Goodbye

I finally did it. I quit and my last day is a week from today. That's 9 more hours of work, but who's counting? I got what I needed out of JC, and now it's time to get out. They haven't given me much of value for a long time, and I have nothing left to give them. I got into it to try on a career in nutrition and fitness, to see what it would be like to consult people on doing what I did to lose weight, get fit and feel strong. I'm grateful to my instincts for telling me to ease in, to get something related that wouldn't commit me to anything, because it turns out it's not the field for me.
I'll miss a few of my clients. There are ones who will be successful and ones who won't, and they know who they are as well as I do. I'm not as bitter as I thought I would be to leave, but I'm excited. I won't know what to do with all the free time I'll have only working 40+ hours a week, down from 48 or so. I have lofty dreams of gym time with set training schedules, time to read and go to bed at the same time every night, cooking dinner instead of carrying it with me all day to nuke between clocking out at one job and in at another. Knowing me I'll probably get restless, just doing one job everyday, but I'll have more time to keep myself motivated and interested in other things, too. I'll miss the tiny cakes, though. And the Mac & Cheese.

May

I've done a lot this month, but staring at a computer screen all day, and then for another hour or so at home just hasn't seemed appealing, and my blog has suffered for it. Bryan's been home for a while now, we're just now starting to settle in and get used to the idea, but I'm still distracted and much less productive because I've been spending my time enjoying having my best friend around. My house isn't as clean, my laundry isn't put away right off the line or out of the dryer and my meals are rarely homemade, but I'm happily disorganized. I would like to be better prepared for the near future-lunches packed, clothes chosen the night before-but somehow they don't seem like priorities when I could be going for a walk in a new area of town, petting clydesdale's noses, or getting a pedicure with my favorite people in St Louis. Sometimes I get cranky and have to clean before I can do anything fun, but for the most part I'm fine with the chaos of everyday life.
I saved the life of a bumble bee recently. He was banging his little head against the window screen, to no avail of course, and had worn himself out. When I found him I wasn't sure he was alive, but I saw his antennae searching when I blew on him, so I did some quick thinking, and ran down to the kitchen to make up some sugar water. I took the window screen down so it was flat, and tipped the tiniest bowl I could find toward him to tempt him, and it worked! He sniffed and searched, found the lip of the bowl, reached out his little straw-like mouth peice, stuck out his tongue and lapped it up! Within 5 minutes he had perked up. He just kept drinking, and was gone within 30 minutes. I don't know how long his life span was after that-but I know how I would've felt had I left him to die without doing anything, or even 'put him out of his misery' and that solidified my determination to do what I could. It was really rewarding to come into the room later and he was nowhere to be seen.
I finally did the Anheuser-Busch tour the other weekend. Bryan and I went on a whim because the helipad by the arch was still closed for the season. It was pretty amazing to me, but not in the way you would think. What amazed me was the money involved, and the people that were pouring through the doors to get a tiny taste-literally and figuratively-of this company that has almost become its own culture. The lifestyle of the beer drinker-the marketing and merchandise-is so foreign to me. People were waiting expectantly and impatiently to see what's behind this beverage that's so important to them. There was a busload of 40-year-old fraternity boys that looked more excited to start the tour than they probably did when their poor wives said "it's time." It's beer. It smells nasty, tastes worse, makes me feel sick and dizzy, and causes a lot of puddles around town-in stairwells, elevators, under bushes...I just don't get it, I guess. The best part was the first stop on the tour-the Clydesdale stables. One mare-Claire, was so big it took my breath away. I couldn't have reached the top of her haunches on my tiptoes with my arms stretched as far as they could go. And her head, obviously, was higher than that by two feet, at least! They do what WE tell them? Somehow that seems backwards. Next weekend we get to go to Austin and explore, wrap my head around how it might feel to live there, and see Esther-my favorite person in Texas. Pictures of Austin and a lot of bats to come, hopefully relatively soon!

