I'm scared. Scared of what's to come. Scared of where to turn. Scared of what to think. This week has turned friends against each other, crumbled relationships, and left family unable to come together at the dinner table. Hopefully, I've managed to avoid all by doing one thing that has never been easy for me: I've been quiet.
This week I've watched as friends turn to the Internet to publicize their beliefs, both from the left and right, and then I've read along as their conversations turn from a friendly banter into something much more, something from which they may never recover. That scares me too.
We are at a time unforeseen by many and unwelcome by so many others. My initial reaction to the events culminating this week were spoken early, however gruesome and unthinkable, and it is still my main fear. It is the extremists that scare me, for their actions, while to them seemingly fit, would only turn things even more topsy turvy. I pray that the day never comes. I pray that we stand behind the majority and lead by example, although the examples that I've seen from the minority has not exhibited any behaviors that I wish to be a part of. So I remain quiet.
There are two sides to every story and like most in argument, one side remains deaf to the other. Tonight I sat down with someone very dear to my heart and we spoke about our differences, rationally, with open ears. This is someone that I deeply like, and could possibly love, yet we remain divided. Tonight's conversations gave us a better understanding of one other--our upbringing, our family values, and our hopes for the future. We are better because of tonight. Ultimately, we are better because of the actions of this week.
I do not sit in judgement of what I have seen this week. I only hope that my fears are unconfirmed, and that the Revolution that has shaped every aspect of this country continues to live. Revolution before has never been quick and it's never been pretty, or sometimes even popular, but it's been necessary. I will quietly look forward to tomorrow and I will quietly remember yesterday. Being quiet has never been easy for me...maybe this is my own personal revolution as well.
Friday, November 7, 2008
Sunday, October 19, 2008
My own bed never felt so good.
For the last week, I've been one very tightly wound person. I had a series of ride-alongs with one of my national reps on Tuesday and Wednesday. For those of you who are not familiar, a ride-along is when an outside salesperson is basically being observed for a couple of days by one of their own product reps. The rep the reports to your direct boss about your approach to selling their product, your productivity, and any suggestions they may have to better your method. In short, it's two days of hell. I had never had a ride-along before so I was extremely high strung those two days. All in all, did it go well? Um, I survived. Let's just leave it at that.
In addition to the ride-alongs this week, this weekend was my professional association chapter-wide conference. Since I am now a paid employee of the association, I was responsible for tons of different tasks for the conference. Basically, I co-chaired the whole thing...down to standing on the sidelines during the Gala and handing the President notes on what she was supposed to announce/award next. How did it go? Um, I survived.
Let me just throw out there that I had been on the phone at least twice a day every day for the last two weeks with the other organizers of the conference. And the two days of ride-alongs? I had to shut down all work on the conference for two days. That in itself was enough to give me a face full of breakouts and a fever blister.
One thing that I noticed is that people don't RSVP anymore. They just show up and feel entitled to a seat at whatever event is coming up next. At CEUs held in giant classrooms, not problem, but at $65/head Galas, big problem. I think the caterer hated us. And when we tried to close registration for the Gala, even more chaos ensued. I'm not going to get into all the gory details, but let's say that boyfriends and husbands were kicked out, and instead of eating at the Gala, I ate McDonald's in my car ten minutes before start time.
It's all done. I'm home safe and sound (even though we got a speeding ticket on the way home from Arkansas).
In addition to the ride-alongs this week, this weekend was my professional association chapter-wide conference. Since I am now a paid employee of the association, I was responsible for tons of different tasks for the conference. Basically, I co-chaired the whole thing...down to standing on the sidelines during the Gala and handing the President notes on what she was supposed to announce/award next. How did it go? Um, I survived.
Let me just throw out there that I had been on the phone at least twice a day every day for the last two weeks with the other organizers of the conference. And the two days of ride-alongs? I had to shut down all work on the conference for two days. That in itself was enough to give me a face full of breakouts and a fever blister.
One thing that I noticed is that people don't RSVP anymore. They just show up and feel entitled to a seat at whatever event is coming up next. At CEUs held in giant classrooms, not problem, but at $65/head Galas, big problem. I think the caterer hated us. And when we tried to close registration for the Gala, even more chaos ensued. I'm not going to get into all the gory details, but let's say that boyfriends and husbands were kicked out, and instead of eating at the Gala, I ate McDonald's in my car ten minutes before start time.
It's all done. I'm home safe and sound (even though we got a speeding ticket on the way home from Arkansas).
Sunday, September 7, 2008
What's your Fantasy?
Welcome, Welcome! The new season of NFL Football is upon us, and in mere minutes, I will have officially joined the world of Fantasy Football. Not by my own accord, by any means. The family does their own league and in order to cement my fate, participation is a must.
Our "Draft" came during the wee hours of electricity remaining before Hurricane Gustav made landfall...literally...12 hours before landfall I was sitting on the floor of my parent's house, using borrowed internet services, cursing the screen because someone picked Adrian Peterson (the fast one) before me. Although I am fairly well versed in the world of NCAA Football, I have no clue about this NFL Fantasy Football madness. I read somewhere that Fantasy Football cost employers $500 million dollars a week due to lost productivity time. With as convoluted as the system of team management is, that doesn't surprise me at all.
I must go now, and watch the only team that I care about, the only team that really even matters. Geaux Saints!
Our "Draft" came during the wee hours of electricity remaining before Hurricane Gustav made landfall...literally...12 hours before landfall I was sitting on the floor of my parent's house, using borrowed internet services, cursing the screen because someone picked Adrian Peterson (the fast one) before me. Although I am fairly well versed in the world of NCAA Football, I have no clue about this NFL Fantasy Football madness. I read somewhere that Fantasy Football cost employers $500 million dollars a week due to lost productivity time. With as convoluted as the system of team management is, that doesn't surprise me at all.
I must go now, and watch the only team that I care about, the only team that really even matters. Geaux Saints!
Thursday, September 4, 2008
Deep in the heart of Podcasts
When my latest iPod bit the dust and found a new home in the trash, I quit subscribing to podcasts because I wasn't listening to them anymore. My replacement .mp3 player did not interface with iTunes and I was not yet completely iPhone savvy. Then my birthday rolls around and my sister gives me a case for my iPhone and the next week my traveling job puts me on the road with no cell charge and in a mild state of panic. A quick trip to the closest Apple Store puts me back in business with a charger and auxiliary cable for my iPhone, one of the perks of finally driving a vehicle with auxiliary input! Within minutes of returning home I was downloading podcasts, somewhere near 30 different topics, ranging from Catholic issues to television shows to entertainment news and food.
One of my old favorites has expanded their lineup and of the twelve podcasts they provide, the only two I do not subscribe to are Mighty Mommy and Traveling Avatar...for obvious reasons! :) These tips, around 5 minutes in length, give concise, practical tips on topics such as finance, dieting, and communication skills, and make my commute much more enjoyable. Priestly friends of mine have formed the catholic underground and their podcasts are just as informative as they are humorous, given my past with some of these guys. Of course the Grey's Anatomy, Private Practice, and Project Runway podcasts must be included, else my entertainment savvy mind go into shock from lack of back story.
