Salty

Let's get this out of the way first - Baby still not here.

Not going to launch into the drama of the last few weeks, but suffice to say, we are still waiting...

And waiting...

And growing....

And by growing, I mean me getting fatter. The kid? Eh, not so much. Still a bit on the small side.

I'm now one day short of 39 weeks.

Or by my count, two solid months of zero physical activity, peppered with on-and-off-and-on (again) bedrest. One moment the kid's head is all but hanging out and we are bags-packed-and-headed-to-the-hospital, and the next he/she has crawled right back up and nestled into the apparently-welcoming envionment of my womb, with talk turned to being in this for the long haul.

You can imagine how thrilled this makes me.

Yeah, I am a straight peach to deal with at this point.

In fact, I was trying to post pictures of my baby shower (coincidently held the exact day I hit nine months so you can get the full impact of my ginormously swollen body and face) for this post, but iPhone is being a bitch and not letting me transfers pics.

Or something.

Who cares.

I can't be bothered to figure it out, so I have to wait until my husband wakes up to do it for me.

Just like he now has to do everything for me: tie my shoes, cook my food, pull me off the couch (and out of the car),and deal with my bed-rattling snoring.

And endless complaining. Oh, it is endless.

I have ZERO patience for literally anything at this point (including work - it's like I am bothered when people call me during the day and I have to problems-solve some issue, gosh-forbid it breaks up my naptime), as my kid's foot has been stuck in my right rib for about five days, and I haven't sleep adequately in about two months.

Have I mentioned that my belly button (like my kid) can't decide what it wants to do, so it hasn't quite popped out, yet it isn't a regular in-ie anymore. No, my belly button looks like a clay-mation volcano, second only in nastiness to my cartoonish, National Geographic situation going on with my boobs.

Sit with that image for a minute if you can.

So in the absence of anything more entertaining (like those fucking pictures), here's a little something I learned this past week:

Eat too many Oreos and you risk not taking a crap for three days.

You're welcome.

Yeah, I Said It

Since lately all my thoughts are experienced in short, ADD-bursts, this is how I will relay them to you:

Marriage
Moments when it’s not exactly helpful to tell your wife you love her? When she’s on her hands and knees cleaning your piss and turd splatters off the toilet bowl. On her day off.

You Know You are Old When…
Well, it finally happened – I am, in fact, too old and too educated to watch MTV. *disclaimer: doesn’t apply to Jersey Shore*

And in case you’re wondering (you’re not – that’s cool – my feelings aren’t hurt) – they DO still play music on MTV. They just run at 2am when all the actual age-appropriate teens are taking a break from hating their parents, dressing inappropriately, and popping their pimples by sleeping, or stumbling in from a pre-weekend bar crawl/Burrito King binge in College Town, USA, while vaguely wondering if they have a quiz in History 101 in the morning. Which begs the question – what exactly am I doing up at this hour?

Things I Could Literally Not Care Less About
1. Charlie Sheen. Seriously, if the guy wants to hole up in his mansion, screw hookers and smoke crack until his lungs collapse, then who are we to judge? I say let him have at it, and then maybe – fingers crossed – "Two and a Half Men" will finally just go away.

2.Moral musing by Justin Bieber.

3.That show – “Who Do You Think You Are?” – that takes celebrities and traces their ancestry, and they get all “wow!” and weepy and whatnot. Listen, I’m gonna be really frank here – who actually gives a fuck about self-centered, narcissistic, world-revolves-around-me individuals walking down the path of self-discovery but who in reality are so far removed and out-of-touch from their real selves? And I don’t think they could have picked bigger a-holes to profile. It’s like the producers stepped back, took a look at Hollywood proper, and said, “Hmm, who are the least tolerable and most self-absorbed people in this town? Let’s cast ‘em in a show that is ALL ABOUT THEMSELVES!” Bitches, please. You know what would be much more enjoyable? Anything. No, I really mean anything. Like, I would rather have my pedicure lady slice up my toes to pull out ingrown nails and mercilessly bring me to painful tears as she scrubs the bottoms of my feet off with a sandpaper rock than sit through this. There are far bigger problems in the world than Sarah Jessica Parker finding out she’s related to Salem witches.

4. What Lindsey Lohan’s going to do next. So could major news sources stop broadcasting stories about her court issues, lip injections, and drug rehab? Again, definately more important things going on in the world...

5. People using the image of Hitler for political protest purposes. And this goes for both political sides – i.e., those protesting things like Obamacare, and those more recently protesting Gov. Walker’s union bill in Madison. I mean, really people – Hitler is responsible for the deaths of literally millions of people. DEATH. MILLIONS. Call me overly-sensitive, but trying to pass a bill that takes issue with collective bargaining hardly seems like a fair comparison to a man who put people in gas chambers and ovens. I'm sure someone's going to try to make the arguement that Hitler also opposed unions, but guess what? In my job, I have to deal with union bullshit/power grabs and all the bureucratic inefficiancy that would make your head explode, and I've since developed a distaste for them as well - does that make me Hitler-like too? So how about this – how ‘bout the only person we compare to Hitler is Hitler himself? Or how ‘bout we save his image for when we want to storm state capitals to protest actual literal mass genocide? Think about. Get back to me.

6. Homeless drug addicts with good voices who abandon their 9 kids and wife. I don’t celebrate your bad life decisions just because you sound good doing voiceovers for Kraft Cheese and Macaroni.

7. Chicago Mayoral Race – because four blocks separates my apartment and having to make an impossible decision between many evils.

8. Oh, and the political endorsements/television ads that come with it. I mean really – are you going to vote for someone just because the Chicago Tribune tells you to? Do you really believe that when Rahm so earnestly looks into the camera and tells you that “city government is not an employment agency,” he’s really going to be looking out for the best interests of the city once he sinks into the overstuffed leather chair behind the Mayor’s desk? If you do, then give me a call – I’ve got some really lucrative investment opportunities for you.

Already in Trouble

Still have 2 1/2 more days of work before I'm on Christmas vacation and I'm already giving my job the middle finger.

Oh, and could this be a sweet sore throat creeping its way into my body?

