1. I don’t find Robert Patterson at all attractive. He looks like his mouth stinks.
2. I like my sweets, but over Christmas discovered how many I can actually eat in one sitting – and it’s ASTOUNDING. It’s like my mind says, “NO!” But my belly says, “MORE!” Belly, you win.
3. At some point I need to organize my Ironman training – I am sans coach this time around, but have identified a plan to follow, am getting involved in Computrainer class, and doing some other stuff to keep me honest about my training. Of course, IM training also means getting in the pool. I guess holding my breath for the announcement that Ironman is now a duathlon is pointless, yeah?
4. I hate Facebook. I’m all but off it – at least when it comes to posting on my own status. I am actually kind of surprised that it’s still going strong, but apparently most of us are far bigger voyeurs and narcissists than we knew – myself included. I mean, come on – how much do we think other people give a shit about our lives that we feel a compulsion to post the minutia of our days? Half the time I don’t even care about my daily activities. Plus, it only encourages me to get involved in political conversations with people I either don’t know, don’t care about, or will never change their mind. So why madden myself? (in my defense, these have significantly decreased in the last 12 months really for no ohter reason than to maintain my sanity, and I've only jumped in the last few days when I feel people need to be called out on their hypocrisy, like I'm self-appointed Facebook Hypocrisy Police) Point is - it's not really fun anymore. I am trying to get more regular at blogging – that way, people can seek me out if they want, rather than me inundating their home page with what I ate for breakfast.
5. Lately some of my happiest moments have been in the aisles of Costco. Not sure what that’s about, but it might have something to do with the coupling of supersizing and good deals, and the Zen-like calm it brings. Plus, few other places exist where you can literally spend an entire Saturday consuming all three meals. For free. And then leave with a sectional couch.
6. I have my team holiday party tomorrow. We got too sidetracked before the holidays, so alas - holiday cheer in January. And I am all about giving our team a break to just chill and socialize and get out from behind their computers. But I am not really looking forward to it. Why? Well, most of you don’t know this (unless you are my husband) but I have extreme social anxiety. Like, to the point I even need to take a nap during family parties because socializing truly is that exhausting for me (weird, I know – my family reading this now is probably like “huh?”). Needless to say, work parties are tough for me. My anxiety usually leads to me over-sharing during small talk (awkward for everyone), sweating profusely (hence my almost-entirely black wardrobe), and standing around aimlessly when the people I supervise suddenly realize they probably shouldn’t be discussing their personal life with their sweaty, stammering supervisor.
In the end, I usually just resign myself the supervisors table, which is akin to the grandparents table at a Sweet 16 party - there only as a courtosy/formality, but pushed into the corner, out-of-the-loop, and wondering why the music is so loud and the skirts so short.
Showing posts with label work. Show all posts
Showing posts with label work. Show all posts
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Mish Mosh
Blood Sucker
I saw a grown ass man with a hickey at the gym today.
And by grown ass, I mean like 50.
Now, I’m no prude, but I always assumed that hickeys stopped being cool three weeks prior to ALWAYS.
Honestly, there is no workout THAT important that you have to risk public hickey humiliation to do.
I mean, grab a beer, hit the couch, and wait it out.
Because people like me are staring.
And judging.
Gross.
Dirty
Speaking of the gym, there seems to be a new trend.
Last year around this time, all the New Years Resolutioners who otherwise only pass by the gym on the way to the Olive Garden were sporting the denim-jeans-as-workout-attire trend.
Which makes sense, right? I mean, who doesn’t want to work up a good sweat in the ultra-unbreathable fabric of denim?
Feeling the burn as those soggy jeans hug the thighs like heavy-duty Seran Wrap.
Spectacular.
The year, however, seems to be the year of the Bare Feet.
Perhaps this is spawned by the newfound cult-forming book “Born to Run” (side note – I wouldn’t exactly know this, though, because truth be told it’s been on my Amazon.com wish list, but I’ve put myself on a book-buying diet this year until I make it through the stacks in my house - but people are raving).
And that’s cool – I get it. We athletes are all about the new – gadgets, training tools, concepts.
Trust me, I don’t embrace my “scrappy athlete” title willingly – if I weren’t so poor (don’t let the “doctor” title fool you – I still work in child welfare), I too would guinea-pig myself with all the new crap (including a Computrainer, hint, hint, wink, wink).
So I get the intrigue of trying out all the new stuff - or in this case, the new “concept.”
But if you are taking yourself to the gym – home of the nastiest, most evolved colonies of germs and disease, shouldn’t you at least try to get yourself a pair of those finger-shoes? You know, the ones that have a little space for each toe, as if to simulate bare feet?
Because seriously – if you want to run free as a 5-year-old along the lakefront path and risk glass, twigs, and pebbles – have at it. I support all sorts of athletic endeavors.
But if you want to go to my gym, put your sweaty, fungusy, hang-naily, toe-jammy, dirty ass feet all over the same equipment that I also use – well, now it’s personal.
I Stand Corrected
Completely un-athletic related, I saw a short clip of a recent American Idol tryout the other day. Apparently some guy has something to say about pants being on the ground, and I was the last one to know about it.
I admit my shock to discover that this show is still on the air.
I mean – really.
I know not ONE person that watches this crap.
So I thought to myself, “Self, surely there is nothing – not ONE single thing- in the world I care less about than American Idol.”
But then I found myself bombarded with “breaking” news that Simon Cowell was leaving the show. It was even on my local nightly news.
And – whoops! Whatdaya know?
There’s that one thing.
I saw a grown ass man with a hickey at the gym today.
And by grown ass, I mean like 50.
Now, I’m no prude, but I always assumed that hickeys stopped being cool three weeks prior to ALWAYS.
Honestly, there is no workout THAT important that you have to risk public hickey humiliation to do.
I mean, grab a beer, hit the couch, and wait it out.
Because people like me are staring.
And judging.
Gross.
Dirty
Speaking of the gym, there seems to be a new trend.
Last year around this time, all the New Years Resolutioners who otherwise only pass by the gym on the way to the Olive Garden were sporting the denim-jeans-as-workout-attire trend.
Which makes sense, right? I mean, who doesn’t want to work up a good sweat in the ultra-unbreathable fabric of denim?
Feeling the burn as those soggy jeans hug the thighs like heavy-duty Seran Wrap.
Spectacular.
The year, however, seems to be the year of the Bare Feet.
Perhaps this is spawned by the newfound cult-forming book “Born to Run” (side note – I wouldn’t exactly know this, though, because truth be told it’s been on my Amazon.com wish list, but I’ve put myself on a book-buying diet this year until I make it through the stacks in my house - but people are raving).
And that’s cool – I get it. We athletes are all about the new – gadgets, training tools, concepts.
Trust me, I don’t embrace my “scrappy athlete” title willingly – if I weren’t so poor (don’t let the “doctor” title fool you – I still work in child welfare), I too would guinea-pig myself with all the new crap (including a Computrainer, hint, hint, wink, wink).