I'm still looking for a few new ones to add to my repertoire, so all recommendations are appreciated, but I just wanted to take a few minutes to share some of my favorites. I'm currently test running The Moth Podcast, a few from NPR, and one from Whole Foods that I'm really curious to hear. This is my way of geeking out, in my car, alone. Just don't tell anyone, ok?
One of my old favorites has expanded their lineup and of the twelve podcasts they provide, the only two I do not subscribe to are Mighty Mommy and Traveling Avatar...for obvious reasons! :) These tips, around 5 minutes in length, give concise, practical tips on topics such as finance, dieting, and communication skills, and make my commute much more enjoyable. Priestly friends of mine have formed the catholic underground and their podcasts are just as informative as they are humorous, given my past with some of these guys. Of course the Grey's Anatomy, Private Practice, and Project Runway podcasts must be included, else my entertainment savvy mind go into shock from lack of back story.
I'm still looking for a few new ones to add to my repertoire, so all recommendations are appreciated, but I just wanted to take a few minutes to share some of my favorites. I'm currently test running The Moth Podcast, a few from NPR, and one from Whole Foods that I'm really curious to hear. This is my way of geeking out, in my car, alone. Just don't tell anyone, ok?
Monday, August 25, 2008
Winning brings out the worst in people
The Annual Alumni Softball Tournament was created as a fundraiser for the high school, a way for past grads to support their alma mater, catch up with old friends, and drink entirely too much beer. Great, in theory, but then winning gets in the way. Lifelong friends are reduced to raging competitors who stop at nothing in the name of rivalry, to put it mildly. Conceitedness takes reign and fun is abandoned. One team's shirt even boasted "You want the title? We've got it! The road to the Championship goes through us. 2007 Undefeated Champions" Rivalry got so strong that teams who lost games and were ineligible for the Championship stepped aside in their remaining games and paved the way for those eligible teams to breeze on through, as EVERYONE wanted the T-Shirt Bandits to be knocked back into place. All in good fun was gone.
I was on that team-the one who was deemed the golden child and the only hope to administer retribution. It was decided, in the spirit of competition, that the three girls who were able to practice together each week would play constantly, with the fourth girl position being rotated among the 6 girls in the dugout. I'm sorry, but if we're playing competitive ball and practice attendance is the criteria for playing time, then please give those of us who live out of town more than 5 hours notice of the practice schedule. That's a crock of bull that wasn't made known until the tournament started. What a rude awakening that was. And yet when it came down to the end-all-be-all game against the team that everyone wanted to beat, even the catcher's position was not up for rotation. And it was me who was chosen to fill that spot, oh praise be!
Fittingly, we failed. Who knows what those shirts will say next year.
I was on that team-the one who was deemed the golden child and the only hope to administer retribution. It was decided, in the spirit of competition, that the three girls who were able to practice together each week would play constantly, with the fourth girl position being rotated among the 6 girls in the dugout. I'm sorry, but if we're playing competitive ball and practice attendance is the criteria for playing time, then please give those of us who live out of town more than 5 hours notice of the practice schedule. That's a crock of bull that wasn't made known until the tournament started. What a rude awakening that was. And yet when it came down to the end-all-be-all game against the team that everyone wanted to beat, even the catcher's position was not up for rotation. And it was me who was chosen to fill that spot, oh praise be!
Fittingly, we failed. Who knows what those shirts will say next year.
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
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.
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.
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
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.
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.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
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.
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.
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
Weight Gain waiting to Happen
1. Wash to pack
2. Need to pack
3. Buy here (specialty food and toiletries)
4. Buy there (all other food)
5. Menu and recipes
Yes, it's vacation time. 9 Days in Destin. We've got a revolving door condo for the week. Some of us are going up at the beginning of the week, some in the middle, and some coming for the second weekend. We were going with another group, but the master bedroom couple broke up and he canceled the second condo because he is bringing the "other woman" with him and doesn't want us around. Well, tough. We just got another condo. Now that puts the Executive Chef duties all on myself. Not that i'm not up for it...check out this menu:
Saturday 6.7.2008
Dinner
Baked Chicken served alongside Rice two ways
Assorted Vegetables
Sunday 6.8.2008
Lunch
Boiled Shrimp Salad
Dinner
Steak Quesadillas
Fresh Pico de Gallo, Fresh Guacamole
Monday 6.9.2008
Dinner
Choice of Grilled Steaks or Blackened Mahi Mahi
Basil Rosemary Mashed Potatoes
Cucumber Tomato Salad
Tuesday 6.10.2008
Lunch
Rice Cooker Jambalaya
A delightful blend of meats and vegetables in a tomato/stock base
Wednesday 6.11.2008
Lunch
Grilled Chicken served atop a bed of Spinach Salad
Dinner
Grilled Shrimp
Fresh Spinach Fettuccine topped with Fresh Basil Pesto
Side Salad
Thursday 6.12.2008
Lunch
Meatloaf with Assorted Vegetables
Friday 6.13.2008
Dinner
Grilled Steaks and Scallops
Dirty Rice
Cucumber Tomato Salad
Saturday 6.14.2008
Lunch
Pita Bread Pizzas
Various fixings to make your own custom pizza
ASSORTED BREAKFAST ITEMS
Sweet Potato Pancakes
Homemade Kolaches
Sausage Breakfast Casserole
Homemade Sausage, Egg, and Cheese Sandwiches
ASSORTED DESSERT ITEMS
Inside Out Oreos
Crème Brule
Assorted Fresh Fruits
2. Need to pack
3. Buy here (specialty food and toiletries)
4. Buy there (all other food)
5. Menu and recipes
Yes, it's vacation time. 9 Days in Destin. We've got a revolving door condo for the week. Some of us are going up at the beginning of the week, some in the middle, and some coming for the second weekend. We were going with another group, but the master bedroom couple broke up and he canceled the second condo because he is bringing the "other woman" with him and doesn't want us around. Well, tough. We just got another condo. Now that puts the Executive Chef duties all on myself. Not that i'm not up for it...check out this menu:
Saturday 6.7.2008
Dinner
Baked Chicken served alongside Rice two ways
Assorted Vegetables
Sunday 6.8.2008
Lunch
Boiled Shrimp Salad
Dinner
Steak Quesadillas
Fresh Pico de Gallo, Fresh Guacamole
Monday 6.9.2008
Dinner
Choice of Grilled Steaks or Blackened Mahi Mahi
Basil Rosemary Mashed Potatoes
Cucumber Tomato Salad
Tuesday 6.10.2008
Lunch
Rice Cooker Jambalaya
A delightful blend of meats and vegetables in a tomato/stock base
Wednesday 6.11.2008
Lunch
Grilled Chicken served atop a bed of Spinach Salad
Dinner
Grilled Shrimp
Fresh Spinach Fettuccine topped with Fresh Basil Pesto
Side Salad
Thursday 6.12.2008
Lunch
Meatloaf with Assorted Vegetables
Friday 6.13.2008
Dinner
Grilled Steaks and Scallops
Dirty Rice
Cucumber Tomato Salad
Saturday 6.14.2008
Lunch
Pita Bread Pizzas
Various fixings to make your own custom pizza
ASSORTED BREAKFAST ITEMS
Sweet Potato Pancakes
Homemade Kolaches
Sausage Breakfast Casserole
Homemade Sausage, Egg, and Cheese Sandwiches
ASSORTED DESSERT ITEMS
Inside Out Oreos
Crème Brule
Assorted Fresh Fruits
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Curiosity Killed the Cat
And it's got me in it's grips, currently. Never mind all the flashing bulbs and warning signs, I'm going in anyway. Why do you suppose we are drawn to the things that are obviously so bad for us? You can give me the whole devil testing you theory, but I'm not so sure I buy the whole weakness of the flesh thing. Unless you count stubbornness. No matter how many times I get burned, I've still got to find out exactly HOW close I can get. One day I'll learn, I'm sure, but until then...