Would make sense, seeing as my entire body is achy and throwing in the towel.

Holy crabby pants - I have ZERO tolerance for anything at this point.

I wonder if there's a documented inverse relationship between the number of days until Christmas and one's level of anxiety/stress/frustration.

As in, one decreases as the other increases?

All I want to do is sleep.

And crap. I can't seem to stop crapping.

Gosh help me for the next 56 hours.

Vanity Sizing

Nice thing about Christmas shopping is that, when it's all done, you can justify buying yourself a thing or two.

In my case, I wandered into the female apparel store with a gift card from a previous birthday.

Genius! I can get myself a gift without having to spend any more real money!

I quickly tried on a bunch of sale dresses (I love a good dress but hate the ordeal of stripping all my Midwest winter layers), and settled on one little sexy number (well, MY version of sexy, which means it wasn't running tights from Target). And the price was RIGHT ON! I'll take it!

I tried on the second dress - a longer, maxi type dress that was super hot.

Only problem was...it was a touch too big. Needed to be a bit smaller in the empire-type waist.

I put all my regular clothes back on (jeans, hoodie and ball cap), stepped outside of the changing stall, and peered around the corner to see if I could just run to the rack and snatch it quick.

"Can I help you with anything?" asks the tiny are-you-even-legal-working-age pixie from behind me.

"Uh yeah. I was just going to grab a different size for this dress," says I, feeling like Buddy the Elf lumbering around a workshop filled with Santa's helpers.

"Oh, I can get that for you. What size do you need?" offers the pixie, so tiny and petite she makes Tinkerbell look like Brian Urlacher.

"Um sure. I need a size (one size smaller than what I was holding)."

And that's when it happened.

Fucking pixie gave me the Manhattan once over.

THE MANHATTAN ONCE OVER!!!!

THEN, as if dropping the last chunk of coal into a stocking filled with elephant turds, she adds:

"Really?"

Bitch, what?

Hell NO I didn't just see this child check me out and then question my size!

In my head I responded, "You minuscule lady-child! What the hell was that?!?! What size do I need, you ask? I need size I'm-an-Ironman-who-spends-as-much-time-working-my-ass-off-in-the-gym-daily-as-you-do-applying-your-pancake-makeup. It's a specialty size-do you carry it? I'm not fucking Shrek for crying out loud! Not all small people have to walk around with their boobies hanging out their tops and jeans so tight you are begging for a yeast infection (see also: yourself). Who do you think you are with your "Really?" You, who's biggest life goal is to organize the shoe section before closing so you can rush home to your Camaro-driving-former-football-captain-now-stoner townie boyfriend, pay his rent, and cook his dinner, all with the promise of a ring and a wedding THAT'S NEVER GOING TO HAPPEN. Now go flutter your wings over to that rack and get me my dress, or I will slap that blond right off yo' head."

To her face I said, "Yes, thank you so much."

*smile*

Merry Christmas and God Bless Us Everyone!

If You Hang In There, It Actually Gets Sort of Hopeful Towards The End - I Promise

Wow.

So yeah, it's been a while.

Remember the good old days of once-a-day posting?

I do.

Man, that was a lot of work.

And it's not that I haven't had a lot to say - believe me you, I have.

I just didn't have a ton of time of get it on paper.

Until now.

Why?

Well, here's the short list of reasons my time suddenly freed up:

1. Unemployment. Turns out, it's not just for car dealerships.

See, as you know, we have a new governor. A governor who, in his infinate wisdom, decided to play Political Chicken with the legislature to get his way. He wants an increase in state income tax to help deal with out deficit (where have I heard this before....?) The legislature, however, is not so cool with this. So our governor said, "Do what I want or deal with the consequence on July 1."

The consequence? A mandatory shut down of social services with the elimination of all contracted services (i.e. me).

Literally. This is quite literally how things went down.

Who does that? Who gets their poltical agenda accomplished by eliminating all contract services across the state? Who gambles with child welfare like that?

Oh right - all governors of this state. In fact, right before the previous gem was impeached, he did the same thing. I mean, my employment woes are becoming a broken record at this point.

And the best part is that this new guy turns around and pins it on the legislature and blames them for this - the whole "well you MADE me do it" argument.

It goes a little something like this:

"Give me what I want, I have no interest in comprimise - or else I will eliminate 50% of the child welfare (and every other service) workforce until you cry 'uncle'....Oh, and p.s. I just proposed a 400% increase in health care costs for state employees. Just try and test me if that doesn't get pushed through too."

Is this really where we are at politically?

And why is it that social services are always the bargining chip?

So this means that July 1st may be likely be the last day of my employment.

But I am oddly okay with this. Maybe because, with all the previous false alarms, I have made peace with the fact I would lose my job to some poltical bullshit.

Or maybe because I have been really burned out in this job and looking for a change. I have never been one to run from a problem, but the state government is a bit larger than just "a problem" and I simply think they have worn me down.

So this is now my kick in the pants to find another....something.

However, the chance of me finding a position in this State and in the area of child welfare is - lemme check real quick - ZILCH.

Which leads me to....

2. There may be some relocation associated with seeking a new job. It's been discussed. Options are on the table. Options as in - NOT CHICAGO.

I am sort of excited about this.

And the third reason my load is soon to be lightened?

3. Hitting the Pavement - In 24 hours, I will be in Madison with my relay team, starting at the starting end of the Madison-Chicago 200 relay.

After my awesome experience last year, I decided to head-up the team this year.

Turns out, though, that event planning is not so much...how do you say?...my strong point (see also: my wedding). I think it has something to do with my ever-dwindling capacity for bullshit and unreliable people, inability to make a decision, and generally poor multitasking skills. My sister ended up taking the reins and pulling it together. But the general stress of responsibility of it will be over soon.

Oh, and speaking of that wedding thingy?

It's moving forward, but deserves it's own post.

Which will be written after the relay.

So until then....

Can I Sue?

I mean fuck, everyone else does.

But my reason should be legitimate.

See, I set up Google Alerts to alert me everytime someone links me or mentions me in the Internet. I did this when I was going through the whole gotta-make-my-blog-private-because-who-know-who-is-reading.