Happy Mother's Day

Unlike most daughters my age, I aim to be pretty much just like my mom. She knows what's important. So many of us focus on things that we have decided will make us happy, or avoid things we think won't, and she slides through somehow knowing it's all small stuff. She's independent, funny, classy and yet goofy, and inexplicably content. The woman never has a bad day; it drives me crazy.
It's funny how most of us pass up a peer-stage with parents, and move straight on to the more parental guarding, guiding and judging stage. We know what they should do, how they should act, and when they're ready for new things. I definitely do this with mom, but she usually throws me for a loop, and makes me think I couldn't dream of being a step ahead of her. Sometimes she's 'set in her ways' as they say-unable or unwilling to see that something may have come along that could change things for the better. I explain it to her in a way I hope doesn't sound condescending, and she gets a light in her eyes that tells you not only that she gets it, but that she understands every aspect of it-ones you don't even understand-the chemistry or physics behind it that makes you think she could've invented it herself. Other times she comes home with ideas or things I didn't even think she knew existed (a Nintendo DS comes to mind).
I think of myself as worldly and know that I don't really NEED help with anything-there are a lot of things I've done by myself (plumbing, electrical work, car maintenance, etc.) that I never thought I could do alone-but I find myself asking her everyday questions, ones I know a mother will be able to tell her daughter; and wonder how other people figure stuff out. Like what's the difference between poaching and boiling? Do grown-up bees eat honey? What's better- a CD or a mutual fund? I think I just don't want to take for granted this wealth of knowledge from an infinitely forgiving and friendly place. Why look it up on Wikipedia when you can make someone happy by asking them to share their expertise? That, and Wiki wouldn't know that my grade-school secretary/nurse/den mother's name was Ms. Schnoebelen (strike of pure genius, remembering that one). There are other times, though (what's this Hoo-Hah stuff?), when she looks to me, and then I feel like I'm on my way to being able to pass this oral exam of life.

Do you hear that!?

LOOK OUT! IT'S DONUT DAY!

Pssst

I guess I've been initiated into the gossip ring at work. A well-known gossip hound from our team approached me today with a thinly veiled fire behind her eyes, 'disappointed to be the one to tell me' about two members of our team that had been 'gossiping about me.' Turns out I really let her down when it wasn't juicy at all, in fact it would be hard to have any ammunition against me, as I hardly talk to anyone about anything, let alone all of my escapades and scandals...oh, wait, I'm boring and paranoid about getting caught rolling a stop sign in the middle of the night, wait, again-I go to bed early. Whatever.

I think Bryan's actually coming home soon!! yay. It's been such a hard decision-making process, especially because there was no right decision, I don't envy him. The only thing that matters to me is that he'll get better, more competent training and testing here than he would in bass-ackwards Florida. I'm sad that he has to leave his friends, and I'm trying so hard not to nag him about getting on the road, but it's been almost 4 months, I'm a little antsy to see the person connected to the voice I know better than my own (since it's in my head, and stuff). I'll be worthless for a few days when he gets home, I'm sure, like a kid with a new puppy that can't stand to go to school and leave home alone all day. We'll get to go to the zoo, and movies, and out to eat, and for walks in the evenings, and not talk on the phone-it'll be great. It'll be an adjustment to deal with someone else's stuff in the house again, but he's worth it, I guess.

April Fool's!

Naw, I didn't eat a Whopper...I did run 6 miles, but then I came home and had a meal that was so healthy it's disgusting. Still veg-o, no slips yet.

Welcome, April!

I'm still marveling at the speed and tenacity with which Spring has taken over our little part of the world. The conditions have been perfect for things to grow; Warm, humid, a good part of most days there is plenty of light, and then a couple days of steady rain. My pansies are flourishing, and so is my pride. I know it has very little to do with the care I took planting them, but so far every little stem looks strong and viable. I've been known to have a brown, withering thumb, so I can breathe easier knowing they've got a good home.
I had a much better week at work-I was very successful at ignoring my obnoxious neighbors, except to get a good chuckle out of something ridiculous they said or confessed to, which was a few times a day. More people talked to me, so I actually felt bigger and more attractive than a toadstool. I actually got out of the house and socialized twice this week, and had a good, relaxing time on both occasions. Friday night I took a couple of coworkers up on their offer of a late dinner and drinks, which fit in perfectly with a nice fast run after work, a trip to Trader Joe's for some nice cheese, crackers and fruit, which I enjoyed thoroughly at the get-together. We played a game called 'Apples to Apples' which I need to get and play with some people I know well. It was fun with them, a little addictive, but I didn't know anyone well enough to get into it like you could, bringing in inside jokes, poking fun at politics and favorite people and such. The gist of the game is that one person flips a card over from the stack of cards with adjectives on them (obnoxious, talented, selfish, etc.) and everyone else has a handful of noun cards (car horns, Quentin Tarantino, The Vatican, etc.) and the people with the noun cards pick one out of their hand that they think the adjective-card flipper would choose, for whatever reason. My choice for obnoxious was a close contest between black velvet (as in +paint=tacky Elvis tribute) or televangelists. Frightening was a sweep by The Far Right. I guess I'm pretty transparent, because the people there chose really good ones for me, but I had lousy cards and couldn't get my own opinions out of the way. I ran the circumference of the largest city park today, our very own Forest Park. It was about 6 miles and I had a strong, constant headwind for about a third of that, which of course coincided with the hilliest part. Bastards! Why does that always happen to ME!? Anyway, I sucked down some GU and Gatorade at about mile 4 and felt great the rest of the way. I strategically went clockwise around the park so that I could end by going down the longest hill in the world (well, it feels like it going up). I love my Turtle V. Hare mental races. People that have the look of someone determined to go out and enjoy the day with a long run although they haven't run all winter at least whiz past me, some having the audacity to grunt "On your left" only to have me pass them at my 9:30 pace a ways up the road. Often this happens over and over with the same runner, so I wonder if they are in a mental contest with me, too, or if I'm the only one that sees pretty much everyone as some type of competition. Probably not. I know for a fact that in my Central Park 5-miler I was a pace-setter for two women that kept running until they got a few paces ahead of me, then walked, then caught back up to me, at least 10 times. I didn't mind. I was much more proud of the fact that I'd run every step and felt great than they probably were for sprinting across the finish line 100 paces in front of me, gasping and looking for the port o' johns.
It's opening day at the New Busch stadium, today, so everybody at the park was decked out, I even saw a dog wearing a Pujols jersey. He-heh, Pujols.
I was so proud of myself for my new longest-distance run that I wanted something to really celebrate, so I stopped at Burger King and got a Whopper, fries and a real Coke. $6 bucks of greasy bliss.

