boss’s send-off. See, I really do stand by my promises, I wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t promised an actual blog entry today.
With that, I must go, before I head over to the bar I need to make a quick stop at target for a better exfoliating sponge and some pressed powder to tone down the orangeness a bit. Have a good one!
1. Yesterday I got my first mystic tan of the season, so I am looking pretty darn orange here at work. I guess I’m not as good at blending into the crusty beige walls as I used to be (I suppose that’s what happens when you actually start socializing with your coworkers), because while last year no one in the office made a mention of my sudden tan-ness when I came into work the day after a session with the spray-tan booth, today I can’t seem to get people to shut up about it. Thankfully, it has all been good attention, and I’ve been praised by many for not succumbing to the allure of the early death and leathery skin causing tanning bed. I’ll be “thankful when I’m older” they all say, and I will have beautiful cancer-free skin to show off in the nursing home. To that I say, bitch it god damn better pay off, because if I have to suffer through weird brown patches on my dry elbows and knees and noticeable white lines on my hands and fingers where I was obviously not careful enough with the “barrier cream”, then I better have god damn gorgeous porcelain skin when I’m 50. For those of you contemplating trying Mystic Tan, I am totally exaggerating (because that is what I do, I exaggerate) and would 100% recommend it. Just be sure to exfoliate and moisturize REALLY well before you go. The first time is always tricky, and yesterday was like the first time for me because I had totally forgotten how important all that prep stuff is when I half-heartedly ran the louffa and Dove exfoliating body wash over my body in the shower, and then forgot to put lotion on anything but my legs. Whatever. I still feel thinner and more attractive with my patchy tan skin.
2. Dan had his first softball game of the season last night. It was a gorgeous perfect night, and the dog was so good and so happy to be at the field. Makes me really look forward to a summer of balmy nights at the softball field, gossiping with the ladies, occasionally cheering on my husband, throwing the tennis ball around for Bella, and just generally enjoying the beautiful Minnesota weather. I can’t wait. It was nice to get a little taste of it last night.
3. I’m eating salads again. I’m no longer craving the heavy starches and steamy creamy soups like I did for the last five months. I’m still hardly doing any actually cooking at home, but when I find myself eating out for the 56th time in one week, I find myself getting my 56th salad for the week. Definitely not a bad thing.
4. On a similar note to the salad thing, I have been forgoing the huge glasses of delicious red wine for margarita after margarita after margarita. I simply can’t get enough of the margs (as Betsy so hilariously refers to them). Furthermore, I suddenly have no problem being the only one in my party to order a drink whenever we go out, I have no idea where that came from but it has to have something to do with the weather getting warmer. Right?
5. The upcoming weekends are slowly filling up… a road trip to Chicago, weekends at the cabin, a trip to Lake Geneva for the Music by the Lake festival. I know it’s that time of the year again when we’re trying to set up a weekend in July for a trip to a friend’s cabin up north and the only one we can all agree on is the last one.
6. Two words. Iced Coffees. Mmmmmmm…
7. The parking lot at work is virtually empty on Fridays by 2:00 in the afternoon. You won’t hear me complaining! In fact, I don’t know what I’m still doing here right now, I need to be heading off to happy hour anyways for my boss’s send-off. See, I really do stand by my promises, I wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t promised an actual blog entry today.
With that, I must go, before I head over to the bar I need to make a quick stop at target for a better exfoliating sponge and some pressed powder to tone down the orangeness a bit. Have a good one!
Quick note
I really need to get back into blogging. This sucks. I promise to try to write today. Not that anyone’s reading this.
To tide you over until then (my dear sweet nonexistent readers), I will leave you with this picture from our belly dancing performance for The Guild of Oriental Dance this last Sunday. That's me in the back on the right (note the large distinguishing ears), and the super tiny and tan cute brunette in the front and center is Betsy.
To tide you over until then (my dear sweet nonexistent readers), I will leave you with this picture from our belly dancing performance for The Guild of Oriental Dance this last Sunday. That's me in the back on the right (note the large distinguishing ears), and the super tiny and tan cute brunette in the front and center is Betsy.
Friday, March 17, 2006
Life
I’m beginning to have a little anxiety about the future. I feel like I’m stuck in the middle of a fun little self-involved twenty-something life and real undeniable adulthood; and the real undeniable adulthood is slowly creeping up on me and is ready to bite me in the ass when I least expect it. I realize I’m not really making any sense, but bear with me. Ok. So as I’ve always seen it, there are three distinguishable stages of a person’s life:
1. Childhood and schooling
2. Grey area adulthood when life is still “all about you”
3. Full-fledged grown-up - marriage, children, the whole works
Even though I’ve been married for almost two years now, I still consider myself in stage two, where it’s all about juggling the grown-up responsibilities with the immature tendencies of a self-involved twenty-something. College degree – check. Credit card balances way higher than they should be – check. Decent job, decent salary – check, check. A predisposition for choosing take-out over grocery shopping – check. Car payment, student loans – check. Procrastination of oil changes, tire rotations, tune-ups, and even gas replenishment (holding off until the car is running on fumes) – four big ass checks.