And about once a week, I get alerts - sometimes I don't pay attention, but today I did.

And lo-and-fucking-behold, there is another Project Procrastination blog out there.

Same name, but his about fashion, and he adds two numbers in it, so it reads, "projectprocratination##.blogspot."

AND AND AND

It looks like the asshat started his little fashion blog in 2009

AND AND AND

copyrighted it!!

Well slap my ass and call me mama.

I WAS HERE FIRST!!!

Now, one might find it odd that I feel so territorial over my blog name.

But after almost three years and almost 600 posts, it's be a super big part of my life. And moreover, most of you guys never met me face-to-face, so the blog is the only way most people know me.

So yeah, it's part of an identity, and I am sure most of you feel similarly about your own blogs.

So, uh, yeah.

I guess if you want to read about Hermes scarves and Prada satchels and shoes, then check this guy out (but google him because I refuse to link his site).

Otherwise, this is the only Project that counts.

Damn bitch.


SWIMMERS
And in case you missed this on your way out to summer's first long weekend:

http://www.cnn.com/2009/HEALTH/05/22/pools.urinate.hygiene/index.html?iref=mpstoryview

Apparently 1 in 5 adults admit to peeing in pools.

Or using my master deduction skills, apparently 1 in 5 adults are triathletes.

Taxing

Dear Evanston Post Office,

While you have never been known for your efficiency and customer service, I would be remiss if I did not address my visit this afternoon.

Despite the fact that the entire country is talking “taxes,” and that Tax Day is the same day EVERY YEAR, it appears that you missed the memo that Tax Day is, in fact, tomorrow.

April 15th.

I mean, you must have forgotten, right? As I cannot cognitively understand why you would staff only two (of a possible seven) tellers at the only post office in the city.

Two.

Now, perhaps you thought that I was more like many of the other women in the city who are more “Desperate Housewives” then, well, an over-full-time working single lady, a la “Ally McBeal.” And perhaps you thought this meant I had all the time in the world to stand in that long-ass line and admire the vast varieties of colored envelopes and stamp designs to my heart’s content.

But alas – I actually have a job.

One that gives me a paycheck.

A paycheck with taxes taken out.

Lots and lots and lots of taxes.

And now, in addition to having those taxes taken out, I must now give more.

And those taxes?

They’re due tomorrow.

So if you will kindly employ another teller to handle my precious package that represents all those hard-ass hours of work I must now hand over to the government (that I already take a paycut to work for) so I can get back to that job, I would so very much appreciate it.

And if you don’t have another teller on staff, I hear there is a recession going on, and a lot of people that would be happy to receive a paycheck.

And pay taxes.

Like me.

And even though most people pay me to give advice, I'll give ya that one for free.

Seems all these taxes have put me in the gift-giving sort of mood.

Oh, and to the 11 of 19 people in front of me who - despite standing in that same line for all that time - waited until you got to the teller window to fill out your paper work?

I hope you get audited.

Sincerely and now many dollars lighter,

M


(And to the rest - a little laugh in case your tax day was as rough as mine - http://www.theonion.com/content/news/media_having_trouble_finding_right?utm_source=a-section -you're welcome!)

The Future of America

My mom called this morning.

She had a story.

My mom took my nephew to this child “fantasy land” thing where there are all sorts of slides and playhouses in this huge open space for little kids to play in.

If you have any small children in your life – your own or those of relatives – you probably know what these things are.

So anyhoo, my mom and Mayor Nolan go there.

And surprisingly, Mayor Nolan jumps right in, running around, going in the play houses, and going down the big slides.

So while waiting for the little Mayor to come down a slide, my mom – standing at the bottom – notices this 4-year-old lining up blocks at the bottom of the slide.

Not like foam blocks – but plastic ones. Ones that, if a child slides into them, could be hurtful.

So my mom says, “Little boy, what are you doing?”

Little boy says, “I’m setting a trap.”

(Side note – anyone else find it disturbing that this toddler is planning to intentionally harm other children?)

My mom, flabbergasted, says, “But the kids are going to get hurt. I think you need to move those blocks.”

And the young blond hair child looks up at my 62-year-old mother, and says, “You don’t want to make me mad, do you?”

(Let’s pause here and just absorb that statement. And remind ourselves it came from the mouth of a 4-year-old.)

My mother responds, “Where’s your mother?”

Young boy responds, “At work.”

My mom says, “Who’s here with you?”

He says (perhaps not surprisingly), “My babysitter.”

So my mom took the blocks away from the bottom of the slide so that the other kids can come down and not get hurt.

And the child looks back up at my mom and says, “You can’t do that to me.”

And my mom?

She says, “Watch me.” And she throws the blocks behind the slide.

And all the little kids start to slide down the slide, unharmed, while the little boy goes to hide behind a pole and cry until a parent walks up and asks what’s wrong. He keeps crying and points at my mom.

End of story.

Now, if you’ve hung with me this far, and your dropping jaw didn’t close the blog screen, hang just a step further.

Let’s throw this scene back to, say, oh…circa 1980. Now, picture a Lil’ Meggy (like, put my big ass head on a smaller body in homemade clothes).

If those words flew out of my 4-year-old mouth, you can bet your Big Wheels that my mother would taken my toddler ass right home. And then once at home, my smart mouth would have gotten a bar full of the Dial soap.

Now, I’m not condoning Soaping a child – My point is, my mom wouldn’t put up with that shit. She would be APPALLED if her daughter got lippy with another adult. And she MOST CERTAINLY wouldn’t try to put the other adult in her place, ESPECIALLY if I was the one in the wrong.

But somewhere over the last 30 years, this became okay. It became okay to treat children like adults, and let THEM parent US. Let them make the “adult” decisions, give them the “adult” say. They tell us what they want, and we jump and say, “how much?”

I mean, fuck the rules, the structure, the limits, and (gasp!) the consequences.

And all under the excuse of “But we don’t want to stifle Lil’ Jimmy’s self-expression! We need to let him be who he wants to be!”