So I get the intrigue of trying out all the new stuff - or in this case, the new “concept.”
But if you are taking yourself to the gym – home of the nastiest, most evolved colonies of germs and disease, shouldn’t you at least try to get yourself a pair of those finger-shoes? You know, the ones that have a little space for each toe, as if to simulate bare feet?
Because seriously – if you want to run free as a 5-year-old along the lakefront path and risk glass, twigs, and pebbles – have at it. I support all sorts of athletic endeavors.
But if you want to go to my gym, put your sweaty, fungusy, hang-naily, toe-jammy, dirty ass feet all over the same equipment that I also use – well, now it’s personal.
I Stand Corrected
Completely un-athletic related, I saw a short clip of a recent American Idol tryout the other day. Apparently some guy has something to say about pants being on the ground, and I was the last one to know about it.
I admit my shock to discover that this show is still on the air.
I mean – really.
I know not ONE person that watches this crap.
So I thought to myself, “Self, surely there is nothing – not ONE single thing- in the world I care less about than American Idol.”
But then I found myself bombarded with “breaking” news that Simon Cowell was leaving the show. It was even on my local nightly news.
And – whoops! Whatdaya know?
There’s that one thing.
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Overheard at the County Jail
While waiting to conduct an interview of my own at the county jail today, I sat and listened as a 40-something woman talked loudly into her cell phone to a child of approximately 10 years of age:
"Hey kiddo..yeah, it's grandma...listen baby, I need you to listen to grandma. Yes, I'm here at the jail. Your daddy saw the judge today, and the judge told your daddy he needs to go to the Bad Boy Jail...Yes, he has to go to the Bad Boy Jail. He has to go to Bad Boy Jail for 2 1/2 years.
(Pause)
No, no, it's not the judge's fault, it's your daddy's fault. Every time he hits someone, he breaks their bones, so now he has to go to Bad Boy Jail so he can learn to be good. He needs to learn to be good, or he is going to keep going to Bad Boy Jail.
(Pause)
Well, baby, I know that - your daddy may not be big, but he's stronger than he knows, so when he hits someone, it hurts. He hit your mom and shattered her eye socket, and he hit Uncle Kiko and broke his jaw, and then he hit that police officers.
(Pause)
Now sweetie, you're just going to come live with grandma, and we are going to live together for however long it takes. First for 2 1/2 years, and then forever, if we have to. You know that grandma loves yuo very much, and I'm not going to let anything happen to you.
(Pause)
No honey, they won't let you see your mommy either, but maybe someday when she gets her things together, you can see her too. Now, I need you to not talk to your sister and brother until I get home, and I'll be home at 5:30, and we'll all go out for pizza like we talked about.
(Pause)
I know, kiddo, but we'll get through this. I love you very much, and we will be fine. I love you. See you at 5:30."
(End call)
(Me, in head) Damn. That sucks. The violence, the incarcerated (now absent) father, dysfunctional mother - you wonder how much of that this kid witnessed.
I tried to imagine myself as that kid on the other end of the phone, being told concepts and words that no child should ever have to hear - jail, shattered eye socket, etc.
Sigh.
I don't know that kid on the other side of that phone call, and it's not yet a case for my Department, but I made a mental note of the family name in the event that the case does come down the line.
I know it doesn't sound "clinical" or anything, but - Fucking parents, man.
"Hey kiddo..yeah, it's grandma...listen baby, I need you to listen to grandma. Yes, I'm here at the jail. Your daddy saw the judge today, and the judge told your daddy he needs to go to the Bad Boy Jail...Yes, he has to go to the Bad Boy Jail. He has to go to Bad Boy Jail for 2 1/2 years.
(Pause)
No, no, it's not the judge's fault, it's your daddy's fault. Every time he hits someone, he breaks their bones, so now he has to go to Bad Boy Jail so he can learn to be good. He needs to learn to be good, or he is going to keep going to Bad Boy Jail.
(Pause)
Well, baby, I know that - your daddy may not be big, but he's stronger than he knows, so when he hits someone, it hurts. He hit your mom and shattered her eye socket, and he hit Uncle Kiko and broke his jaw, and then he hit that police officers.
(Pause)
Now sweetie, you're just going to come live with grandma, and we are going to live together for however long it takes. First for 2 1/2 years, and then forever, if we have to. You know that grandma loves yuo very much, and I'm not going to let anything happen to you.
(Pause)
No honey, they won't let you see your mommy either, but maybe someday when she gets her things together, you can see her too. Now, I need you to not talk to your sister and brother until I get home, and I'll be home at 5:30, and we'll all go out for pizza like we talked about.
(Pause)
I know, kiddo, but we'll get through this. I love you very much, and we will be fine. I love you. See you at 5:30."
(End call)
(Me, in head) Damn. That sucks. The violence, the incarcerated (now absent) father, dysfunctional mother - you wonder how much of that this kid witnessed.
I tried to imagine myself as that kid on the other end of the phone, being told concepts and words that no child should ever have to hear - jail, shattered eye socket, etc.
Sigh.
I don't know that kid on the other side of that phone call, and it's not yet a case for my Department, but I made a mental note of the family name in the event that the case does come down the line.
I know it doesn't sound "clinical" or anything, but - Fucking parents, man.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Woa Is Me
I caught a case of the sads.
I have decided that I am not sad about losing my job (with no prospects in sight) - rather, I am just REALLY angry at why I am losing my job.
And it's really hard to maintain a positive outlook when my supervisees are sobbing during their supervision times, and having anxiety attacks as they wrap up their work. But the absolute worst is when my boss - the calmest, most professional supervisor I have ever had - is struggling to keep it together during conversations about returning computers and shutting down cell phones.
But I would also be lying if I said it was only the job stuff - really, it's just sort of everything at this point.
But instead of doing a full-blown post about the atrocities my state government is committing in the name of a tax hike, or post one of those countdown clocks for the remaining minutes of employment, I am going to focus on the positive.
Because frankly, there are a lot of good things happening.
First off, I have been holding onto a nugget of information for several weeks. You, the reader, might know this informtion already - if you were quick enough to catch it on a post a few weeks back before I was instructed to take it down.
Turns out, this ol' girl's about to become an aunt again!
My brother - well, really, his wife Jenny - is pregnant!
So with Ellen's due in August (although the baby's been basically hanging out of her vagina for a few weeks, filling out college applications and waiting on the approriate time to just totally fall the heck out), and Nolan's little guy/gal on the way, I am aunt x 3!!!!!
Poor kids.
Other good news?
My back doctor seems to have worked his little magic. My back has remarkably improved in jsut the last four weeks. Which makes me wonder what the heck my other doctor was doing for the last two years.....
My knee is still problematic, so my doctor tapes it once or twice a week with that kinisio-or-something tape to give the knee cap some extra support.
And crazy enough, it works.
So....uh....hmph.
That...uh...seems to be about it....
.....Thought I had some more stuff for you......
*crickets*
Man, I'm lame.
I have decided that I am not sad about losing my job (with no prospects in sight) - rather, I am just REALLY angry at why I am losing my job.