I can feel myself moving into stage three, and I’ve taken some pretty significant and obvious steps toward it by, of course, getting married, then buying a house, and finally last year getting a dog. Bella has been a really big step actually, because my life is certainly no longer all about me (and Dan). Now we have to think about how much time we’re spending at home with the dog, we constantly have in the back of our minds that she’s at home in her kennel waiting for us to come home and play with her, and on a random beautiful Saturday in the middle of March we have to make the decision to either spend it running errands and “doing lunch” or taking her for a walk and allowing her to enjoy the day. It’s been a change having that extra part of our family to worry about, but a good change, a really really good change. A year later I can’t imagine my life without her sweet dog kisses.
I’ll be honest, I don’t really know where I’m going with all of this, but these feelings and admittedly overly analytical evaluations of my life have certainly stemmed from the fact that half of my friends have decided it is time to jump head first into the throws of stage three by having lots and lots of babies. Babies, these days, are EVERYWHERE, and pregnancy is, indeed, the new black.
I’m getting excited though. I’m starting to want what they have. These babies, I tell you, they smell so good, their little foreheads and fingers and noses are deliciously kissable, I love to squeeze their little bums, I love to rub their little furry heads, and I simply can’t resist their delectable little neck-folds.
When is it you know you are really truly ready for stage three? Do you ever know? I can’t imagine myself ever saying, “Yeah I’m totally ready for a baby, I’m totally ready to give up belly dancing, pay far less attention to my tivo, forgo Friday night drinks with the girls for bath time and boob-sucking.” I’m guessing it’s something you have to just jump into blindfolded, because as prepared as a young couple thinks they are for their first child, they never really know what they’re getting into. I don’t know.
I do know, however, that when I go to Colorado next January I will not be pregnant and stuck in the challet reading "What to Expect When You're Expecting" while the rest of my family is flying wildly down the mountains through fresh powder. So I’ve got at least a year to get used to the idea of drastically altering my happy little existence, and I sure as hell am going to make the most of that year.
To my girls, we need to plan our trip. I could care less what it is, a Caribbean cruise, an all-inclusive Mexican resort, whatever! As long as we are all there, in addition to lots of alcohol, dancing, sunbathing, and beaches, I will be a happy girl. So let’s get on it ladies, the clock is ticking!
1. Childhood and schooling
2. Grey area adulthood when life is still “all about you”
3. Full-fledged grown-up - marriage, children, the whole works
Even though I’ve been married for almost two years now, I still consider myself in stage two, where it’s all about juggling the grown-up responsibilities with the immature tendencies of a self-involved twenty-something. College degree – check. Credit card balances way higher than they should be – check. Decent job, decent salary – check, check. A predisposition for choosing take-out over grocery shopping – check. Car payment, student loans – check. Procrastination of oil changes, tire rotations, tune-ups, and even gas replenishment (holding off until the car is running on fumes) – four big ass checks.
I can feel myself moving into stage three, and I’ve taken some pretty significant and obvious steps toward it by, of course, getting married, then buying a house, and finally last year getting a dog. Bella has been a really big step actually, because my life is certainly no longer all about me (and Dan). Now we have to think about how much time we’re spending at home with the dog, we constantly have in the back of our minds that she’s at home in her kennel waiting for us to come home and play with her, and on a random beautiful Saturday in the middle of March we have to make the decision to either spend it running errands and “doing lunch” or taking her for a walk and allowing her to enjoy the day. It’s been a change having that extra part of our family to worry about, but a good change, a really really good change. A year later I can’t imagine my life without her sweet dog kisses.
I’ll be honest, I don’t really know where I’m going with all of this, but these feelings and admittedly overly analytical evaluations of my life have certainly stemmed from the fact that half of my friends have decided it is time to jump head first into the throws of stage three by having lots and lots of babies. Babies, these days, are EVERYWHERE, and pregnancy is, indeed, the new black.
I’m getting excited though. I’m starting to want what they have. These babies, I tell you, they smell so good, their little foreheads and fingers and noses are deliciously kissable, I love to squeeze their little bums, I love to rub their little furry heads, and I simply can’t resist their delectable little neck-folds.
When is it you know you are really truly ready for stage three? Do you ever know? I can’t imagine myself ever saying, “Yeah I’m totally ready for a baby, I’m totally ready to give up belly dancing, pay far less attention to my tivo, forgo Friday night drinks with the girls for bath time and boob-sucking.” I’m guessing it’s something you have to just jump into blindfolded, because as prepared as a young couple thinks they are for their first child, they never really know what they’re getting into. I don’t know.
I do know, however, that when I go to Colorado next January I will not be pregnant and stuck in the challet reading "What to Expect When You're Expecting" while the rest of my family is flying wildly down the mountains through fresh powder. So I’ve got at least a year to get used to the idea of drastically altering my happy little existence, and I sure as hell am going to make the most of that year.
To my girls, we need to plan our trip. I could care less what it is, a Caribbean cruise, an all-inclusive Mexican resort, whatever! As long as we are all there, in addition to lots of alcohol, dancing, sunbathing, and beaches, I will be a happy girl. So let’s get on it ladies, the clock is ticking!
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