These children are allowed to grow up too quick – and now look at us. Surrounded by “adult” children and their “adult” viewpoints. Their “adult” sexual behaviors and their “adult” substance use. I find it near impossible to not choke out the parents that let their children drink and have sex in their homes, “because at least we know where they are and that they’re safe.”

And then we look around dumbfounded at each other when they start having children at age 12, like, “Well how did this happen?”

I feel like I always have to qualify these statements with, “Well now, I know I don’t have kids myself but…” But fuck that. I work with parents day in and out. I can understand and empathize about how hard it is to parent. And in this day and age - man – it’s HARD.

Maybe that’s part of the reason we shouldn’t really encourage or glorify childbirth for teenager, no? Just a thought.

But what it ultimately boils down to is lazy or frightened parenting. Parents too afraid or too lazy to set limits and follow through with consequences.

No one wants to be the bad guy these days – parents all want to be their kids’ best friends.

But that's not your job.

Your kid throws a desk at a teacher? Ground ‘em. Take away the Xbox, and then build on the privledge loss from there.

But my favorite is when you tell people that, they look at you like you have a big nasty booger stuck to your cheek.

And say, “But if he doesn’t have his video games, what are we supposed to do with him?”

Uh, how about talk? Interact? Or maybe just let his ass sit in his room and think about how sucky it is that he has nothing to do and maybe next time he shouldn’t throw a desk at his teachers.

I know this sounds like I am beating a dead horse, given yesterday’s post on parenting. But I see this more as another example of what appears to be an epidemic in this country in regards to parenting, or gross lack thereof. I mean, the kid in my mom's story learned this somewhere. Who is setting this example for him? If he has the balls to tell my mother – an elder – off in a public place, what the hell is this kid saying to his OWN parents?

Gosh darn.

Okay - that's two days of ranting. I'll try to shot some rainbows and puppies out of my ass for the next post.

But don't hold your breath.

A Concerned Member

Since a good part of my world for the last few days has been centered around poops - the whens, how often, how much - I am going to take a break from all things bowels for a moment and get to the important stuff.

Specifically, like how peoples are effing up my workouts.

To address this issue, I have constructed a friendly letter to my local YMCA.

Dear YMCA-

As a long-time member and someone who pretty much overnights in the corners of the cardio room, I have a little bone to pick.

See, since I frequent your facility for most of my fitness needs - at least twice daily, five days a week - I believe myself to be a committed member of this wild and crazy thing we call Health and Fitness. I go to several Spin classes, run the treadmill, spend time on the elliptical, etc. Needless to say, I spend a great deal of my life within your walls.

Thus, you can imagine my irritability when I show up for my Monday Spin class, only to find it FILLED.


Augh!

BUT - After accepting this situation, I decided to run the treadmill (given the seven inches of snow we got this weekend) and imagine my surprise when, at 930am on a Monday, the entirecardio room – treadmills and ellipticals alike – are filled.

I don’t think it takes a genius to know that this atrocity of a morning is the result of one thing, and one thing only – New Year’s Resolutions.

Now listen – I absolutely applaud fitness, and those striving to achieve it. I applaud people wanting to turn their health around, work up a sweat, knock off some of the pounds. Completely and totally support this.


But does EVERYONE have to do it in the month of January? I mean, really.

I honestly believe that people who show themselves to be a committed member of the cause, who show up – day after day, month after month – should get preferential treatment to the classes and facility. I mean, we have established a routine. We have proven ourselves to the long-term, and not just out of a guilt-ridden four-week binge eating marathon.

Yeah, yeah, we all pay the same dues – whatever. It’s just not fair.

It’s the gym equivalent of the high school slacker who never attended a class all semester, but shows up late for the final exam, makes a crapload of noise finding his seat, and disrupts all the good students who spent the last few weeks pulling all-nighters and giving themselves ulcers from coffee and stress. In the end, the slacker’s just going to fall asleep on his desk and get an F anyways, thus prompting his re-enrollment in the same class, only to inevitably engage in the same exact behavior at the end of the next semester.

Of course, I realize preferential treatment will never happen, as we as a society are not really in the business of rewarding those who actually demonstrate commitment and work-ethic, but rather cater to those who half-ass shit and then expect gimme’s, so I suppose I will have to resign myself to waiting out these people who will ultimately detour from the Road to Health.

So be it.

But know that, no matter what the date, what the month, what the season – I will always show up. And at least to me, that counts for something.

Sincerely,
M

Anyone else with this problemo?

P.S. BL tonight.

Smoke

Today?

Today was the kind of day that had me two steps away from smoking.

Yup – buying up a pack of my ol’ favorites, finding a non-iced out spot under a tree, and just smoking away.

Straight up crazy-people-who-live-in-the-nut-house-assisted-living-down-the-street-and-sit-in-the-park-smoking-and-talking-to-the-Easter-Bunny style.

It was that bad.

But since my little chest cold is making is difficult to breathe at the moment, and my snot/mucus is already a strange color, AND I have been working sooooo hard at my hill repeats lately, I figured relapsing on the smoking ultimately wasn’t worth pissing all over my hard effort.

Oh yeah, and the whole cancer/death thing is sort of off-putting, so there's that.

But lemme tell ya – I was PISSED.

So what did I do instead?

I headed over to the Y for a spin class.

As when the 5 o’clock class was over, I still had too much rage in me to get off the bike.

So I blew a hunk of snot out of my nose, filled my water bottle, and stuck around for Round Two – the 6 o’clock class.

To be fair, the second one wasn’t all that tough – it’s instructed by an older gentleman (he has 16-year-old grandkids type old) so it was more like an hour cool-down to the beating I took the hour before.

But when that was finished, I was no closer to normal then I was before today happened.

But I came home, showered, ate dinner, and am now working for the rest of night.

And if I am in the house, then I am not out smoking.

So I guess for today, I FUCKING WIN.

(well, really, compulsive exercise won, but at least it wasn't Joe Camel)

Red

Today was one of those days where my rage far surpassed any type of rage I may have ever had towards anybody.

Ever.

I mean, there was probably not a single person I didn't hate today for some reason or another.

(okay fine, except for the girl I interviewed that just came into foster care - I just wanted to give her a big hug, and hi-five the foster mom who just loves the pants off this kid)

But then it was right back to rage.

