Don't Eat the Macaroni

I lost my job. A week ago. Damn Economy. The company that I worked for had decided to suspend development of the architectural territory indefinitely. And between us, I don't think that they are doing too well residentially, from what I've been told. Whatever the case, I now have no job, and aside from the debt that I had going into this job, I now have to cover an additional $800 a month for car, gas, and insurance. Eek! And on top of all that, my refinance of the house is completely out of the question, since I now have no income. I'm afraid to revisit my budget and determine, at minimum, how much I need to cover bills each month. Because I know what that number is, and it's not pretty.

This is the second time in less than two years that I'm facing unemployment. Neither were my fault. Last time, though, building was at a high and I was able to sustain on private client business. This time, not so good. And I just do not have the energy to do it all again. I want to crawl into a hole and not come out until all this is over with. But I know that can't happen. I must face this head on. But I really have no idea, no clue, what's available.

When I told one of my closest friends what happened, she sent me the sweetest little note, with the funniest and truest of sentiments. Don't eat the macaroni. Last time I lost my job and settled into this funk, I ate Kraft Macaroni and Cheese nearly every day for four months. It was my comfort food. It was my vice. And it was cheap. But, it resulted in over 20 pounds attaching itself to every part of my body. Which lead to even more of a funk. Now, I'm faced with the same scenario and she tells me, "Don't eat the macaroni." Too late. In the last week I've gone through three boxes. And no gym time. No tennis time. Just wallow in self-pity time. Each day I say that I'm going to the gym, but it doesn't happen.

So, today, I'm going to the gym. And if not, it's Whole-Grain, so doesn't that count for something?

Through the Looking Glass

Colossal Failure. In looking back at where I've been the last year, I've taken a few minutes to read through the blogs that I've posted. And unfortunately, it's a whole lot of smoke and mirrors. I did not lose 20 pounds, I did not eliminate 40% of credit card debt, and I did not find sublime happiness. I didn't get a dog. I even kissed my best friend. And we see where that's left me. Whew. Now that's all out in the open, what am I going to do about it? Can I just say that I'm a work in progress? Can I just say that maybe I'm just living in the past? Can I accept that this may be the new definition of me? ABSOLUTELY NOT.

It's back to the drawing board. Time to come up with a new plan. A realistic plan. Although I have no idea what that may be.

Rome Wasn't Built in a Day

And it took nearly two years for me to gain 25 pounds, so they aren't going to come off that easily. In an effort to expedite the process, read: have someone hold me accountable, I have invested my pocketbook with a Personal Trainer. Let me just say that it was a sad, sad day. Speaking as a former gym worker...ok, gym maintenance worker...I had free access to one of the top 10 gyms in the nation, working out with people who competed--and tried to get me into that life! I could work out with the best of em, just don't put me up on that stage!

So what happen? HE happened, and I hate myself for letting him happen to me. What am I talking about? The bodybuilder that I dated, practically lived with, but couldn't love. We worked out together and in a span of just 4 months he had me from mush to nearly stage-ready! And then we broke up. Or rather, I returned home from a girl's trip to San Antonio and he met me at the door with "You need to pack up your shit and get out. I'm taking control of my life." So I avoided him at all costs, which meant avoiding the gym. Somehow avoiding the gym equates to "consume massive amounts of Kraft Macaroni and Cheese." And that's how, 20 months later, I go from 123lbs to 147lbs.

With this new job in New Orleans, I figured that I will need something to keep me occupied during the evenings. Figuring that I'll get all the ugly work done away from home, I joined a gym and hired a trainer. After two sessions, ugly doesn't even begin to describe it. I told him to push me. I told him to hurt me. He listened. I'm disappointed because I know what I could do two years ago, and I cannot any longer. He says he would have never pushed anyone else that hard, but he knows that I want it. I think he's sugar-coating it. I think it's really that bad.

Here's the down and dirty truth, scaled to the same ratio:



Trainer says that I'll be down 15-20lbs in 3 months if I follow his workout plan and diet. We'll see.

Enjoy the Silence

I realize that I've been quiet for a few weeks. How I wish I weren't. These last few weeks have been extremely trying. The passing of Baby Cate, and a few weeks later, Baby Cooper, family vacation to Toledo Bend, home for 2 days, Canada for 6, home for 12 hours, New Orleans for 2 days, home...birthday weekend. I don't even remember what I did for my birthday. There was another death, and while I barely knew her, her husband has been like a second father to me for my entire life...without the absences, and drinking, and smoking, and punishments when I misbehaved. He was the teddy bear that loved me and my sister unconditionally. So I went to the funeral. And last night when I got home...there was a fight about cardstock, CDs, and later, opening a wine bottle. Tensions were high and I just wanted to walk away from it. He did. Grabbed his phone and started walking home.