Cryptic, I know, but as I am working on a new project and delving into things that I have ignored for over a decade, I realize that I'm going to offend a few people, hurt a few people, and possibly end a few friendships, although its none of my intention to do any of the sort. Understand that I am examining events in my past that have shaped who I have become today. I'm still working on that Brave, Bold, and Confident thing.
Cryptic, I know, but as I am working on a new project and delving into things that I have ignored for over a decade, I realize that I'm going to offend a few people, hurt a few people, and possibly end a few friendships, although its none of my intention to do any of the sort. Understand that I am examining events in my past that have shaped who I have become today. I'm still working on that Brave, Bold, and Confident thing.
Thursday, May 1, 2008
Concrete Jungle
I come from a family of procrastinators. My mother. My father. I'm noticing a tendency in my sister. I've noticed that same tendency in myself. Dammit.
The setting is Christmas Eve 2006, my parent's living room and we're opening presents. I am sitting in the 1970s era orange swivel rocker, so marred with age that you don't lean back too far without fear of ending up heels over head on the opposite side. I know that my sister is getting a bedroom suite from our parents-her graduation from the daybed into a full size bed at age 21. I know this because as the Interior Designer in the family, I was haggling pricing with a few of my vendors to make this happen. I also purchased the entire bed linen collection as my gift to her. So I know that her gift is pretty substantial, but I haven't the foggiest what I'll be unwrapping in just a few minutes. After all the presents are dolled out we begin to open. I've only got three gifts in front of me, two from my parents and one from my sister. I am accustomed to having upwards of ten gifts to open, each small thing wrapped separately, to prolong the occasion. Being from a small family, my parents always went overboard when it came to us girls, and they wanted us to have several gifts to open, rather than be done within 5 minutes. So this display in front of me piques my interest for it must be something substantial for the actual gift count to be so low. I open the first gift and it is an assortment of memorabilia from my college alma mater, from my sister. A few minutes later there is a fireproof/waterproof safe sitting before me--my own request after being with a friend 6 hours away from home when she learns that her home has burned down and while her husband made it out ok, everything inside is lost. And alas, the final gift. It's heavy. Something inside is sloshing around when I turn the gift over to tear apart the tape. Lift the cover off the box and find a bag of dirt. Well, not dirt really, Concrete Mix. And a note from my parents telling me that they are going to give me a patio for Christmas! WooHoo.
Yes, I know this gift sounds lame, but in the society of twentysomethings who are just OVER the whole bar scene, group potluck dinners and cookoffs has become our norm. In south Louisiana there is a period of about three weeks each spring and fall when the weather is simply delightful and there is nothing more pleasing than sitting outside on the patio. Up until now that has consisted of grass, so pardon me while I do my happy dance.
Ok, stop dancing. The WAIT. Prices go sky high and we just cannot get anyone in to do this job for anything less than an arm and a leg. So we wait. Formwork is done (although I was so hungover the day we did that part that I have blocked it from my memory). And we wait. I finally randomly meet up with a subcontractor I had worked with years ago. He now owns his own remodeling company and--guess what--can get my patio done for a fraction of the previously quoted price. So just a mere week from that first phone call and I am now walking on a two day old concrete slab in my backyard! Yay ME!! Next step is to plan the cook-off...
The setting is Christmas Eve 2006, my parent's living room and we're opening presents. I am sitting in the 1970s era orange swivel rocker, so marred with age that you don't lean back too far without fear of ending up heels over head on the opposite side. I know that my sister is getting a bedroom suite from our parents-her graduation from the daybed into a full size bed at age 21. I know this because as the Interior Designer in the family, I was haggling pricing with a few of my vendors to make this happen. I also purchased the entire bed linen collection as my gift to her. So I know that her gift is pretty substantial, but I haven't the foggiest what I'll be unwrapping in just a few minutes. After all the presents are dolled out we begin to open. I've only got three gifts in front of me, two from my parents and one from my sister. I am accustomed to having upwards of ten gifts to open, each small thing wrapped separately, to prolong the occasion. Being from a small family, my parents always went overboard when it came to us girls, and they wanted us to have several gifts to open, rather than be done within 5 minutes. So this display in front of me piques my interest for it must be something substantial for the actual gift count to be so low. I open the first gift and it is an assortment of memorabilia from my college alma mater, from my sister. A few minutes later there is a fireproof/waterproof safe sitting before me--my own request after being with a friend 6 hours away from home when she learns that her home has burned down and while her husband made it out ok, everything inside is lost. And alas, the final gift. It's heavy. Something inside is sloshing around when I turn the gift over to tear apart the tape. Lift the cover off the box and find a bag of dirt. Well, not dirt really, Concrete Mix. And a note from my parents telling me that they are going to give me a patio for Christmas! WooHoo.
Yes, I know this gift sounds lame, but in the society of twentysomethings who are just OVER the whole bar scene, group potluck dinners and cookoffs has become our norm. In south Louisiana there is a period of about three weeks each spring and fall when the weather is simply delightful and there is nothing more pleasing than sitting outside on the patio. Up until now that has consisted of grass, so pardon me while I do my happy dance.
Ok, stop dancing. The WAIT. Prices go sky high and we just cannot get anyone in to do this job for anything less than an arm and a leg. So we wait. Formwork is done (although I was so hungover the day we did that part that I have blocked it from my memory). And we wait. I finally randomly meet up with a subcontractor I had worked with years ago. He now owns his own remodeling company and--guess what--can get my patio done for a fraction of the previously quoted price. So just a mere week from that first phone call and I am now walking on a two day old concrete slab in my backyard! Yay ME!! Next step is to plan the cook-off...
Thursday, April 24, 2008
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.
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.
Monday, April 21, 2008
Erasermate Pens = Noncommittal Lifestyles?
Things seem easier when you don't define it. It's like the definition automatically allows the other person inside the fortress you've built up around you. I don't know about the rest of y'all, but I like my little world without letting in a Trojan horse. Once in, it seems like the warriors start coming out of the woodworks. Why is that? Is it because you let your guard down?