Blood red.

And to make it worse, every turn I made in my car, every decision I made about things as insignficant as where to get my next cup of coffee - EVERY SINGLE thing- just was wrong.

Things I Hate Today:

My clothes that don't fit
The traffic I spent four hours in
Parents that can't take care of children and fuck them up
This election
People that think they are the Pope
The food damage I did over the last few weeks
Swimming
The fact that I am doing everything I can to waste all those months of fitness
Ignorant people
Bad skin
People that don't do their work or half-ass it because they have a supervisor (me) to clean up
Having to work twice as hard because of those people, and thus working until 3am every night, but yet still making the same shitty pay
The fact that this isn't going to change anytime soon
That I had to actually think about it when the foster mother asked me today if my degree was worth the money put into it

Yeah, I know I should be counting my blessings and making lists of all the things I love - blah, blah, blah. But I can't. Not today.

And at the heart of this anger isn't really anger at all - it the snowball effect of a lot of a things to just really make me feel hopelessness.

Fucking hopeless.

Sobbing-from-worry-and-anger-type hopeless.

The kind of hopeless where it seems that - no matter how much I stick with it, no matter how hard I work, I am simply never going to move forward.

That we collectively aren't moving forward.

And the feeling that I have very little control over that.

Well, on that happy note, I'm off to make some more coffee. It's 10:54pm, I am about to embark on my 14th hour of work, and will be up through tomorrow morning, just to turn around and do it all again.

Deep in the Heart of Stupidty

My man is in Texas for the big clean-up, while I am here in Chicago, trying to swim through the flooded streets and make sure his golf clubs stay dry in our storage space. And because I am a sucker for a natural disaster, I have been working in the television and Internet glow of the news network reports of this hurricane business.

And low and behold, I came upon this nugget of news:

GALVESTON, Texas (CNN) -- Paul and Kathi Norton overslept as Hurricane Ike closed in on their coastal Texas home, so they decided to tough it out because their evacuation route was already flooded. "My husband made me wear a life jacket inside our house," Kathi Norton said. "Thank God for that, or I couldn't be here." Early Saturday, about two hours before Ike officially made landfall, high winds and rising flood waters began battering their home. The house began collapsing, and "if the flagpole wouldn't have stopped the house, the house would've crushed us," Kathi Norton said. "It took the floor up, buckled down and took it right off the piling. And we dove out the door and grabbed the staircase, and we floated off," Kathi Norton told KHOU on Sunday after the couple was delivered in a National Guard helicopter to an evacuation point in Texas City."

Um....

Correct me if I am wrong (I know you will), but this Ike hurricane has been the one news story that has actually bumped all other election stuff. The entire nation has been focused on this storm, and evacuations have been going on for over a week.

And these two OVERSLEPT?

When exactly did they go to bed?

I am sorry, but I can’t feel bad for shit like this. Call me insensitive, but if you are told to evacuate “or face certain death,” and you decide instead that your safety plan is to slap on a life vest, cross your fingers, and hope for the best, well then…good luck with that.

Listen...

A while back I stated that I would not put up my political views on this blog, despite the fact that this blog is about me, my life and, well, my thoughts.

I knew that, given the political scope of things right now, it's a volitle subject.

But slowly, I started getting more and more frustrated with the things that I was hearing. Six months ago I was voting one way, then moved more towards the Undecided, and have now slowly moved towards the other direction. I felt that, in order to make the best decision for myself, I needed to know more, and the more I learned, the more my decision began to form.

I never assumed that anyone would actually hold the same beliefs as me. In fact, based on the profiles I view on Facebook, I pretty much assumed that my views were very much not the same.

There is something about this election that gets people really riled up, as Momo noted. And by the looks of some comments, people are pretty riled up.

But it's not my job to convince you who is better for YOU, who is better for YOUR future, and who is better for the future stability of this country. Like my own decision, this is a choice that is individual.

And I don't think that I was trying to do that - trying to change your minds. I honestly believe that by this point, your minds are pretty much made up, anyways.

So no more politics from this point on.

But I will say this - in this whole election stuff, I have never said that McCain was a better candidate that Obama. Nor did I say that Obama was better - like I said above, I started one way, then slowly moved to the other.

My point in all this was to vent my frustration that I was surrounded by people who simply listened to soundbites, didn't ask questions, accepted what their friends and CNN and Oprah were telling them, pointing hypocritical fingers, and spending so much time looking at bullshit issues instead of what the candidates policies might actually mean for you.

I am not insinuating that my readers do this - I was more just venting about things I hear on a daily basis.

Joke

Everyone uses their blogs for different reasons.

Me?

I use mine as a sort of personal journal. I mean, short of the “Dear Diary” greeting, it pretty much stands as an account of my thoughts, be them about training, life, whatever.

And if you have been reading me for a while, you pretty much know when I joke, when I vent, and when I am being dead-ass serious.

And when I write, I speak much like I would speak if I was talking to a girlfriend – off the cuff, sometimes goofy, sometimes crude.

I say things that are funny in my head, even if those words would never leave actually leave my mouth in real life.

For example, I would never say for real, “If shit pop off, somebody going to get laid the fuck out,” like I had stated in a previous post.

But I joke about using that phrase (from a song) to get sort of attitude-y and badass when I train. I wouldn't know how to lay anyone out even if 50 Cent himself was standing next to me with a 40 in one hand, and a 45 in the other.

In real life, I have about as much street cred as my 61-year-old mom.

Sorry mom, but it’s true.

Similarly, when I joked yesterday about “hittin’ it” with a character from a tv show, I would think that most people know enough about me now to know that I would never actually do that.

Aside from casual sex having NEVER been part of my personality, I would never actually “hit it” if given that chance in real life.

You know, it’s funny because, if I was sitting around my sisters, I would have totally joked about that without thinking twice.

But when I first wrote the sentence itself, I thought, “Huh. Maybe that sounds bad.”

But given the comments on a recent post about “telling it like it is” and not censoring myself, I figured, “Hey, people will know this is a joke. I can be goofy about it.”

So imagine my surprise when I was told that making that statement in yesterday’s post was “unbecoming” and made me seem “trashy.”