And it's really hard to maintain a positive outlook when my supervisees are sobbing during their supervision times, and having anxiety attacks as they wrap up their work. But the absolute worst is when my boss - the calmest, most professional supervisor I have ever had - is struggling to keep it together during conversations about returning computers and shutting down cell phones.
But I would also be lying if I said it was only the job stuff - really, it's just sort of everything at this point.
But instead of doing a full-blown post about the atrocities my state government is committing in the name of a tax hike, or post one of those countdown clocks for the remaining minutes of employment, I am going to focus on the positive.
Because frankly, there are a lot of good things happening.
First off, I have been holding onto a nugget of information for several weeks. You, the reader, might know this informtion already - if you were quick enough to catch it on a post a few weeks back before I was instructed to take it down.
Turns out, this ol' girl's about to become an aunt again!
My brother - well, really, his wife Jenny - is pregnant!
So with Ellen's due in August (although the baby's been basically hanging out of her vagina for a few weeks, filling out college applications and waiting on the approriate time to just totally fall the heck out), and Nolan's little guy/gal on the way, I am aunt x 3!!!!!
Poor kids.
Other good news?
My back doctor seems to have worked his little magic. My back has remarkably improved in jsut the last four weeks. Which makes me wonder what the heck my other doctor was doing for the last two years.....
My knee is still problematic, so my doctor tapes it once or twice a week with that kinisio-or-something tape to give the knee cap some extra support.
And crazy enough, it works.
So....uh....hmph.
That...uh...seems to be about it....
.....Thought I had some more stuff for you......
*crickets*
Man, I'm lame.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Little Bit o' This....
So, I was watching the 2005 Ironman Kona race today as I plowed through my trainer ride, and what do my wondering eyes see?
A man exiting the swim in his leopard print Speedos.
LEOPARD PRINT.
SPEEDOS.
IN KONA.
Like, what's the thought process behind that?
Minnesota Joe (standing over his suit case): Hmmm... Kona. It's the big time you know.
Wife: You may never get another chance to do this, Joe.
Minnesota Joe: I know. It's like, Go Big or Go Home, right?
Wife: That's what I always say in my step aerobics class. So why not make a statement?
Minnesota Joe: I see your point. And the banana hammock IS snug, and aerodynamic. Like neoprene, without the life-choking-out-of-you feel. And really, my abs are kickin, yeah?
Wife: I always did like the way your buns looked in that print! *tap on the ass*
Minnesota Joe: Decision made! European leopard print Speedo in Kona IT IS!!
Maybe he knows something I don't though. I mean, Speedo King is in Kona, I'm in my living room pedaling to nowhere and wondering what the hell happened to the sweltering Chicago summer we all used to complain about. Who's the sucker now, huh?
Oh, and another little gem I discovered while I was home, tying up loose ends before my job implodes on itself in a few days?
Remember a while back I posted about my new favorite website - Hot Chicks with Douchebags?
Well, MTV turned it into a show.
And it is EFFING hilarious.
Like, have you ever wished your blog could talk? Like, could mimic tone or the speed of your snarkiest comments in a way that simply writing the word just can't?
Well, this show is like that.
And while I watched NOTHING on MTV EVER, I am stuck on this show.
It's called, "Is She Really Going Out With Him?"
I think what intrigues me most is how delusional these guys are. I mean, you would almost think it is a joke, but it's not. And it's so uncomfortable to watch - sort of like an episode of The Office, but REAL, and with a lot more bottle-poppin', Axe body spray, and "bro-ness."
Check out the episodes with "Hustler Douche" (with an added gem - "Say Somethin!'") and "OC Douche."
You're welcome.
A man exiting the swim in his leopard print Speedos.
LEOPARD PRINT.
SPEEDOS.
IN KONA.
Like, what's the thought process behind that?
Minnesota Joe (standing over his suit case): Hmmm... Kona. It's the big time you know.
Wife: You may never get another chance to do this, Joe.
Minnesota Joe: I know. It's like, Go Big or Go Home, right?
Wife: That's what I always say in my step aerobics class. So why not make a statement?
Minnesota Joe: I see your point. And the banana hammock IS snug, and aerodynamic. Like neoprene, without the life-choking-out-of-you feel. And really, my abs are kickin, yeah?
Wife: I always did like the way your buns looked in that print! *tap on the ass*
Minnesota Joe: Decision made! European leopard print Speedo in Kona IT IS!!
Maybe he knows something I don't though. I mean, Speedo King is in Kona, I'm in my living room pedaling to nowhere and wondering what the hell happened to the sweltering Chicago summer we all used to complain about. Who's the sucker now, huh?
Oh, and another little gem I discovered while I was home, tying up loose ends before my job implodes on itself in a few days?
Remember a while back I posted about my new favorite website - Hot Chicks with Douchebags?
Well, MTV turned it into a show.
And it is EFFING hilarious.
Like, have you ever wished your blog could talk? Like, could mimic tone or the speed of your snarkiest comments in a way that simply writing the word just can't?
Well, this show is like that.
And while I watched NOTHING on MTV EVER, I am stuck on this show.
It's called, "Is She Really Going Out With Him?"
I think what intrigues me most is how delusional these guys are. I mean, you would almost think it is a joke, but it's not. And it's so uncomfortable to watch - sort of like an episode of The Office, but REAL, and with a lot more bottle-poppin', Axe body spray, and "bro-ness."
Check out the episodes with "Hustler Douche" (with an added gem - "Say Somethin!'") and "OC Douche."
You're welcome.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
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....
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....
Thursday, April 16, 2009
I Have to Show Up For Two Days of This?
Top Five Things I Learned in My First-of-Two Training Days
1. No matter what city, state or type of training, there’s always that one person who has an answer/comment/story for everything. And the combination of those three things will inevitably prevent the training from ending on time.
2. No matter how many times the instructor gives cell phone instructions (i.e. turn it off or at least on vibrate), there will always be that one person who not only doesn’t turn it off, but will answer the call and talk right there in the middle of the training.
3. No amount of coffee will work after 230.
4. An hour lunch or ten-minute break really means that…plus apparently at least ten more minutes or frankly whenever you feel like bringing your happy ass back so the rest of us can start.
5. Pinching yourself to stay awake is ineffective, and only leaves you with a bloody hand.
And finally, for the Presenter: The word is “specific,” not “pacific.”
That’s an ocean.
Hi ho, hi ho. Onto Day 2 we go.
1. No matter what city, state or type of training, there’s always that one person who has an answer/comment/story for everything. And the combination of those three things will inevitably prevent the training from ending on time.
2. No matter how many times the instructor gives cell phone instructions (i.e. turn it off or at least on vibrate), there will always be that one person who not only doesn’t turn it off, but will answer the call and talk right there in the middle of the training.
3. No amount of coffee will work after 230.
4. An hour lunch or ten-minute break really means that…plus apparently at least ten more minutes or frankly whenever you feel like bringing your happy ass back so the rest of us can start.