Conflict resolution has never been one of my strongest suits. Remember that I was engaged at 17 and took nearly 5 years of daily berating before he left me. Yep. I was willing to take more. During those years with him, I would curse and scream and kick and yell, but he never heard. I was...a bitch. I've made a very conscious effort to never become that person again because I didn't know who she was, my family didn't recognize her, and I didn't like her.

So last night when the curse words were flying, and wine openers were slamming on the counter top, I just left the room because I didn't want to subject myself to argument with his temper. Couple that with the earlier scene at the office supply store. I was trying to relay the information on the cardstock type paper that I needed, and then was subjected to a litany of my inadequacies in the graphics knowledge department because I was speaking completely generically about "a thicker weight paper". We left the store with no paper. Or cardstock.

He won't say it because that's him, but I have to wonder if his sudden temper swings have to do with a visitor in town. He's worried.

Catching on like Wildfire

They always say that a good thing grows quickly. No, that's not really how they say it, but I have yet to consume my prerequesite amount of coffee for the morning. What I mean to say is that when people find out about a worthy cause, a great sale, or a hip new band, they spread the word--telling all of their friends that this is something that they NEED TO KNOW.

Well, here's my YOU NEED TO KNOW for the day:

http://catecantrell.blogspot.com/

I know her Daddy. He was part of the group of youths from a church about 20 miles away that we would often see at regional events. I eventually began doing ministry with several people from that group. Like alot of things that you do when you are 15 and 16 years old, the fervor sometimes doesn't last. I will be the first to admit that I don't do as much with the church as I used to, and I miss it. But this guy...he and his family are the real deal. If only there were a few more like them in the world.

Point of the story: they need prayers. Lots and Lots of prayers.

Book. Booze. Bubbles.

And thus concludes a perfect Thursday night when the boyfriend is with the guys and you won't hear from him for hours yet. A Thursday night when you fore go the gym in favor of your exercise ball, floor mat, and the first new Grey's Anatomy episode in eons.

While I am on my own path away from the "dark and twisty" I find solitude in reading Julie and Julia, the story of the bedraggled 29 year old who vows to cook every recipe in Julia Child's cookbook over the course of a year. While I'm no connoisseur of French food-I've never even been attempted to try it, save for that one meal of fois gras and potato/leek soup with the fancy name-I do enjoy my time in the kitchen and I have been looking for a way out of this funk that has been my life as of late.

My resolve is to lose the 20 some odd pounds that have attached themselves to my belly and ass over the last twelve months. I was given a little boost today when a friend whom I haven't seen in a mere three weeks said that it looked like I had lost alot of weight since he had last seen me.

Renewed, I manage to get in a great workout-ish, catch up on the lives of my favorite interns-turned-residents, and reacquaint myself with my local BBB. And I'm not talking about an unnamed government agency, Julie Powell.

I knew there was a reason!

My mom tells me sometimes that I need to take bitch lessons from her. Not necessarily that she is a mean, horrible person, but she speaks her mind and doesn't take any bullshit. My sister is the same way. I'm more like my dad--a teddy bear disguised behind a gruff exterior. People have told me that their first impression of me was that I was mean, but once they got to know me realized that I wouldn't hurt a fly. Good trait to have, right? Sometimes.

I get walked over. Often. From not asking my sister to take out the trash all the way to telling that client that they've lost their mind thinking that I would ever suggest a 2" bevel on a framed mirror????!!! My response to that one...Sir, the fact that you just said a 2" bevel sets off a red flag in my mind because I know that those words have never come from my mouth because I've never even SEEN a 2" bevel, but I'll check my notes and get back with you. Diplomatic right?

So what happens when my old company gets paid for two spec houses that I did...and then the company closes...and the houses go pre-sold...with VERY demanding homeowners who want to change nearly every selection? I work for free, basically. I bite my tongue and go over and beyond helping these clients, including a pregnant woman who cannot remember what is said from one meeting to the next--bear in mind that I'm having to recreate their changes because when the company closed, I lost all my files! And when the construction company wants to save money and repeat 2 houses that I just turned in...the original houses' selections are discontinued, so I have to reselect...and then they are turned into Parade Houses, so they get upgraded...but the two duplicates are to stay with the ORIGINAL selections... I printed out new folders for the two duplications, complete with the new addresses, for myself and the construction company to keep on file so not to get completely confused... And when the paint store mixes the wrong color paint and the painter doesn't notice this until he has sprayed the ceilings in the ENTIRE house--I get a sample of this incorrect color and make adjustments to the wall color and flooring selections to avoid having to repaint the whole house. For free.