I expect to be hurt. I expect things to turn sour. I expect him to not call. I put on a facade that I don't care one way or the other if he does or doesn't show up...and I'm surely not waiting around for him to. It generally takes me somewhere between 6 and 8 months of dating someone before I'll allow any type of conversation (DTR--defining the relationship) and usually even then I give my standard "I'm not good with labels" brush-off. Usually as the one year mark comes around I loosen up. I told someone that I determine that I usually only realize that I'm welcome to the idea of being called someone's girlfriend when we've been hanging out long enough that one of his friends uses the term and I don't go all Exorcist on him. Not exactly the makings for the most healthy situations, eh?
I expect to be hurt. I expect things to turn sour. I expect him to not call. I put on a facade that I don't care one way or the other if he does or doesn't show up...and I'm surely not waiting around for him to. It generally takes me somewhere between 6 and 8 months of dating someone before I'll allow any type of conversation (DTR--defining the relationship) and usually even then I give my standard "I'm not good with labels" brush-off. Usually as the one year mark comes around I loosen up. I told someone that I determine that I usually only realize that I'm welcome to the idea of being called someone's girlfriend when we've been hanging out long enough that one of his friends uses the term and I don't go all Exorcist on him. Not exactly the makings for the most healthy situations, eh?
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
I <3 April Fools Day. NOT!
Everyone knows I detest Valentine's Day, but let's talk about #364 on my list of favorite days. I am no fan of the day when, during each year of my childhood, my father would wake me up at 6am, screaming into my bedroom--"It's SNOWING!" And my 6-7-or-8-year-old self would spring from the covers and rush to the door, where, le sigh, the sun was shining!
FYI, it was a balmy 82 degrees Fahrenheit today.
FYI, it was a balmy 82 degrees Fahrenheit today.
Monday, March 17, 2008
Just Posin'
I just returned from Interiors08, the ASID Conference on Design, held right in my backyard of New Orleans, LA. As a board member of the host chapter, we were encouraged to attend and help portray the sense of hospitality that is Southern Louisiana. That was all fine and well with the one exception of the Second Line Parade. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Second_line) With no explanation offered to the attendees from all over the U.S., the members of our chapter who so wholeheartedly participated in this display of culture looked merely like a bunch of lushes who cannot handle their alcohol...in a city and at a convention where the liquor was free flowing!
That's not my point, just merely an aside.
As a twentysomething interior designer I am allowed a few liberties. As a member of the art culture I am allowed even more. I chose to exercise these within my wardrobe. At gatherings of designers you can see every range of the spectrum, from the frumpy--how do they get clients--to the extravagant--I'm talking Swarovski crystalled eyewear... In a world where bubble dresses and black tights may be considered wayyyy tooooo out there for a normal Saturday night, in the land of Designers, I was complimented on my outfit before I was fully out of my car! Dress the part, I say. Each day a new dress, pair of tights, and scrunchy boots. Only this time I left my eyewear at home: http://eyeglasses.go-optic.com/enlarge.asp?id=18758&cat=DFRAMES
I think the conference photographer may have had a crush on me. Seemingly everywhere I was, he was there, snapping away. Or maybe it was to document the outfit! We'll see which one's make the conference brochure for next year!
That's not my point, just merely an aside.
As a twentysomething interior designer I am allowed a few liberties. As a member of the art culture I am allowed even more. I chose to exercise these within my wardrobe. At gatherings of designers you can see every range of the spectrum, from the frumpy--how do they get clients--to the extravagant--I'm talking Swarovski crystalled eyewear... In a world where bubble dresses and black tights may be considered wayyyy tooooo out there for a normal Saturday night, in the land of Designers, I was complimented on my outfit before I was fully out of my car! Dress the part, I say. Each day a new dress, pair of tights, and scrunchy boots. Only this time I left my eyewear at home: http://eyeglasses.go-optic.com/enlarge.asp?id=18758&cat=DFRAMES
I think the conference photographer may have had a crush on me. Seemingly everywhere I was, he was there, snapping away. Or maybe it was to document the outfit! We'll see which one's make the conference brochure for next year!
Sunday, March 9, 2008
Starting WWIII
You 'd think the terrorists had landed in my backyard yesterday. I finally had enough free time during decent weather to tackle yard maintenance in my backyard. I had pruned the crepe myrtles a couple of weeks ago and was letting the branches dry out so that I could snap them into the 4' sections that is required by our garbage pickup service. Since I had help in the form of the male member of the species, I quickly cleared out the branches and put him to task with the weed eater (which I WILL NOT operate...scary), while I started with mowing the lawn. By the time that was completed, I was on a roll, so I started working on two trees that are on the property line. One is in my neighbor's yard and huge, but there are three or four branches that come over into my yard and after getting poked in the eye yet again while mowing, i decided to trim back the branches on my side before the leaves grew in and it got out of hand. Quick work, then I start on a honeysuckle-type bush near the front of the property line. The tree is rooted on my side of the fence, hell it's trunk is on my side of the fence, and I know by having to duck under the canopy of the tree--and at 5' tall, that's absurd that I have to duck under anything--but anyway, the canopy is on my side of the fence. After who knows how many years, the bush/tree is intertwined in the fence, with dead vines trellising along a few feet of the fence itself. So I clean it up. Pull out the roots and everything. My friend and I looked at it while cutting in down and made the comment that it looked like it was a sister tree at some point, with one base on my side of the fence and another on the neighbor's side-which looked to have been long dead. That's in the yard to dry out to be cut, on to the next area.
A few hours later I am sitting in my living room eating frozen grapes-yummy-when there is a knock at my front door. It's crazy miniature doberman owning-ex-stripper looking neighbor lady, who, up until today has always been pleasant during the three years I've owned my house. Well, as pleasant as you can be when every time I walk out of my door her dog is yapping from behind her glass door. Or the time that the dog nearly got away from her during a potty break and ran straight for my sister, yapping away. She thought that dog was about to attack her-and my sister already isn't a big fan of any dog, especially that beast. Anyway-she greets me at MY door with "excuse me, but who gave you permission to cut down my tree? that was uncalled for." My response, in no raised voice or bitchiness, "I apologize if it offends you, but everything that I cut down was on my side of the fence line, roots and trunk." I was barely able to get that out, amid interjections of "that was uncalled for" and "those were my flowers." I tried to tell her that everything that I cut down was on my side of the property line, and being that the roots and trunk were on my side, it was my understanding that the previous owners had planted it." Still, I was interrupted the entire time and I can guarantee she didn't hear a word.
Be the duck. Be the duck. Let it roll off your back. She has nothing better to do that make a big hoopla over a bush. A bush, that she never sees! It is in the far corner of the property, where if she was intent on sitting and admiring the blooms, then she would have to take a lawn chair and set down in front of it, because there is no vantage point of that bush from her house, patio, or the like. Be the duck.