5. Pinching yourself to stay awake is ineffective, and only leaves you with a bloody hand.
And finally, for the Presenter: The word is “specific,” not “pacific.”
That’s an ocean.
Hi ho, hi ho. Onto Day 2 we go.
Friday, February 13, 2009
I Won!!
I did it!
I won the Lazyman Triathlon!
I was the first person at my gym to finish the Ironman distance!
All told, it took me 10 days. It would have been 7 days (finishing on Tuesday), but my job has been MADNESS, and I am raging sick with some stupid head cold, so I had to take three days off this week.
When I told the Front Desk lady (because I didn't know if I needed to let someone know), I think that she did not believe me. I was like, "Lady, I work out two hours a day. Sometimes three. So that's at least 14 hours a week. I finished the REAL Ironman in April in one day in 14 total hours. Trust it."
I mean, ten days is plenty of time to finish something like this. Let's break it down:
Swim gets knocked out in 2.5 sessions.
I am training for a half-marathon anyways, so runs were regular, and rarely less than six miles at any given time. Add in a few cross-trainer sessions (which counted towards the run portion), and it was hammered out.
I ride my bike at home for 60-90 minutes several times a week, and often double up those rides by going to nightly spin classes multiple times a week.
Over ten days, that adds up.
Outside of that, I have had a post brewing about all the craziness in the world (sans political craziness - there's only so much room in my brain for Daily News, and this week, Rhianna and unfit mothers have taken up most of the space). I am going to try to write it all through the sinus haze this weekend, so perhaps a little bit of the old, bitter, opinionated Megan will return on Monday.
Okay, well, I am off to nurse my yucky cold with a hot shower and a long sleep. Have a good weekend and Valentine's Day (if your into that stuff)!
I won the Lazyman Triathlon!
I was the first person at my gym to finish the Ironman distance!
All told, it took me 10 days. It would have been 7 days (finishing on Tuesday), but my job has been MADNESS, and I am raging sick with some stupid head cold, so I had to take three days off this week.
When I told the Front Desk lady (because I didn't know if I needed to let someone know), I think that she did not believe me. I was like, "Lady, I work out two hours a day. Sometimes three. So that's at least 14 hours a week. I finished the REAL Ironman in April in one day in 14 total hours. Trust it."
I mean, ten days is plenty of time to finish something like this. Let's break it down:
Swim gets knocked out in 2.5 sessions.
I am training for a half-marathon anyways, so runs were regular, and rarely less than six miles at any given time. Add in a few cross-trainer sessions (which counted towards the run portion), and it was hammered out.
I ride my bike at home for 60-90 minutes several times a week, and often double up those rides by going to nightly spin classes multiple times a week.
Over ten days, that adds up.
Outside of that, I have had a post brewing about all the craziness in the world (sans political craziness - there's only so much room in my brain for Daily News, and this week, Rhianna and unfit mothers have taken up most of the space). I am going to try to write it all through the sinus haze this weekend, so perhaps a little bit of the old, bitter, opinionated Megan will return on Monday.
Okay, well, I am off to nurse my yucky cold with a hot shower and a long sleep. Have a good weekend and Valentine's Day (if your into that stuff)!
Monday, January 5, 2009
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)
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)
Saturday, December 6, 2008
Nawing at My Insides
Guess what I leaned on Thursday?
That even if you are only driving 100 yards, you need to wear your seatbelt.
Or pay the State of Illinois $95, and give up a Saturday for traffic school.
Scribble that down, stick it on the tack board, and NEVER FORGET IT.
Ho Ho Fucking Ho
So we had our team Christmas party.
It was actually quite nice.
Well, of course, that’s despite that fact that I somehow (accidently?) got left off the email list for the group gift to my boss.
I sure it has nothing to do with the fact that one of my screeners has been shit-talking the piss out of me to anyone who listen – and oh, they’ve been listening. You know, because she doesn’t like the way I..uh..supervise? Make sure she meets her deadlines? Shows up for work?
The nerve of me.
Whatever. So they “forgot” to ask me to participate.
Humbug.
Okay, back to my story. So we all had to bring a $10 gift for our grab-bag person, and then a White Elephant gift (aka whatever piece of crap you find at the back of your closet to bestow without remorse on some poor co-worker in the name of yuletide cheer).
Okay, okay – before I go any further, let me say this – I love giving presents, but I HATE gift giving for the sake of gift giving. I hate that part of Christmas where you rush through the stores, trying to find a sweater, or scarf, or some Old Navy pjs, or some other sort of crap that the recipient could very easily buy hismelf.
If I am going to give a gift, I prefer it to be personal, meaningful.
Perhaps something that you remembered your beloved saying that he wanted six months ago, or something that you know he could really use but won’t buy himself.
Something that, when they open it, your heart wants to burst as much as his does.
Yeah, I like giving those gifts.
For example, my family has decided not to exchange gifts this year – mostly because we all have what we want. And if we don’t, we can just get in our cars, drive to the Gap, and get it ourselves.
So instead, we just had a lovely dinner the other night. Good food, good company – a true reminder of how blessed I am.
So back to this whole idea of $10 gifts – I mean, really. First off, what can you possibly get for $10, and for a person you know virtually nothing about? If I am absolutely forced to engage in this nonsense, I would much rather prefer a gift card to say, Target, because I know I will use it.
And hey, with Cheese around all the time now, I am finding I spend an inordinate amount of time in the toilet paper/wet wipes isle at the Big Red Bulls Eye in the Sky.
So I got our administrative assistant in the grab-bag, and my boss told me she likes to drink coffee from a particular food establishment, so coffee gift card is what I gave to my Grab-Bag person. Creative? No. But at least she could use it. And multiple times, at that.
The gift that keeps on giving.
And you know what I got?
Foot lotion and foot scrub.
Or some shit.
I can’t really tell, as I didn’t all to much look direct at it in its plastic packaging that like came straight from the Walgreens about an hour earlier – or even perhaps was being re-gifted from last year.
Come to think of it – definitely re-gifted.
I was so much rather have received nothing then this.
And the worst part is that it came from another supervisor – one of many who I have done countless numbers of favors for – both her and the people she supervises.
And before I am misunderstood – please hear this – I am not bitching about getting a shitty gift (thoughtless, maybe) – but rather, I am bitching about how, during this Christmas season, there is this oppressive forced giving-for-the-sake-of-giving shit.
I mean, I don’t care about the $10 - but for what? Why couldn’t we have just tossed the ten bucks in an envelope for the next staff meeting, and bought everyone lunch? Hell, that could have bought us lunch for the next TWO staff meetings!
To me, these little grab-bag deals are such a waste of time and energy and funds. And what you end up with a bunch of crap.
Crap.
Like foot lotion.
From Walgreens.
But on the bright side, we also had to bring the White Elephant gift we had to bring that acted as prizes for our Bingo game.
And you know what I came home with?
A huge ceramic white bowl that says “Popcorn” on the side.
First off – SCORE!