Not to mention the fact that I've sold about 8 houses for them in the last two years by presenting the selections to prospective homebuyers. AND they tell me MACK OUT the house I am currently working on, after I have already selected half of the finishes and fixtures, so I have to go back to all the vendors and reselect. And then a week later they call me and say that we have a prospective buyer who wants to meet in 4 hours and view all the selections--so I run around like a madwoman gathering samples, typing schedules to prepare for the meeting...then I get a phone call an hour before the meeting is scheduled because it has been postponed until the following week when I can meet with them because they REALLY want me to present the house. OKAY... THEN...they call me on MONDAY (when I cannot meet) and tell me that the meeting is at 4pm that afternoon. So I rearrange my life and clear my schedule to be there...you guessed it, they called back and said it was postponed again.

So today I was pleasantly surprised when the contractor called me to say that there was a check waiting for me at his office to thank me for all the extra effort that I have been putting in for their company. Tomorrow I am going to the office to pick up this check. Oh, and I have a meeting with a homebuyer. I am going to sell a house for them.

For Shits and Giggles

Leo February 22, 2008
Much to your surprise, your finances seem to be slowly falling into place. This is good news, although it does not mean that you should go back to your old ways of shopping and (not) tracking your costs. Now that you have gotten everything under control, don't give up! You've gotten used to life with a tighter belt, and there is still a lot you can learn about how to trim the fat. Keep going, and you will be very proud of what you can save in just a few months.

Wa-hoo!! Like I've said before, horoscopes are for shits and giggles only. If you try to make them apply, then they do. The above, for instance...New Year's goal: resolve 40% of credit card debt in 2008. I'm on the fast track, paying down 50% of Card #3 by April 1st! (With the rebate coming in May...Card #3's balance will be gone by the time I hit the beach in June.) And no outstanding debt on any "store" card. AND...I'm physically down 5lbs. That beach trip is looking better every day! Baby steps.

TMI, y'all.

THIS WEEK ONLY: Perez Hilton gave us a little more than we wanted to know earlier today by posting a picture of Johnny Knoxville's bloodied trunks after his frank and beans were grotesquely injured during a tribute to Evel Knievel. New York magazine has replicated the last photo shoot of Marilyn Monroe with a new muse...LiLo as she's is known on the celeb photog circuit...for the rest of us, Lindsay Lohan. And of course, one cannot turn on the television or skim the magazines at the checkout counter with out hearing the latest escapades of Unfitney, um, Britney Spears and company. Entertainment value, right? Well, I'm not entertained.

What happened to the days of the good o' boys and the girls next door...not of the Playboy variety? Everyone can love a few minutes of trash, but enough is enough! While I can applaud some of the sentiments of the gals on Cashmere Mafia, salud to successful women in business, but not so much to their track records in love. (Although I've never dated a lesbian out of my despair with men, I HAVE had to face the end of an engagment due to his vunerability to my increasing stature.) The whole premise of Nip/Tuck is enough to make you gag (and watch with your hands over your eyes), especially last night's season finale.

My point? I should spend more time in the gym and less time perusing the internet or the television channels. But that again brings me to another disappointing turn-the death of my iPod. 2nd iPod in 2 years to fall victim to a faulty click-wheel. And of course the replacement is only covered under the warranty of the first, which according to the gal at Apple Care, expired 186 days ago. So, I'm looking at over $100 to repair my 1st Gen. iPod Nano 2G. No, what I'm looking at is said iPod in the trash can atop coffee grinds. (Yes, my techie friend, I did follow the directions at ifixit.com, and it didn't work!) I'm upgrading.

TMI, right?

sneezing my way through

When I graduated college my mom said to me "I'll give you two years." No, this was not some ultimatum or prediction of failure. She was merely stating a time frame for my insatiable appetite for knowledge. It would be two years that I was out in the industry, honing my skills, before I would thirst for more. Well, Mom, you were right. A mere 18 months after completing my BID (Bachelor of Interior Design), I was in the Registrar's Office signing up for my first class of Graduate School...MBA, to be exact. Now because I didn't have the first business class behind me, there was nearly a full year of night classes I would be required to take to bring me up to speed before I was considered a graduate student. Ah, phooey. Economics 500, you're up first. Three months later I'm one class closer to a new goal. Or so I thought.