Apparently making a joke about having fake imaginary sexy times with a fake person is offensive.

Maybe it was offensive because it was sexual in nature (like politics, I rarely touch that topic on here), or maybe because I have a boyfriend so making goofy comments about hittin’ it with a tv character was inappropriate.

So to that end, for being offensive to my boyfriend, I apologize. I expect a certain standard from him, so I need to hold myself to the same one.

But it wasn’t more than two weeks ago when me and Cheese were joking around about which celebrity we would “give a pass” for – meaning, we would let the other sleep with if given the chance. I’d be hard pressed to find a couple (and some that have openly talked abou that on their blogs) that hasn’t had this “inside joke.”

And I call it a joke because it would never happen – and I would hope that even if GIVEN the chance, we would both turn it down. So hence, it was a just a joke.

Lemme ask you this - How many people in the last two weeks have posted pictures of half-naked Michael Phelps and/or have made “inappropriate” comments about him or his pictures?

I used to read the Triscoop threads, and there was this ongoing one about hot male/female triathletes, complete with pictures. Is that offensive?

Taking heat for being “inappropriate” is exactly what I was referring when I said I feel like I have to censor myself. And maybe I being overly defensive, but I honestly thought I was just being goofy.

If you were one of the people that were offended, I don’t know what to tell ya. Use your mouse, and click on another blog.

I almost feel like apologizing for how angry this post sounds, because I know people don't stop by for a dose of daily rage. But I am not going to. Because like I said before, it’s my blog. And this is where I am right now.

Whatever.

I’m O-U-T.

And p.s. I didn’t even get to go to Sonic because I go so caught up in working that I ended up being late for my meeting. No tots for me.

Fucking work - it's ruining everything lately.

Explain This - and a Bejing Tri Spoiler

Can someone please help me understand why I had to DIG through the NBC Olympic listings for the triathlon schedule, only to find it BURIED under the USA channel?

The USA Channel?!?!

The only marathons they run are the "Law and Order" ones!

And guess what?

The women's race was THIS MORNING!!!!!

Am I on glue, or does anyone else find it to be backasswards that NBC will televise trampoline and PING PONG over triathlon?

I feel like Bella Karolyi at the All-Around event.

The Injustice!!

*fist in air*

Oh, and in case your wondering, Snowsill won the ladies race.

The men?

Tomorrow morning, on USA, at like 7am.

And fuck - the movies I rented this weekend are two days late.

Six dollars, down the pisser.

I blame China.

Winners Never Cheat

And cheaters never win.

And if you had a chance to see the women's gymnastics final, then you know what I am talking about.

I don't think I breathed the entire time I watched the all-around compitition.

Fuck all that stuff I said about cheering for China and their 9-year-old asses because I felt bad for them.

I don't feel bad for cheaters.

I wanna punch them in their mosquito-bite boobies.

Maybe four years from now, China can round up a couple of 4-year-olds and try to pass them off to beat the US.

'Cause they didn't beat us this year.

HAHAHAHA!!

I think I am starting to take these Olympics WAYYY too personally.

But on a postive note:

Now the Olympics are over for these girls, they can get back to trying to be normal teens - hanging with friends, dating, menstruating.

Throw in some teen acne, a training bra, and a pube or two, and it's a brand new world for them!

Ya almost wanna shove a beer in one hand, a tampon in the other, slap 'em on the back and proclaim, "Welcome to the real world!"

And I gotta give credit to Shawn Johnson for staying so poised - talk about the pressure of a country on her shoulders. She looked like she wanted to just sob, but she was so solid.

On a seperate note - how come none of our athletes sing the anthem? Or they look like they try, but they don't know the words.

Just wondering.

Okay, time for more coffee and more work.

P.S. Your guilt worked - Cheese posted.

Two Things

First
Well, it’s official: Cheese and I signed our lease today.

We are the proud renters of a two bedroom, one bathroom apartment, complete with an actual parking space and separate kitchen. As in, separate from the bedroom/living room/bathroom, AKA my current studio.

It’s kind of a lot to take in right now. But I am not complaining, not at all. In fact, right now, as I sit here working until the wee hours of the morning (again), with Cheese snoring away behind me, butt peeking out from the sheets, and the smell of his feet thick in the air, I can’t help but be excited about this. I mean, things won’t totally change – he’ll still travel all the time, leaving me to fend for my lonesome most weeks of the month. But when he comes home, he will come home to Chicago.

So aside from the big paper signing, life here is stable, albeit is stupid busy again this week. I keep telling myself, “Just get through this week, just this week” but honestly, it’s more like getting through the next two weeks.

I mean, I am at the point where I have to calm myself down just to ask, “Okay, where on Earth do I actually start?” Tonight I am making some headway, and it’s only 1AM. I am hoping to make even more by about 5AM, at which time Cheese will be getting ready to leave (he was just assigned to a south suburb of Chicago so he is actually here for a little while longer!!!) and I will try to workout and go to the office.

Let’s see how that works out.

Ten bucks says I am sneaking into the bed at about 4 o’clock for a quick-nap-turned-four-hours-later-and-I-am-panicking-about-being-late.

It may have happened like that before….


Second
A couple people have lately posted about feeling like they have to censor themselves about the stuff they post - be it 'cause family members/bosses/coworkers have discovered the blog, or maybe they just worry about offending. Or that they have started writing for other people instead of themselves.

I have found myself to be having these issues for a little while now. More and more, I write and then re-write so many posts because I worry about the reaction. The crap that once flew out of my mouth I now sit with, pick apart, examine, and fret over whether or not its safe for human consumption. Moreover, I freak out that readers might get offended if I come off as too bitchy or whatever.

So after a freak out yesterday regarding whether or not people might misinterpret the whole "walkers to the right" post, I have made this decision.

Fuck it.

No matter what, I will alway be at risk of offending. But a lot of times, I also say some really nice stuff too. And if I am lucky, funny shit gets in between the cracks. But when this whole blog started, I was just being me, and I really need to get back to being me.