Second off – who would WANT to get rid of this piece of art?
I mean sure – I came this/close to losing it to another supervisee for some used (yes, you read that right – USED) cloth napkins. But as if Santa himself wiggled his large bulbous nose and sprinkled some elfin magic dust over the group – I Bingo’d again, and managed to win back the white pot of glory.
Yeah, I got the stink eye after that, but I didn’t fucking care – the supervisee I won it from was the woman who organized the Boss Gift.
So those are my Jingle Bells in a nutshell.
That even if you are only driving 100 yards, you need to wear your seatbelt.
Or pay the State of Illinois $95, and give up a Saturday for traffic school.
Scribble that down, stick it on the tack board, and NEVER FORGET IT.
Ho Ho Fucking Ho
So we had our team Christmas party.
It was actually quite nice.
Well, of course, that’s despite that fact that I somehow (accidently?) got left off the email list for the group gift to my boss.
I sure it has nothing to do with the fact that one of my screeners has been shit-talking the piss out of me to anyone who listen – and oh, they’ve been listening. You know, because she doesn’t like the way I..uh..supervise? Make sure she meets her deadlines? Shows up for work?
The nerve of me.
Whatever. So they “forgot” to ask me to participate.
Humbug.
Okay, back to my story. So we all had to bring a $10 gift for our grab-bag person, and then a White Elephant gift (aka whatever piece of crap you find at the back of your closet to bestow without remorse on some poor co-worker in the name of yuletide cheer).
Okay, okay – before I go any further, let me say this – I love giving presents, but I HATE gift giving for the sake of gift giving. I hate that part of Christmas where you rush through the stores, trying to find a sweater, or scarf, or some Old Navy pjs, or some other sort of crap that the recipient could very easily buy hismelf.
If I am going to give a gift, I prefer it to be personal, meaningful.
Perhaps something that you remembered your beloved saying that he wanted six months ago, or something that you know he could really use but won’t buy himself.
Something that, when they open it, your heart wants to burst as much as his does.
Yeah, I like giving those gifts.
For example, my family has decided not to exchange gifts this year – mostly because we all have what we want. And if we don’t, we can just get in our cars, drive to the Gap, and get it ourselves.
So instead, we just had a lovely dinner the other night. Good food, good company – a true reminder of how blessed I am.
So back to this whole idea of $10 gifts – I mean, really. First off, what can you possibly get for $10, and for a person you know virtually nothing about? If I am absolutely forced to engage in this nonsense, I would much rather prefer a gift card to say, Target, because I know I will use it.
And hey, with Cheese around all the time now, I am finding I spend an inordinate amount of time in the toilet paper/wet wipes isle at the Big Red Bulls Eye in the Sky.
So I got our administrative assistant in the grab-bag, and my boss told me she likes to drink coffee from a particular food establishment, so coffee gift card is what I gave to my Grab-Bag person. Creative? No. But at least she could use it. And multiple times, at that.
The gift that keeps on giving.
And you know what I got?
Foot lotion and foot scrub.
Or some shit.
I can’t really tell, as I didn’t all to much look direct at it in its plastic packaging that like came straight from the Walgreens about an hour earlier – or even perhaps was being re-gifted from last year.
Come to think of it – definitely re-gifted.
I was so much rather have received nothing then this.
And the worst part is that it came from another supervisor – one of many who I have done countless numbers of favors for – both her and the people she supervises.
And before I am misunderstood – please hear this – I am not bitching about getting a shitty gift (thoughtless, maybe) – but rather, I am bitching about how, during this Christmas season, there is this oppressive forced giving-for-the-sake-of-giving shit.
I mean, I don’t care about the $10 - but for what? Why couldn’t we have just tossed the ten bucks in an envelope for the next staff meeting, and bought everyone lunch? Hell, that could have bought us lunch for the next TWO staff meetings!
To me, these little grab-bag deals are such a waste of time and energy and funds. And what you end up with a bunch of crap.
Crap.
Like foot lotion.
From Walgreens.
But on the bright side, we also had to bring the White Elephant gift we had to bring that acted as prizes for our Bingo game.
And you know what I came home with?
A huge ceramic white bowl that says “Popcorn” on the side.
First off – SCORE!
Second off – who would WANT to get rid of this piece of art?
I mean sure – I came this/close to losing it to another supervisee for some used (yes, you read that right – USED) cloth napkins. But as if Santa himself wiggled his large bulbous nose and sprinkled some elfin magic dust over the group – I Bingo’d again, and managed to win back the white pot of glory.
Yeah, I got the stink eye after that, but I didn’t fucking care – the supervisee I won it from was the woman who organized the Boss Gift.
So those are my Jingle Bells in a nutshell.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Housewives and Husbands
Thanks to all those who have checked for a pulse in the last few days - got a little sidetracked with my piles of work and stuff. Seems I don't have a lot to say when I can barely breath under all the papers.
Shame Alert!
Okay, so while I have been holed up on Seward Street swimming in self-pity, child abuse cases, and bitch-ass reception sites that think it’s acceptable to charge $3000 just to rent the space between their four walls (three words – eat a dick), I have found myself taking time-outs to watch my new favorite brain-suck.
What is it?
Hold on…wait for it….
Real Housewives of Atlanta.
Gasp!
I know!
Not only is it uber-trashy (like watching 30-minute episodes of my high school life all over again, well… minus the millionaires and pro ball players….but with extra doses of hard-core bitches) but it is (gasp again!) reality tv at its FINEST.
Trust it, bitches.
This is IT.
And the biggest laugh of them all is the broke-ass fraud, Kim. She is essentially the only one on the show who does nothing for income (except apparently give it up to “big poppa” who in turn funds her lifestyle), she’s supposedly 29 but looks 59, drives a different luxury car each episode, thinks she can sing (but sounds freakishly like that karaoke video of me…if you didn’t find it, I’m not telling where it is), and basically spoils her children ROTTEN.
And she’s drunk starting at, oh, 8am.
Watch, cringe, laugh, love.
And then let's chat....
Facebook
Is it rude and conceited to ask: Why is everyone else I graduated with aging so poorly?
I mean, I’m no spring chicken myself, but self-esteem boosters seem to be coming in the form of Friend Requests by fellow Class of 94-ers that are 5-10 years into a marriage with three babies strapped to their asses.
For a while I considered: Huh, maybe I look that old and gross too.
But I have since realized: No.
Thank you running, triathlon and (mostly) healthy living.
In fact, I am healthier and in far better shape then I was in high school, a far away time when I favored oversized sweaters and khakis (to hide a body I hated), ate Marlboro Lights for breakfast and dinner, took up bulimia as my sole extra curricular, and mostly walked with my head down, so as not to attract unwanted and often negative attention.
I mean, sure, there are many a day when I myself can't find a brush for my hair, but overall, I think I held it together fairly well (of course, this is relative to some of my cohorts, and NOT, for example, to Cindy Crawford - 'cause that's one ageless bitch, yeah? Yes, please!)