A couple more hours later I am bringing my friend's dog back to him--we had let her run around in my backyard for the day, since she doesn't really get that at home. I notice as I am getting my car ready to put the Labrador sized dog in my front seat that Crazy Neighbor Lady is in her front yard talking to someone, and they both glance back at me as I walk back into my house. I get Leela all leashed up and ready to go, we walk outside, and immediately she starts yanking on my arm to go exploring at the same time that Crazy Neighbor Lady's shrill voice comes across the lawn--"did you think that that was YOUR fence?" Ok, when did this become about the fence. I have perfected the I think you are an idiot look, so I was giving it to her the whole time that she was shrieking "I have been here forever, and I was the one who put up that fence, so that is MY fence." Ok lady, then if its your fence, then you should have known good and well to put the fence around the tree/bush to include it in your property, if it really and truly is YOUR flowers.
Be the duck. Be the duck. I'm planting my garden today. I'll be outside most of the afternoon. I'm sure the verbal assault is far from over.
A few hours later I am sitting in my living room eating frozen grapes-yummy-when there is a knock at my front door. It's crazy miniature doberman owning-ex-stripper looking neighbor lady, who, up until today has always been pleasant during the three years I've owned my house. Well, as pleasant as you can be when every time I walk out of my door her dog is yapping from behind her glass door. Or the time that the dog nearly got away from her during a potty break and ran straight for my sister, yapping away. She thought that dog was about to attack her-and my sister already isn't a big fan of any dog, especially that beast. Anyway-she greets me at MY door with "excuse me, but who gave you permission to cut down my tree? that was uncalled for." My response, in no raised voice or bitchiness, "I apologize if it offends you, but everything that I cut down was on my side of the fence line, roots and trunk." I was barely able to get that out, amid interjections of "that was uncalled for" and "those were my flowers." I tried to tell her that everything that I cut down was on my side of the property line, and being that the roots and trunk were on my side, it was my understanding that the previous owners had planted it." Still, I was interrupted the entire time and I can guarantee she didn't hear a word.
Be the duck. Be the duck. Let it roll off your back. She has nothing better to do that make a big hoopla over a bush. A bush, that she never sees! It is in the far corner of the property, where if she was intent on sitting and admiring the blooms, then she would have to take a lawn chair and set down in front of it, because there is no vantage point of that bush from her house, patio, or the like. Be the duck.
A couple more hours later I am bringing my friend's dog back to him--we had let her run around in my backyard for the day, since she doesn't really get that at home. I notice as I am getting my car ready to put the Labrador sized dog in my front seat that Crazy Neighbor Lady is in her front yard talking to someone, and they both glance back at me as I walk back into my house. I get Leela all leashed up and ready to go, we walk outside, and immediately she starts yanking on my arm to go exploring at the same time that Crazy Neighbor Lady's shrill voice comes across the lawn--"did you think that that was YOUR fence?" Ok, when did this become about the fence. I have perfected the I think you are an idiot look, so I was giving it to her the whole time that she was shrieking "I have been here forever, and I was the one who put up that fence, so that is MY fence." Ok lady, then if its your fence, then you should have known good and well to put the fence around the tree/bush to include it in your property, if it really and truly is YOUR flowers.
Be the duck. Be the duck. I'm planting my garden today. I'll be outside most of the afternoon. I'm sure the verbal assault is far from over.
Monday, February 25, 2008
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.
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.
Friday, February 22, 2008
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.
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.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
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?
Sunday, February 17, 2008
Life outside of the box
I just finished watching a friend spend 5 minutes coaxing his dog into sitting in a box. It ended with him physically lifting her into the box, where she just sat still and looked at him quizzically. Why did he put her in that box? And then he asked her...don't you think this is fun? My only clue that she didn't was when he said you can get out of the box...she bolted away at doggy-warp speed.
When I moved out of my parent's house I packed away all of my high school belongings into a box. 2' x 3' of yearbooks, homecoming pictures, corsages, and different trinkets--the sign I made at one youth conference. The banner from my Sweet 16 Party. A bag full of pins from conferences and letters from boyfriends. Why was all of this stuff so important to me 10 years ago? Even more recently, when I bought my house I packed away my college mementos into a similar 2' x 3' box. Guess what? I have NO idea what is in that box. So basically, the evidence of my memories from the first 21 years of my life are tucked away into approximately 12 square feet of storage. That's a little depressing. Luckily, there are so many memories that live forever in my mind and heart that I can guarantee are not in those boxes.
Freshman year of college we bundled up and went to the lake at midnight. Laying on the ground and staring at the stars we talked about where we thought we would be after the next four years. Something that we didn't talk about...I have only spoken to one of those six people in the last 2 years. Junior year of high school I went to a youth leadership conference. In a caucus style forum, I was chosen to get up and present a speech on some random subject with only 15 minutes to prepare. As I got up in front of a group of 900 females, I froze. First (and only) time in my life that I've been speechless.
How about for my 15th birthday when we went jet skiing at the lake? The driver of my jet ski made it the day's mission to throw me off the back. And for the first 4 times that he succeeded, I made sure that he came with me. But that 5th time...he spun out into a 360 and about halfway through the spin, I go flying off, hitting the water so hard that the wind was knocked out of me and I may have lost consciousness for a moment. Put it this way, when he finished the spin, I was still in the air. So today, when earlier-mentioned dog-boxing friend finally persuaded me to go for a ride on his motorcycle, I freaked out about 30 seconds into the ride and was determined to walk the rest of the way home. I know my mantra is "I'll try anything twice," but it'll be a while yet before I attempt that again.
When I moved out of my parent's house I packed away all of my high school belongings into a box. 2' x 3' of yearbooks, homecoming pictures, corsages, and different trinkets--the sign I made at one youth conference. The banner from my Sweet 16 Party. A bag full of pins from conferences and letters from boyfriends. Why was all of this stuff so important to me 10 years ago? Even more recently, when I bought my house I packed away my college mementos into a similar 2' x 3' box. Guess what? I have NO idea what is in that box. So basically, the evidence of my memories from the first 21 years of my life are tucked away into approximately 12 square feet of storage. That's a little depressing. Luckily, there are so many memories that live forever in my mind and heart that I can guarantee are not in those boxes.
Freshman year of college we bundled up and went to the lake at midnight. Laying on the ground and staring at the stars we talked about where we thought we would be after the next four years. Something that we didn't talk about...I have only spoken to one of those six people in the last 2 years. Junior year of high school I went to a youth leadership conference. In a caucus style forum, I was chosen to get up and present a speech on some random subject with only 15 minutes to prepare. As I got up in front of a group of 900 females, I froze. First (and only) time in my life that I've been speechless.
How about for my 15th birthday when we went jet skiing at the lake? The driver of my jet ski made it the day's mission to throw me off the back. And for the first 4 times that he succeeded, I made sure that he came with me. But that 5th time...he spun out into a 360 and about halfway through the spin, I go flying off, hitting the water so hard that the wind was knocked out of me and I may have lost consciousness for a moment. Put it this way, when he finished the spin, I was still in the air. So today, when earlier-mentioned dog-boxing friend finally persuaded me to go for a ride on his motorcycle, I freaked out about 30 seconds into the ride and was determined to walk the rest of the way home. I know my mantra is "I'll try anything twice," but it'll be a while yet before I attempt that again.