I'm flawed, sarcastic, politically incorrect, sour, sweet, lazy as hell, driven to extremes, crabby, carefree, sick-of-it-all, and loving-life. I eat too much candy, workout obsessively, and sometimes wear my pjs to the office (okay fine, A LOT of the time). And mostly, I am all of these in one hour.

And maybe it means I say something about babies and elderly that might offend someone's sensitivities. Oh well. As long as I am not running down your granny in my Hundyai, then what's the biggie?

So no more fretting, no more apologies, re-writes or retractions.

Consider yourselves warned.

A Lot of Nothing Really

OMG.

So I just logged onto Blogger to post, and the homepage pulled up to reveal three baby pictures in the Blogger update section (Blogger employees had kids, I guess).

I swear to Twizzlers, it scared the begeezus out of me - I almost threw up.

One second my eyes are diverted watching TV and waiting for the Dashboard to pull up, the next second my hearts in my throat as I make eye contact with what appear to be three aliens staring at my soul.

Shake it off, shake it off.

Ugh.

Okay.

Back to self.

So scratch that earlier post - turns out that if you just stay up long enough (i.e. after 2AM) you miraculously find time to post. Okay, so it's more like you start to hallucinate and distract yourself from the real work at hand. And here is what poured out of my overworked noodle:


Sleigh Bells Ring
As heard on a news report at 2:01 AM:

“It’s August 5th, and time to start thinking about those gadgets you’ll want this holiday season.”

And then moments later, to lead into the story: “We’re smack dab in the middle of summer, which makes it the perfect time to start thinking about the Christmas holiday!”

Uh…no.

No, it’s most definitely not time to start thinking about it.

You know what it is time for?

It’s time to think about how to squeeze in last minute bbq’s, a final summer sunburn, where to shake out all that beach sand, and how to score that kiss from a summer-long crush before school starts next week. THAT’S what it’s time to think about.

‘Cause by my calculations, Christmas is like, 100 months away right now.

If people in the U.S. are seriously starting Christmas shopping this early, I'm moving to Europe.

Oh but wait - also on the same news report? "More men in Britian are wearing tights."

Okay, so maybe not to the Britian part of Europe.


Kleenex S.T.A.T.
Does anyone else watch “Hopkins?”

Holy Shit Buckets I love this show.

It’s like a real life “ER” if “ER” didn’t blow ass. Last week’s show included a baby that almost died after being shaken (tears forming, throat lump rising) and then a man donating his kidney to save his wife (full blown sobbing, wiping snot with tee-shirt, calling all family members just to say “I love you”).

Like I don’t get enough trauma in my everyday life, it’s like I have to actively seek it out in my leisure time.

But seriously. Watch it.

Now.


Denial Ain't Just a River of Lard
Report out today: Most kids' meals at top restaurant chains have way too many calories to be healthy.

It goes on to say that this is contributing to childhood obesity.

Are we JUST NOW finding this out?

First off, why are people constantly surprised that fatty foods make for fatty people?

And second off, why is it a surprise to people that if you feed your kids fried chicken nuggets (or the like), french fries, and soda weekly - or even daily - kids will be fat?

I mean, the chicken in the nuggets doesn’t cancel out the fact that it’s still fried, nor does the vegetable part of a French fry cancel out its inherent evil.

But yet we spend money to conduct studies to tell us that bad foods are bad for us.

And truth be told– I am not perfect (contrary to popular belief), as I too have fallen victim to the heavenly greasiness of comfort foods. In fact, my late teens and early twenty were basically spent climbing out of a daily bucket o’ fries (the hangover recovery variety), so it surprised me none when I had to keep buying bigger pants.

Now, of course I had blips of occasional denial and was convinced that the dryer was making my pants smaller, but in my heart of hearts, I knew it was the routine 3AM Riccobene's deliveries.

And even back then - in all my drinking and pack-a-day smoking habit glory - I knew that I needed to knock off the cinnamon roll and glazed donut diet or I would be doomed to early heart disease and a lot of dateless nights.

But at this point – in the year 2008 - it has to be common sense, right?

Or maybe I am just hanging out in circles that are the anomalies of healthy living.

Good thing this is where all our government money is going – to study things we already know the answer to - ‘cause gosh knows it’s not going to silly little things like real child welfare.


Looking Ahead
So I am putting this out there – I am considering doing an ultra in Chicago in November. It would be about three weeks after my marathon in October, which I figure might not be a bad idea – I could use the marathon as one of my final training runs.

My reluctance comes from my anxiety over potential injury. I mean, I hate setting a goal that my body fails to meet. This has happened twice – once, training for the New Orleans marathon, when I tore my cartilage after the 20 mile training run and dropped out of the race two weeks before; and the second time was when I blew my back out right before IM AZ 07. Both times was pretty devastating.

And moreover, I just don’t want to risk injury period. Screw the race – I can’t deal with a third knee surgery.

But yet….it’s there.

This need to train.

So I ponder…..

Too Tired to Think of a Title

I would spend some more time giving a training update, but there's not a ton to embelish on when you've rode, swam and run once this week.

So here's some stuff non-training related.


Fridge
The door on my refrigerator fell off today.

Any other day, I wouldn’t give a rat’s ass.

We all know I pretty much eat canned tuna and caramel rice cakes and call it a meal.

Needless to say, the fridge of often devoid of anything more than bottled water (for guests – I drink tap), sugar free Red Bull, and (if I’m training) turkey slices (pre-packaged of course). I am nothing if not the epitome of healthy eating. I know. Be jealous.

But see today is important. Today is the day I prepare for my weekend houseguest.

And this is not the usual houseguest (read: Cheese). No, in fact this houseguest is one step above Cheese.

It’s Cheese’s mom.

Yup.

Just his mom. No Cheese.

She’s coming in to chill with me, see the city, and spend some quality time with the woman who has forced her only son to actually become a man.

A couple months back, I mentioned that it would fun to have her come to Chicago for a weekend and hang, and this is the weekend.

We've got tons of stuff planned, and I love being a tour guide to my city. I LOVE having visitors, especially when it's summer in Chicago (read: if you ever feeling like dropping in, give me a call - I live for this shit).

But the problem here is, Cheese's mom is staying with me.