My personal gems are the profiles of those douche bag guys (that made my life HELL) who are now bald alcoholics – the ones where, at age 32, have their entire Photo application section dedicated to current pictures of themselves, still shit-faced, still with their high school friends, and always at some football game/on a boat/at wedding, just yukking it up, like it was graduation night 1994, and the Black Crowes were blaring from some background speaker.
WHOO HOO!
Apparently, you CAN go home again, especially if you never left (your parents basement), and the bar closes at 4.
It's like a modern day version of a John Hughes "Where are they now?" movie - you know, the one where everyone starts out like the Emilio Estavez character in Breakfast Club, but ends up more like the Molly Ringwald's dad in Pretty in Pink?
Thank you Facebook – you have both eliminated my need to attend any other reunion EVER, and given me the solid knowledge that, should I decide to participate in such a function, I'd win a fat karma victory.
Shame Alert!
Okay, so while I have been holed up on Seward Street swimming in self-pity, child abuse cases, and bitch-ass reception sites that think it’s acceptable to charge $3000 just to rent the space between their four walls (three words – eat a dick), I have found myself taking time-outs to watch my new favorite brain-suck.
What is it?
Hold on…wait for it….
Real Housewives of Atlanta.
Gasp!
I know!
Not only is it uber-trashy (like watching 30-minute episodes of my high school life all over again, well… minus the millionaires and pro ball players….but with extra doses of hard-core bitches) but it is (gasp again!) reality tv at its FINEST.
Trust it, bitches.
This is IT.
And the biggest laugh of them all is the broke-ass fraud, Kim. She is essentially the only one on the show who does nothing for income (except apparently give it up to “big poppa” who in turn funds her lifestyle), she’s supposedly 29 but looks 59, drives a different luxury car each episode, thinks she can sing (but sounds freakishly like that karaoke video of me…if you didn’t find it, I’m not telling where it is), and basically spoils her children ROTTEN.
And she’s drunk starting at, oh, 8am.
Watch, cringe, laugh, love.
And then let's chat....
Is it rude and conceited to ask: Why is everyone else I graduated with aging so poorly?
I mean, I’m no spring chicken myself, but self-esteem boosters seem to be coming in the form of Friend Requests by fellow Class of 94-ers that are 5-10 years into a marriage with three babies strapped to their asses.
For a while I considered: Huh, maybe I look that old and gross too.
But I have since realized: No.
Thank you running, triathlon and (mostly) healthy living.
In fact, I am healthier and in far better shape then I was in high school, a far away time when I favored oversized sweaters and khakis (to hide a body I hated), ate Marlboro Lights for breakfast and dinner, took up bulimia as my sole extra curricular, and mostly walked with my head down, so as not to attract unwanted and often negative attention.
I mean, sure, there are many a day when I myself can't find a brush for my hair, but overall, I think I held it together fairly well (of course, this is relative to some of my cohorts, and NOT, for example, to Cindy Crawford - 'cause that's one ageless bitch, yeah? Yes, please!)
My personal gems are the profiles of those douche bag guys (that made my life HELL) who are now bald alcoholics – the ones where, at age 32, have their entire Photo application section dedicated to current pictures of themselves, still shit-faced, still with their high school friends, and always at some football game/on a boat/at wedding, just yukking it up, like it was graduation night 1994, and the Black Crowes were blaring from some background speaker.
WHOO HOO!
Apparently, you CAN go home again, especially if you never left (your parents basement), and the bar closes at 4.
It's like a modern day version of a John Hughes "Where are they now?" movie - you know, the one where everyone starts out like the Emilio Estavez character in Breakfast Club, but ends up more like the Molly Ringwald's dad in Pretty in Pink?
Thank you Facebook – you have both eliminated my need to attend any other reunion EVER, and given me the solid knowledge that, should I decide to participate in such a function, I'd win a fat karma victory.
Monday, October 6, 2008
Decisions
Alright, all.
I have a dilemma.
Thing is, I found myself in a situation at work today (I wrote a nice long scathing post on it but am holding back for a second before posting it) where for the first time, I think I may be searched out on the Internet.
Meaning, I think a client might actually try to get info on me, and not in a nice way.
It was bound to happen at some point, I guess.
So just in case, I Googled myself tonight (I have done this before to help make the blog more private and unlinkable back to me - hence, some of the changes, like from Megan to "M"). And while I caught a few things before and again tonight, I worry that there may items out there to link me to the blog.
And moreover, I REALLY worry that this guy is going to find it.
Trust me, he likes his research, and he is awfully determined (the details of which are forthcoming in the aforementioned post).
So the quandry is this: I HATE HATE the idea of going private, but I feel like I might be at the cusp of that at this point. I know I have made some mistakes in the past about putting my info out there, and I have since deleted all traces to me, but you never know.
Furthermore, I am considering dismantling my Facebook page. Honestly, the novelty has worn off, and it's just another link back to me.
My point is - I really want to keep talking about my life and my experiences, but there are people out there that will definately use this against me (not you guys - I speak of crazy people with whom I work).
So I guess this is sort of a pre-warning that things might go private soon. I know, it's a pain to have to log in - trust me - I am not happy about this either - but better that then potentially be sued for saying shit that can be misconstrued.
And we all know I like to talk candidly.
So I am going to put that out there for the next day of so, try to tie up some loose ends, and then give you the post about what really happened today, so you can see for yourselves why I might be slightly worried (no identifying info - I am legally bound by confidentiality - but again, you never know who might read what).
Oh, and my blue has turned to bright red - for enraged.
Welcome back, Little Meggie, welcome back.
I have a dilemma.
Thing is, I found myself in a situation at work today (I wrote a nice long scathing post on it but am holding back for a second before posting it) where for the first time, I think I may be searched out on the Internet.
Meaning, I think a client might actually try to get info on me, and not in a nice way.
It was bound to happen at some point, I guess.
So just in case, I Googled myself tonight (I have done this before to help make the blog more private and unlinkable back to me - hence, some of the changes, like from Megan to "M"). And while I caught a few things before and again tonight, I worry that there may items out there to link me to the blog.
And moreover, I REALLY worry that this guy is going to find it.
Trust me, he likes his research, and he is awfully determined (the details of which are forthcoming in the aforementioned post).
So the quandry is this: I HATE HATE the idea of going private, but I feel like I might be at the cusp of that at this point. I know I have made some mistakes in the past about putting my info out there, and I have since deleted all traces to me, but you never know.
Furthermore, I am considering dismantling my Facebook page. Honestly, the novelty has worn off, and it's just another link back to me.
My point is - I really want to keep talking about my life and my experiences, but there are people out there that will definately use this against me (not you guys - I speak of crazy people with whom I work).
So I guess this is sort of a pre-warning that things might go private soon. I know, it's a pain to have to log in - trust me - I am not happy about this either - but better that then potentially be sued for saying shit that can be misconstrued.
And we all know I like to talk candidly.
So I am going to put that out there for the next day of so, try to tie up some loose ends, and then give you the post about what really happened today, so you can see for yourselves why I might be slightly worried (no identifying info - I am legally bound by confidentiality - but again, you never know who might read what).