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Words of a Woman Scorned
Here's a little story and you're sure to like it
I play my part and you play your game
Come on and look me in the face
Love don't live here anymore
It might not be the right time
Yes some dreams fall through
So many contradictions don't know what to believe
I took a wrong turn and I just kept going
Your intentions are unclear
I must admit it's my pride that made me distant
Late at night I toss and turn and dream of what I need
I play my part and you play your game
Come on and look me in the face
Love don't live here anymore
It might not be the right time
Yes some dreams fall through
So many contradictions don't know what to believe
I took a wrong turn and I just kept going
Your intentions are unclear
I must admit it's my pride that made me distant
Late at night I toss and turn and dream of what I need
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Doing it Louisiana Style
Louisiana Chef John Besh has conquered the culinary world within these last few years, winning national championship cookoffs and narrowly missing the title of Iron Chef. And now, after years of going unnoticed...
The first ever Grammy for Cajun/Zydeco music was awarded earlier this afternoon and congratulations are in order for Terrance Simien and Zydeco Experience. And that chick from Los Angeles who got a nomination...sorry to you and your adopted cousin's brother (or whatever) from Lawtell. (No E there, cher.) And to Roddy, PLB, Racines, Ramblers, and Geno...can't wait to see y'all at the 'Moon.
Food and Music. What more can you ask for? Being that I don't have a musical bone in my body, and have only just recently learned how to dance, I am going to mind my own business in the kitchen. Nothing makes me happier than cooking for others. Both sides of my family are cooks...gourmet on Mom's side and all Cajun from Daddy's family. Growing up on the farm, my Dad always had home cooked meals--my grandmother would be in the kitchen cooking lunch while the men were working the farm, and after the noon meal she'd tidy the kitchen and start to work on the evening vittles. With four men working outdoors all day, Dad had never heard of LeftOvers until he got married. Growing up in Texas, Mom had never really experienced Cajun Cooking until she was in high school and met my father. When they got married, she spent a week with my Dad's mom, learning how to cook all the meals that he was raised on. South Texans had Tex-Mex, but a new genre was formed in that kitchen 30 years ago. We've come to call it "TeJun." Texas + Cajun.
Someone asked me a few days ago if I ate at any Cajun restaurants while I was on vacation to Colorado a few months ago. Quite honestly, if I venture past a 100 mile radius from my house, it's not Cajun any more. Sorry, but adding Cayanne pepper to your dish most certainly does NOT make it Cajun. I am totally in support of all my friends who have spread their wings beyond our homeland and continue the tradition of Cajun Cooking for all their new friends and neighbors--Canajuns you call yourselves? You know what I'm talking about. I myself often travel with freeze packed meats when visiting friends. Free room and board in exchange for Rice and Gravy or Gumbo. Keep me there long enough and I'll have your Hawaiian DJs playing Cajun Music in the bars. Yep. Been there. Done that.
The first ever Grammy for Cajun/Zydeco music was awarded earlier this afternoon and congratulations are in order for Terrance Simien and Zydeco Experience. And that chick from Los Angeles who got a nomination...sorry to you and your adopted cousin's brother (or whatever) from Lawtell. (No E there, cher.) And to Roddy, PLB, Racines, Ramblers, and Geno...can't wait to see y'all at the 'Moon.
Food and Music. What more can you ask for? Being that I don't have a musical bone in my body, and have only just recently learned how to dance, I am going to mind my own business in the kitchen. Nothing makes me happier than cooking for others. Both sides of my family are cooks...gourmet on Mom's side and all Cajun from Daddy's family. Growing up on the farm, my Dad always had home cooked meals--my grandmother would be in the kitchen cooking lunch while the men were working the farm, and after the noon meal she'd tidy the kitchen and start to work on the evening vittles. With four men working outdoors all day, Dad had never heard of LeftOvers until he got married. Growing up in Texas, Mom had never really experienced Cajun Cooking until she was in high school and met my father. When they got married, she spent a week with my Dad's mom, learning how to cook all the meals that he was raised on. South Texans had Tex-Mex, but a new genre was formed in that kitchen 30 years ago. We've come to call it "TeJun." Texas + Cajun.
Someone asked me a few days ago if I ate at any Cajun restaurants while I was on vacation to Colorado a few months ago. Quite honestly, if I venture past a 100 mile radius from my house, it's not Cajun any more. Sorry, but adding Cayanne pepper to your dish most certainly does NOT make it Cajun. I am totally in support of all my friends who have spread their wings beyond our homeland and continue the tradition of Cajun Cooking for all their new friends and neighbors--Canajuns you call yourselves? You know what I'm talking about. I myself often travel with freeze packed meats when visiting friends. Free room and board in exchange for Rice and Gravy or Gumbo. Keep me there long enough and I'll have your Hawaiian DJs playing Cajun Music in the bars. Yep. Been there. Done that.
Friday, February 1, 2008
annual means every year
So what right do I have to hate on V-Day when I’ve never really spent one alone? Isn’t Kill Cupid Day for those lonesome spinsters who rebuke authority and all things happy? That’s definitely not me, so what gives, woman? Don’t think I haven’t spent the last 350 days trying to come up with the answer to that question. Take, for example the following email:
Subject: The day that could be
Happy Valentine's Day. Although I think every day is a good day to tell someone you care about that they are special, capitalism says today is the best. I'll tell you tomorrow in person in my own way (and leave out a pink stuffed monkey). Truly.
Ten Years. Ten Valentine’s Days. Here’s the roster—you’ll need it to keep up.
98-02 JWL
03-04 CBM
2005 BSG/JPV/JBM
2006 BJG
2007 CAS
In past years I’ve told you a litany of uninspired Valentine’s Day “Romanticisms”. For the newcomers, here’s the recap. Five times JPW was fallen victim to tradition and a cheap one at that. I guess when you’re a teenager carnations are the budget. CBM took me out on a romantic dinner at the city’s finest Italian restaurant. Great, we all know how much I love Italian cuisine. The following year, a Saturday, he showed up at my office with a dozen roses in hand, for his secretary forgot to call the florist. BSG, whose girlfriend called me 6 months ago to inform me that they have been dating continuously for 7 years, has been wiped from memory. Guess it was a good thing I didn’t put all my eggs in one basket that year, even if JPV and JBM share the same first name. Figuring out who to “thank” for the roses was quite an interesting conversation. BJG had me blindfolded in his car as we drove 45 minutes out of town to another city’s finest Italian restaurant. Did he not get the point? And this was after he drove to my house at the crack of dawn and sprinkled a trail of rose petals from my front door to my car, where a card was waiting. You remember the story…I was outside in the subfreezing temperatures, cursing as I swept up the fake petals. And CAS sent me an email.