Grad school aside for the time being, you've got bigger fish to fry. Once my interior designer friends learned that I was forging ahead, they began to express an interest in the national licensing exam for interior designers. And since I'm known in our circles as the "friend bitch" and the one responsible for our quarterly catch-up dinner and drinks fete, they decided that I would be the perfect one to kick our butts into gear and steam ahead with studying. Let me give you a little background...to become a Licensed Interior Designer one must work in the industry for a minimum of 4160 hours, 2 years full-time, before it is determined that you have amassed the experience necessary to take this wonderful, delightful, all-the-world hinges on your passing, 16-hour test. It is recommended that you study for a minimum of 6-12 months before attempting, at best, as the 3-section pass rate for first time examinees hovers around 30%. I mean, what other testing authority prints on all informational brochures, "75 % of applicants who begin the testing process eventually pass." Fast forward 12 months, skip over two devastating hurricanes and the discombobulation of our study group, and the test results are in. I PASSED!

Fast forward again to what we'll call "Mom's time frame". Yes, not quite two years since the TEST and I'm ready for the next one. This time we're going to do double duty. It's the LEED AP certification exam (green-design), which at three hours and 80 questions hasn't even registered a blip on my radar and my second attempt at graduate school. This time I've put a little bit more thought into it and I've met with the advisers for SCAD's eLearning program in Historic Preservation. While my interior design backgrounds and area of residence leads itself into HP, close but no cigar. Without a 20-item HP portfolio, the admissions requirements include a 30 page research paper. Luckily, the research paper is also the basis for scholarships, so we'll see. The topic is of our choosing...mine...Historic Ironwork and it's Evolution from Horseshoes to Housewares (working title). Basically, the history behind the village blacksmith trade evolving from horseshoes and door latches into structural iron elements for buildings, cast iron facades for buildings, and the decorative ironwork that you see on homes today. Lots of polish left before this thing pays for my degree...I mean, have YOU looked at the cost of tuition!

And that is why I spent Sunday afternoon at the University Library, 2nd Floor, Dust and Grime.

Working through the Pain

When it comes to physical activity, I need tough love. Yell at me, piss me off, make me push harder. No pain, no gain.

As a kid I pitched for my local softball tournament team. We played in three different divisions, each one with slightly different rules, mainly on arch height for the pitch. My dad set up rods protruding from this old TV antenna pole next to our house, to represent the different height restrictions for the different softball leagues. If we were playing in League A, then I had to pitch under the first bar. If it was League B, then the ball had to go between the first two bars, and if it was League C, then the ball had to go over the highest bar. Each Tuesday (I had Monday off), we would go out into the yard and I would pitch, adjusting the height for whatever tournament was that upcoming weekend. I had to pitch 100 strikes before we called it a night--and this was AFTER our team practice. I mean, really, what 9-year-old has her mom keep a notebook of statistics for EVERY game played...balls, strikes, walks, strike outs, singles give up, doubles, triples...I was 9!! Tough love.

I've dated a couple bodybuilders. They wanted me to compete in figure competitions. After years of my ex-fiance telling me every day "You're fat. You're ugly. You're stupid. If we weren't together, no one would want you." my self confidence was a little shot. I mean come on, I was 5'2 and 115lbs, all muscle. (Just a reflection...now I'm 145...I know I'll never be that small again, but I'll be happy trimming away 20lbs). So, anyway, there was NO way that I was going to get on stage, but after taking a year off to study for my licensing exam, I was more than willing to have my butt kicked into shape. And he did. Pushed and yelled and encouraged me to lose 10lbs and get into my best shape since my college days.

Nearly two years have passed since then and I've reached new lows. Or highs, as the case may be. A few months ago a friend and I decided to start running. Great, strength in numbers, hold me accountable. Over the course of a few months we went from killing ourselves over one mile to running nearly 5. We completed our first 5K race and then our running dropped off. Holidays, vacations, there was always an excuse. Two weeks ago we started running and have quickly gotten back up to 3.5 miles, although the speed is not quite where it was a few months ago. Monday night we ran in 30 degree weather and tonight in the 65 degree weather my legs were cramping like nothing funny. So what did I do...grit my teeth, let the tears run down my face and keep on going. No pain, no gain. My poor running partner was not forewarned of my relentless to give up once started and thought that I was mad at him! Oh I am so sorry. Our run was capped off by twenty minutes of ground rules. Laying down the guidelines for my stubbornness. Yes, I may grunt and curse and yell, but its with love. Keep on pushing. It's all uphill.