Oh, and my blue has turned to bright red - for enraged.
Welcome back, Little Meggie, welcome back.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Lemons but No Lemonade
I am bluesy.
I am just sick of everything and everyone right now.
I am sick of politics mostly- of people being asses to each other, of the state of this country, of the media, or the hypocrisy.
I am sick of reading how people that I once respected personally attack others while blatenly ignoring the full truth of things.
I am sick of politician's half-truths, and of a populace that collectively and consciously ignores the truth that is actually in front of them.
I am sick of worrying about what all this means for my future - maybe everything, maybe nothing.
I am sick of worrying about the potential of living in a country in which I can't build a private practice (as a SECOND job, nonetheless) because working THAT hard might mean I would owe the government almost HALF my money. Where's the motivation to improve my lot in life? To benefit frmo the degree I busted my ass to get?
I have been coming home from work, keeping the tv off, turning the computer off, and just reading - anything to shut it all out.
And it's not just the actual election- rather (and I said this before), it's what it has all come to reveal about our world, about us as Americans.
All a bunch of finger-pointers, blame-passers, hate-breeders, liars.
And how can we expect politicans to behave any differently if we ourselves encourage this environment?
Ironic, but they really do end up being our "representitives."
Being "passionate" about this election has turned into an excuse for people to be nasty, ugly, and hypocritical. I get that people are really dedicated to their "side," but at what cost to your integrity? How does one pride oneself on being "well informed" when the only information they seek out and promote is one-sided?
I am starting to remember why I just stayed out of all this to begin with.
What else?
My job is extremely stressful right now - I seem to have found myself supervising people who have no desire to improve themselves as clinicians, but instead are satisfied with being told what to do, what to write, how to think.
And when they are not trying to claim disability for made-up injuries, they are ditching work and lying about it.
And I miss my BF.
I really, really miss him.
And there are times when he hurts and I can't help.
This is the stuff that eat at me, that keeps me up at night.
That is why I am blusey.
I am just sick of everything and everyone right now.
I am sick of politics mostly- of people being asses to each other, of the state of this country, of the media, or the hypocrisy.
I am sick of reading how people that I once respected personally attack others while blatenly ignoring the full truth of things.
I am sick of politician's half-truths, and of a populace that collectively and consciously ignores the truth that is actually in front of them.
I am sick of worrying about what all this means for my future - maybe everything, maybe nothing.
I am sick of worrying about the potential of living in a country in which I can't build a private practice (as a SECOND job, nonetheless) because working THAT hard might mean I would owe the government almost HALF my money. Where's the motivation to improve my lot in life? To benefit frmo the degree I busted my ass to get?
I have been coming home from work, keeping the tv off, turning the computer off, and just reading - anything to shut it all out.
And it's not just the actual election- rather (and I said this before), it's what it has all come to reveal about our world, about us as Americans.
All a bunch of finger-pointers, blame-passers, hate-breeders, liars.
And how can we expect politicans to behave any differently if we ourselves encourage this environment?
Ironic, but they really do end up being our "representitives."
Being "passionate" about this election has turned into an excuse for people to be nasty, ugly, and hypocritical. I get that people are really dedicated to their "side," but at what cost to your integrity? How does one pride oneself on being "well informed" when the only information they seek out and promote is one-sided?
I am starting to remember why I just stayed out of all this to begin with.
What else?
My job is extremely stressful right now - I seem to have found myself supervising people who have no desire to improve themselves as clinicians, but instead are satisfied with being told what to do, what to write, how to think.
And when they are not trying to claim disability for made-up injuries, they are ditching work and lying about it.
And I miss my BF.
I really, really miss him.
And there are times when he hurts and I can't help.
This is the stuff that eat at me, that keeps me up at night.
That is why I am blusey.
Thursday, August 21, 2008
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.
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.
Monday, August 18, 2008
Recovery
Good grief.
Is it seriously Monday already?
After what can only be described as Hell Week last week, I worked all day Saturday in private practice, and then had a 15-miler yesterday.
Needless to say, I was pretty wrecked.
The run? Not so great. But instead of beating myself up over it, I just thought, "Hey, last week the 1/2 marathon was your best, and some days runs just don't come together."
I think it was a mix of the severe lack of sleep all week, poor eating, and then the late start yesterday morning.
The late start put Cheese and I running between the hours of 10 and 1 (HOT) and in the middle of the throngs of humanity on the lakefront from the Air and Water Show (which kicked off at 11). When coupled with all the marathon training groups, regular runners, and families with stroller from all suburbs in Illinois, there was a lot of manuvering.
I didn't eat enough (or my normal) breakfast, and I also had a GU explode (somehow) all over my hand, so I was down some nutrition. We also looped the run, in an effort to avoid North Avenue beach (where people were shoulder-to-shoulder, faces pointed to the sky and certainly not aware of runners), so the normal running route was thrown off.
And I don't know about you, but I am a STICKLER for routine - so if something is off, like my nutrition, it can make for a long day.
And now it's back to work. Ugh. Cheese also left this morning, and the next time he returns, it will be to OUR new apartment. So Moving Day is on the horizon.
I am at the point where, with each day, I tell myself, "Just get through this day/week. Then it will be better." But then at the end of said day/week, I raise my head and still see so much work ahead of me. My motivation is starting to wane - for everything, really.
I feel like, in addition to training for this marathon, I am running this "life" marathon right now.
And this is certainly not a complaint - I mean, it would be worse - I work for the State, so the fact that my program might actually not get cut on this round of budgets negotiations is reason enough to be grateful.
I am just tired.
That is all.
Is it seriously Monday already?
After what can only be described as Hell Week last week, I worked all day Saturday in private practice, and then had a 15-miler yesterday.
Needless to say, I was pretty wrecked.
The run? Not so great. But instead of beating myself up over it, I just thought, "Hey, last week the 1/2 marathon was your best, and some days runs just don't come together."
I think it was a mix of the severe lack of sleep all week, poor eating, and then the late start yesterday morning.
The late start put Cheese and I running between the hours of 10 and 1 (HOT) and in the middle of the throngs of humanity on the lakefront from the Air and Water Show (which kicked off at 11). When coupled with all the marathon training groups, regular runners, and families with stroller from all suburbs in Illinois, there was a lot of manuvering.
I didn't eat enough (or my normal) breakfast, and I also had a GU explode (somehow) all over my hand, so I was down some nutrition. We also looped the run, in an effort to avoid North Avenue beach (where people were shoulder-to-shoulder, faces pointed to the sky and certainly not aware of runners), so the normal running route was thrown off.
And I don't know about you, but I am a STICKLER for routine - so if something is off, like my nutrition, it can make for a long day.
And now it's back to work. Ugh. Cheese also left this morning, and the next time he returns, it will be to OUR new apartment. So Moving Day is on the horizon.