I wonder what would happen if you tried to live the day as just another day without flowers and candy and hearts. Isn’t that like a Jehovah’s Witness trying to ignore Christmas? After years of commercialism telling me that I have to give everyone in my class a valentine’s card for fear that Little Johnny’s feelings will be hurt, Valentine’s Day is as much a part of life as any another day. Even the school system has bought into the hype. At my high school the girls were all given a red heart during homeroom. We were instructed to write our names on our heart and pin them to our shirts—straight pens in public schools! Such a thing would never happen today! The purpose of the exercise was that the girls were not allowed to talk to the boys, and if we did, then we had to give the boy our heart. (Sha! Gag!) The boy with the most hearts at the end of the school day won some stupid award or something. My point? I managed to go the whole day without speaking to any boys…even missing out on a Prom invite from a hunky senior football player. Lo and behold…just before the end of the day I slip up and speak. And to whom must I give my heart away…CAS. Talk about irony biting you in the butt.
For ten years the men in my life have done their damnedest to do what is just and right on one day out of the year. Even if they cannot manage it on any other day, when there are pink and red signs all over the world, they try. And for ten years what have I done? Have I been unappreciative? Have I balked at their attempts? No, not even I’m that much of a bitch. I put on my party dress, strap on my heels, and concede defeat. Le sigh.
Rather than continue my grumbling about commercialism and uninspired intentions, let’s turn the tables. What DO I want on this Valentine’s Day? A pink stuffed monkey.
Subject: The day that could be
Happy Valentine's Day. Although I think every day is a good day to tell someone you care about that they are special, capitalism says today is the best. I'll tell you tomorrow in person in my own way (and leave out a pink stuffed monkey). Truly.
Ten Years. Ten Valentine’s Days. Here’s the roster—you’ll need it to keep up.
98-02 JWL
03-04 CBM
2005 BSG/JPV/JBM
2006 BJG
2007 CAS
In past years I’ve told you a litany of uninspired Valentine’s Day “Romanticisms”. For the newcomers, here’s the recap. Five times JPW was fallen victim to tradition and a cheap one at that. I guess when you’re a teenager carnations are the budget. CBM took me out on a romantic dinner at the city’s finest Italian restaurant. Great, we all know how much I love Italian cuisine. The following year, a Saturday, he showed up at my office with a dozen roses in hand, for his secretary forgot to call the florist. BSG, whose girlfriend called me 6 months ago to inform me that they have been dating continuously for 7 years, has been wiped from memory. Guess it was a good thing I didn’t put all my eggs in one basket that year, even if JPV and JBM share the same first name. Figuring out who to “thank” for the roses was quite an interesting conversation. BJG had me blindfolded in his car as we drove 45 minutes out of town to another city’s finest Italian restaurant. Did he not get the point? And this was after he drove to my house at the crack of dawn and sprinkled a trail of rose petals from my front door to my car, where a card was waiting. You remember the story…I was outside in the subfreezing temperatures, cursing as I swept up the fake petals. And CAS sent me an email.
I wonder what would happen if you tried to live the day as just another day without flowers and candy and hearts. Isn’t that like a Jehovah’s Witness trying to ignore Christmas? After years of commercialism telling me that I have to give everyone in my class a valentine’s card for fear that Little Johnny’s feelings will be hurt, Valentine’s Day is as much a part of life as any another day. Even the school system has bought into the hype. At my high school the girls were all given a red heart during homeroom. We were instructed to write our names on our heart and pin them to our shirts—straight pens in public schools! Such a thing would never happen today! The purpose of the exercise was that the girls were not allowed to talk to the boys, and if we did, then we had to give the boy our heart. (Sha! Gag!) The boy with the most hearts at the end of the school day won some stupid award or something. My point? I managed to go the whole day without speaking to any boys…even missing out on a Prom invite from a hunky senior football player. Lo and behold…just before the end of the day I slip up and speak. And to whom must I give my heart away…CAS. Talk about irony biting you in the butt.
For ten years the men in my life have done their damnedest to do what is just and right on one day out of the year. Even if they cannot manage it on any other day, when there are pink and red signs all over the world, they try. And for ten years what have I done? Have I been unappreciative? Have I balked at their attempts? No, not even I’m that much of a bitch. I put on my party dress, strap on my heels, and concede defeat. Le sigh.
Rather than continue my grumbling about commercialism and uninspired intentions, let’s turn the tables. What DO I want on this Valentine’s Day? A pink stuffed monkey.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
The Name Game
No, I'm not pregnant. Far from it. But there will be a new addition to the family. Of the four legged variety. Yes, I'm getting a puppy. In April. Why such a ways away? Um...it's still baking? Hehe. We're calling it "Spud-the Next Generation." Spud is the Pekingese/Maltese hybrid (Peke-a-Tese) that I discovered from our local classified ads. Unfortunately, he was an only child and already promised to another family, but his siblings are due to arrive in March. Which means I'll be running after a puppy sometime in April. Until then, there is a notepad on my coffee table at the ready in case a wonderful name pops into my head.
I have a friend who has a pup named Georgia and another friend who promised that when he got a dog, her name would be Florida. In keeping with tradition, I said that my dog would be named Alaska. Great, if it's a girl. The fact that Spud was an only child has me scrambling to come up with a male puppy dog name. Sorry, but there are no state names that lend itself to a male name--Montana and Dakota are out, not an option. And as much as one of my friends has tried to convince me that Alaska is gender neutral, my extremely scientific polling of random people has determined otherwise.
So I am on to captial cities, largest cities, state trees, state fish, presidents, mythological figures, Catholic Popes and Saints, famous authors, iconic movie stars, favorite childhood television and cartoon characters. Can you understand that I want my pup's name to be unique? Sorry, Fido.
Considered, but Eliminated:
Lincoln, Eros, Bogart, Lysander, Gehry, Oscar, Gyro, Egbert, Cagney, Winston, Mokey
Still in the running:
Abbott, Hartford, Aesop, Hawthorne, Damascus, Sprocket, Plucky, Gobo
Leading the pack:
Gonzo, Bip, Bismark, Sitka, Pike, Tesla, Hero, Astaire
I've got a while yet to mull about on this, but as it is I'm about to go nuts. Help! Oh, and it's a shame I don't want kids...sorry William Rhett and Mallory Grace.
I have a friend who has a pup named Georgia and another friend who promised that when he got a dog, her name would be Florida. In keeping with tradition, I said that my dog would be named Alaska. Great, if it's a girl. The fact that Spud was an only child has me scrambling to come up with a male puppy dog name. Sorry, but there are no state names that lend itself to a male name--Montana and Dakota are out, not an option. And as much as one of my friends has tried to convince me that Alaska is gender neutral, my extremely scientific polling of random people has determined otherwise.
So I am on to captial cities, largest cities, state trees, state fish, presidents, mythological figures, Catholic Popes and Saints, famous authors, iconic movie stars, favorite childhood television and cartoon characters. Can you understand that I want my pup's name to be unique? Sorry, Fido.
Considered, but Eliminated:
Lincoln, Eros, Bogart, Lysander, Gehry, Oscar, Gyro, Egbert, Cagney, Winston, Mokey
Still in the running:
Abbott, Hartford, Aesop, Hawthorne, Damascus, Sprocket, Plucky, Gobo
Leading the pack:
Gonzo, Bip, Bismark, Sitka, Pike, Tesla, Hero, Astaire
I've got a while yet to mull about on this, but as it is I'm about to go nuts. Help! Oh, and it's a shame I don't want kids...sorry William Rhett and Mallory Grace.