In my dorm room of an apartment.

With my fridge door on the ground.

Even though I suggested a hotel, Cheese thought it would be good for us to have some "girl time." He even suggested that it would be okay for her to sleep in my bed – with me – until a minor argument led to the decision to get an air mattress.

‘Cause it wasn’t bad enough that I was going to ruin her image of a hot shot, ultra glam, big city, high class badass professional woman when I picked her up in my 8 year old shit box car and take her to my studio apartment with 32 years of life crammed into it. Now the poor woman has to stare at the open gaping evidence of my bachlorette lifestyle. At least with the fridge door shut, I could have thrown some fruit in a bowl and lit a candle to make it all look sort of presentable.

Naw, I'm just kidding about the image thing. I think I pretty much solidified my "image" when I showed up to their house for Christmas and literally made a pig of myself by eating everything in sight, wore the same clothes for three days, and sat at the dinner table in my bathrobe. Yup, nothing but class here, folks.

But what can I do about it now? I have done my best to warn her about the living situation (although no one is ever actually quite prepared for how truly small it is until they see it – my own mom had to catch her breath when I opened the door). She seems to like me anyways - even crocheted me an afgan for my bed. It's pink.

So as long as she doesn’t open the cabinets and witness the Cheez-It habit, open the closet door, peer too closely at the corners of the room, look inside the microwave, or check under my desk, we should be okay.


Necking
Last night, I went to bed at 5:30 AM (work), and then had to get up two and half hours later (work). My patience is short, and the mood is ripe for a rant. Here ya go:

So there has been this thing bothering me for some time, but I sort of forgot about it until Mommymeepa recently reminded me.

Here’s the thing: I have noticed this trend, perhaps an epidemic, that is plaguing many of the young hipsters here in Chicago. At first, I though it was a fluke – you know, some young trendy-wannabee high schooler or artsy-type making a statement. But then, more and more, it was all around me.

Scarves.

In July.

Like, with shorts and sandals.

Like, the one’s you wear around your neck to keep the winter chill at bay.

Scarves are ALL OVER.

I see them on the street, at Ravinia, in the bookstore – I can’t get away from them.

When "Stuff White People Like" first noted this epidemic, I thought, “Oh how funny and true” but now it’s IN MY BACK YARD!!!!

I mean, what is the point of this? Is it a fashion statement? Is 95 degrees and humid not warm enough? Are these folks possibly anemic? Are they being used a hicky covers?

(Ewww….hickeys…….Remember when that was cool, at age 13, when you had your first boyfriend/girlfriend? No? Me neither....I heard it once...somewhere)

Digression.

Back to point.

For any of you currently try to pull of this ridiculous trend – take note – Try some thing else. If you need to set yourself apart as trendy or hip, get a tattoo, pierce your nipples, vote for Obama - I don’t care.

Just save the scarves for weather below 40 degrees. Don’t worry – it’s like a month away.

Check Your Sensitivity at the Door

After a bunch of sweet posts of good old family summertime fun and lovin', I got a few bones I need to pick. And I fully admit I may be offending some with this, but hey - it's my blog. My sweetness melted in the pool during my shiteous swim, so if you're looking for some sugar, eat some Mike n Ikes.


Things You Don’t Want to Hear From Your Chiropractor
“Wow! That really worked!” (with genuine surprise)
“Let’s hope that makes it feel better.” (Hope?!?)
“This audit is killing me.” (umm…)

True story. Scary, yes, but true.

Personal Responsibility is DEAD
When I began looking for a house about a year ago, I spoke with a mortgage broker and crunched numbers, and eventually figured out what I can afford. Now, I was originally pre-approved for an amount way beyond what I actually could afford, so I talked my agent and we started looking for houses much closer to my price range. I didn’t sign my name to anything without completely looking at all the numbers and knowing what on Earth I was getting myself into. And at the end of the day, the numbers didn't work, and house buying got shelved.

So what I don’t understand is this housing foreclosure crisis thing. Now, I get that there were lenders out that did bad things, like change and falsify information on documents after the fact, so then the buyer is legitimately screwed. Were they sketchy lenders out there that gave out subprime loans? Absolutely. But there would be no bad loans without the people to sign for them, right? Thus, it seems that there's a whole bunch of people that simply signed their names to documents they didn’t read, or didn’t take the time to understand what they were signing or signed something that may not have been in their best interest. And now the government has to step in and save these people?

WTF? Am I missing a part of this? No really – I am being serious - ‘cause if I am, please send me an email and help me understand it. I’m a reasonable girl – I like a good education.

And speaking of education - ten years ago, I signed my name to a shitload of student loans that today are the equivalent of actually buying a house (I wish I was kidding). I could claim that I didn’t know what I was doing (I didn’t), or no one told me what my monthlies would be down the road (they didn’t) but I am pretty damn sure that pleading ignorance today is not going to get the government to excuse my loans or help me out.

I think what finally set me off on this was this morning, I was listening to a story about a nearby town that had a ton of foreclosures. The people were pissed off at the sheriff's department, who was court-ordered to remove people from their home because they were not paying their mortgages, and subsequently received, like, $200 for their efforts (I believe from the mortgage companies, but don't quote me). And the people in the town were like, "Oh, it's not fair! They are just kicking us out to get their money!" Help me out with what's not fair - the part where you don't pay your mortgage for months and expect to keep your home? If I just stopped paying my rent, what should happen? And pehaps I am being insensitive, but again, maybe I am missing part of this.


Am I the Only Who Could Not Care Less?
Can someone explain to me why Nice, France, all but shut down when Angelia Jolie gave birth? Press conferences? Seriously? I don’t know who I am more embarrassed for – France, because it was like a national holiday over there, or us, because we read/watch/eat/drink this shit called celebrity gossip. Why do we worship these people? Have they cured cancer? Are they teachers/social workers/doctors? No, they make movies, kiss their brothers, cheat on their wives, shoot heroin, and buy 8 million dollar homes. Call me crazy, but it doesn't seem close to world peace.

I have a hard time believing that CNN has nothing better to report on then this nonsense. I mean, don’t they know there’s a housing crisis going on?