I am at the point where, with each day, I tell myself, "Just get through this day/week. Then it will be better." But then at the end of said day/week, I raise my head and still see so much work ahead of me. My motivation is starting to wane - for everything, really.
I feel like, in addition to training for this marathon, I am running this "life" marathon right now.
And this is certainly not a complaint - I mean, it would be worse - I work for the State, so the fact that my program might actually not get cut on this round of budgets negotiations is reason enough to be grateful.
I am just tired.
That is all.
Thursday, August 7, 2008
Bear Down
(Before I start this post - I would just like to paint this picture for you - me, trying desperately to start the big email catch-up while laying in bed at 12:57AM, with Cheese laying next to me. He is passed out and wide-mouthed, filling that air around my face with garlic-rosemary breath and ass gas. My two favorite parts? 1) When he snargles and snores, and subsequently expells these REALLY large breaths with his face about five inches from mine. 2) When he surprises me with a silent fart - the ones I can't hear but then the stink hits me out of no where. And you CANNOT even begin to imagine what this smell is like.
He tries to tell me that all boys like the smell of their own farts, but I cannot actually believe that he honestly loves the bowel smells.
I mean, I have to check my own eyebrows to make sure they haven't burned off with some of these bombs.
And in these moments, I find myself looking over at him and his cute freckles and pink lips, sleeping soundly next to me, and remind myself - I love this man.
But gosh, it would be nice to go to bed without having to put a pillow over my face.
Now back to the regularly scheduled programming.... )
"You're blog's been really lacking these days, eh?"
So says my brother, Nolan, today in a phone conversation.
But he's right, and I am sorry. I cannot begin to describe how out of control crazy things have been, and then there's always a bit of a lag when the Big Cheese comes to town (usually a day to get him settled). So now here we are, it's Friday, and this might be the first real post of the week.
But fear not - this weekend is pretty packed with things, including a half-marathon on Sunday - the Chicago Distance Classic - so plan on some pictures to go with it all.
Tonight, after a VERY LONG day - complete with a near-verbal brawl at work between me and the bosses - Cheese and I went to the Bears game. And despite the fact that my family has had season tickets for my entire life, Cheese bought me my FIRST Bears jersey of my life to wear to the game.
Opposing teams - I was so sure Cheese was going to find himself a Chicago-style ass kicking, but he behaved himself (well, that and the usual season drunks behind us didn't show tinight - so potential conflict avoided) . Until the ride home....when some douche bag in a moster truck (need I go further with this story?) started screaming at us on the way home on Lake Shore Drive about the Chiefs sucking.
Now, call me crazy, but whose the jackass when you're screaming "Loser" at the winning team? Isn't that, like, the first rule of heckling - "Make sure your team wins before you start baggin' on the other team?"
I'm just saying...
Me and my Hester 23 jersey.
Cheese from our seats.
And Cheese with me - I have decided that, while I tend to spend more time staring at other people then the actual game, I can still be considered a Bears fan because:
He tries to tell me that all boys like the smell of their own farts, but I cannot actually believe that he honestly loves the bowel smells.
I mean, I have to check my own eyebrows to make sure they haven't burned off with some of these bombs.
And in these moments, I find myself looking over at him and his cute freckles and pink lips, sleeping soundly next to me, and remind myself - I love this man.
But gosh, it would be nice to go to bed without having to put a pillow over my face.
Now back to the regularly scheduled programming.... )
"You're blog's been really lacking these days, eh?"
So says my brother, Nolan, today in a phone conversation.
But he's right, and I am sorry. I cannot begin to describe how out of control crazy things have been, and then there's always a bit of a lag when the Big Cheese comes to town (usually a day to get him settled). So now here we are, it's Friday, and this might be the first real post of the week.
But fear not - this weekend is pretty packed with things, including a half-marathon on Sunday - the Chicago Distance Classic - so plan on some pictures to go with it all.
Tonight, after a VERY LONG day - complete with a near-verbal brawl at work between me and the bosses - Cheese and I went to the Bears game. And despite the fact that my family has had season tickets for my entire life, Cheese bought me my FIRST Bears jersey of my life to wear to the game.
Opposing teams - I was so sure Cheese was going to find himself a Chicago-style ass kicking, but he behaved himself (well, that and the usual season drunks behind us didn't show tinight - so potential conflict avoided) . Until the ride home....when some douche bag in a moster truck (need I go further with this story?) started screaming at us on the way home on Lake Shore Drive about the Chiefs sucking.Now, call me crazy, but whose the jackass when you're screaming "Loser" at the winning team? Isn't that, like, the first rule of heckling - "Make sure your team wins before you start baggin' on the other team?"
I'm just saying...
Me and my Hester 23 jersey.
Cheese from our seats.
And Cheese with me - I have decided that, while I tend to spend more time staring at other people then the actual game, I can still be considered a Bears fan because:A: I live in Chicago, and so do they. So proximity says I am a fan.
Cheese after the Bears pulled ahead in the fourth.
Cheese when the Cheifs answered back and won. And despite the loss, I am still smiling, because I, unlike the poor sap in front of me who was passed out by halftime and ended up throwing up between his legs (lightweight) was not only conscious, but grateful for a lovely evening of bad food and football.
B: I love hot pretzels and they serve them at Soldier Field. Do I need to connect the dots here?
C: Don't question my rationale - Bears fans have a rep for being impulsively aggressive...
Cheese after the Bears pulled ahead in the fourth.
Cheese when the Cheifs answered back and won. And despite the loss, I am still smiling, because I, unlike the poor sap in front of me who was passed out by halftime and ended up throwing up between his legs (lightweight) was not only conscious, but grateful for a lovely evening of bad food and football./
/
So all in all, it was a fun night even though we lost. But it's preseason so who cares, right?
/
/
Tomorrow should be an pretty light day, inlcuding a long overdue and much needed massage in the afternoon. I think we might try to hit a Sox game tomorrow night. And in case there is any question about whther or not I am a Sox fan - see the aformentioned list.
And then pass the mustard.
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
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…..
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…..
Monday, August 4, 2008
Breathing but Barely
Holy crap.
Work is monkey nuts right now - I am about to pull my second all-nighter is as many weeks (gosh, how old am I again? Right - too old to be doing this).
Work is about all I can think about these days, thus my other Megan life is on hold.
Believe it or not, I am actually too busy to even give this an appropriate bitch session right now.
I will try this again tomorrow.
Sorry!
Work is monkey nuts right now - I am about to pull my second all-nighter is as many weeks (gosh, how old am I again? Right - too old to be doing this).
Work is about all I can think about these days, thus my other Megan life is on hold.
Believe it or not, I am actually too busy to even give this an appropriate bitch session right now.
I will try this again tomorrow.
Sorry!
Friday, August 1, 2008
Long Week's Gratitude
This weekend, I am grateful for long runs, having a job, awesome blogger friends, the future and Cheese, belly laughs, my beautiful nephew, the family that raises him, my own mom and the children she raised, and my health.
Have a wonderful weekend!
Have a wonderful weekend!
Thursday, July 24, 2008
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.
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.
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