Monday, January 28, 2008
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.
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.
Saturday, January 26, 2008
Eat your heart out Paula Deen!
Cause I can do butter too! Hehe. Saturday night and I'm sitting at home, belly full and glass of red wine in hand. It was date night and the menu consisted of:
Seared Beef Tenderloin and Sea Scallops
Spinach Linguine
Steamed Asparagus
Top the whole thing off with Champagne Butter Sauce and serve with the last bottle of 2007 Georges DeBoeuf Beaujolais Nouveau.
Happy times. And quick too. With two in the kitchen this meal took less than an hour to prepare, cook, and eat. I was in charge of all the fixings, while he was in charge of the one thing inherent on the Y chromosome--grill off the meat. It's all about compromise.
Now, what am I going to do about dessert?
Seared Beef Tenderloin and Sea Scallops
Spinach Linguine
Steamed Asparagus
Top the whole thing off with Champagne Butter Sauce and serve with the last bottle of 2007 Georges DeBoeuf Beaujolais Nouveau.
Happy times. And quick too. With two in the kitchen this meal took less than an hour to prepare, cook, and eat. I was in charge of all the fixings, while he was in charge of the one thing inherent on the Y chromosome--grill off the meat. It's all about compromise.
Now, what am I going to do about dessert?
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
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.
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.
Monday, January 21, 2008
Prelude and Preparation
So I learned something interesting about myself this weekend. I DO want it. I just don't know in what form, how, when, or where. It is no secret that I am no fan of Valentine's Day, even though I have never spent one alone, and this year looks to be no different, when I'm still not quite single-ish. Story of my life. And a whole 'nother topic. Expect the yearly Rant to appear in a few weeks. I've already got the title of the post ready, but I'm making myself wait until February 1 to post, otherwise you'll hear more of it than you want.
Let me just preface by saying that while in a Barnes & Noble this weekend I stumbled across a book that I became fascinated with when I first saw it at a store in Denver: Other People's Love Letters, compiled and edited by Bill Shapird. It's a collection of found notes, simple letters from one to another, on post-it notes, message pads-it's not some sappy outpouring of love but the real, everyday sort of love that you know is true. After perusing the shelves I found another that garnered my obsession: PostSecret by Frank Warren, now in it's third volume. Apparently this guy left stamped, addressed postcards in random places with simple instructions: write on it one secret that you've never told anyone and drop it into the mail. Wow. I could fill up a whole book by myself. Let's start with this one: I was in love with him, and never said anything.
My bluntness is hidden in that fact that you, my dear friend, do not know who him is. Maybe its hims, as this seems to be a recurring event in my life. One, Two, Three...better not to keep count. Story of my life. I didn't buy the books.
Let me just preface by saying that while in a Barnes & Noble this weekend I stumbled across a book that I became fascinated with when I first saw it at a store in Denver: Other People's Love Letters, compiled and edited by Bill Shapird. It's a collection of found notes, simple letters from one to another, on post-it notes, message pads-it's not some sappy outpouring of love but the real, everyday sort of love that you know is true. After perusing the shelves I found another that garnered my obsession: PostSecret by Frank Warren, now in it's third volume. Apparently this guy left stamped, addressed postcards in random places with simple instructions: write on it one secret that you've never told anyone and drop it into the mail. Wow. I could fill up a whole book by myself. Let's start with this one: I was in love with him, and never said anything.
My bluntness is hidden in that fact that you, my dear friend, do not know who him is. Maybe its hims, as this seems to be a recurring event in my life. One, Two, Three...better not to keep count. Story of my life. I didn't buy the books.
Friday, January 18, 2008
Used to Be
Can I say that I am glad to see 2007 come to a close? Hellz Yeah! Let's have a quick rundown: break up with pseudo-boyfriend, hate my job, become way too intimately involved with childhood friend, lost my job, gain 10 pounds, think about moving halfway across the country, get the we-never-should-have-been-anything-other-than-friends email, decide not to move, gain 5 pounds, start own company, get a part-time potentially very lucrative job, break my tailbone. That's just a quick overview. So, yeah, the used to be's in my life can stay right where they are--in the past. Don't regret a moment of it; learned from it all. We are lifelong students.
2007 wasn't all bad, it was also tons of fun. Recap: New Orleans, San Antonio, Little Rock, Destin, New Branfels, Chicago, Toldeo Bend, Raleigh, Wilmington, Natchez, Philadelphia, Denver.
Lessons learned:
Don't kiss your best friend.
No job is ever secure.
If you sit on your ass on the sofa for 4 months, you will gain weight.
If you eat macaronni and cheese on the sofa for 4 months, you will gain weight.
2008 isn't looking too bad to start with: Denver, Baton Rouge, New Orleans, Fayetteville (Arkansas), Jackson, Little Rock and Puerto Vallarta. NICE. Can I hope that this year was better than the last? Oh I hope and I pray!!! We are 18 days into the new year and I have begun anew. I have become THAT person...did you know that food x has this many calories per serving...did you know that you can eat this much of food y and that's the serving size...I cooked this meal and it only has this many carbs and tastes great!! I'm sorry, we can't open a bottle of wine tonight...I still have to run 3.5 miles before I can call it a day. As long as I'm not sticking my finger down my throat, I'm ok. Although it did cross my mind. Not not really. Well, maybe.
Goals:
Don't kiss your best friend.
Become proficient at counting: Calories, Carbohydrates, Fat, Protein.
Pay off 40% of outstanding credit card debt.
Run 20 miles per week. Consistently.
Debut new look in Mexico in June.
Best friend eats his heart out.
2007 wasn't all bad, it was also tons of fun. Recap: New Orleans, San Antonio, Little Rock, Destin, New Branfels, Chicago, Toldeo Bend, Raleigh, Wilmington, Natchez, Philadelphia, Denver.
Lessons learned:
Don't kiss your best friend.
No job is ever secure.
If you sit on your ass on the sofa for 4 months, you will gain weight.
If you eat macaronni and cheese on the sofa for 4 months, you will gain weight.
2008 isn't looking too bad to start with: Denver, Baton Rouge, New Orleans, Fayetteville (Arkansas), Jackson, Little Rock and Puerto Vallarta. NICE. Can I hope that this year was better than the last? Oh I hope and I pray!!! We are 18 days into the new year and I have begun anew. I have become THAT person...did you know that food x has this many calories per serving...did you know that you can eat this much of food y and that's the serving size...I cooked this meal and it only has this many carbs and tastes great!! I'm sorry, we can't open a bottle of wine tonight...I still have to run 3.5 miles before I can call it a day. As long as I'm not sticking my finger down my throat, I'm ok. Although it did cross my mind. Not not really. Well, maybe.
Goals:
Don't kiss your best friend.
Become proficient at counting: Calories, Carbohydrates, Fat, Protein.
Pay off 40% of outstanding credit card debt.
Run 20 miles per week. Consistently.
Debut new look in Mexico in June.
Best friend eats his heart out.
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