Weekend Warriors, Unite! (Somewhere Else)

This photo shows off just a small part of my very productive weekend. I have such a small, simple life right now and I just love it. I know I should want more of a social life, and I miss B and mom horribly for a moment or two a day, but I'm loving being left alone and feeling like I can slough off the work week hustle and bustle with quiet and methodical activity. Yesterday I went for a walk instead of driving to Barnes and Noble and Macy's, and intended to be out for a couple of hours. As it turned out, I walked all over our little part of the city and logged about 11 miles. When I got home I was thirsty and happily exhausted from knowing that I absorbed all of the beautiful weather and sunshine without sitting in a car all day. You see so much more when passing at 3 miles an hour rather than 30. I smiled at a couple in a cute Scandinavian-style house hanging out their window to measure the emergency ladder they'd just bought, caught the last moments of halftime in a field hockey game where one team was co-ed, caught a glimpse through a fence of an old Coca-Cola sign that looked like it must have hung outside a soda fountain or general store that I'm sure was collectible and someone probably had big plans for at some point that has now eroded and become a part of the backyard 'for now' area, and saw so much COLOR! It's funny how you forget over the winter that everything has it's own color the rest of the year. I walked by our neighborhood garden store and checked out the pansies, and went back today and picked out my favorites, for planting in my window boxes. Just when I feel like I'm tired of the noise of life, the birds start chirping again, and you can hear kids laughing outside, and bikes tick past the windows early in the morning before the church traffic picks up. I can proudly say that probably 80% of my weekend was spent outdoors, fueling up for the week ahead, when I'll use those reserves as I sit in artificial lighting surrounded by 3 four-foot-tall gray cloth walls and two computer screens, buzzing away diligently. I've already planned my escape, of course. Promptly at 5 o'clock I'll steal away to the restrooms to change into my super-hero gear (savior only to myself) and dash out the door for a run at a nearby park. I hope everyone's Spring is as refreshing as mine has been.

Blu Cat's Perspective:

The usefulness of training gear.
Swimming suit, goggles and sunscreen: $100. Running shorts, sports bra and sleeveless top:$65. A good nap: Priceless.

Whew!

Where does the time go?! I can't believe it's been a week just since that last post. Each moment has become precious since taking on two jobs. I've been fighting the urge to just come home after work and sit. I'm a creature of pure inertia-if I allow myself to sit for more than a few minutes, that's all I'll do. On the other hand, when I don't my house and clothes are clean, the groceries are purchased and put away, my meals, clothes and workouts are planned for the week, and I even got a long run and a lunch out with a friend/muffin baking session in. I know I'm a newbie and there are downsides that are evident, but I'm digging the M-F, 9-5 life, as long as I can keep up and stay over-prepared for the near future.
I like my job. I don't love it, and I'm glad for that, too. I'm afraid of getting stuck before I find a place and an occupation that I'm truly happy with. Or at least content. My work consists of sitting in a cubicle in front of a fancy computer with two flat-screen monitors, searching out and inputting important information in the early stages of home foreclosure proceedings. Not a happy subject, but kind of interesting. Some people had to have been high when they signed the paperwork for their new home (some as few as 4 months ago, and they're already so far into default that the bank has gotten us involved), and some cases you can tell probably have a heartbreaking story behind them.
It's a strange office. Looks a LOT like the one on the TV show 'The Office,' but we have little walls around our desks. I have two pictures of Bryan, and a picture of me in my 2nd tri, and I made a little window out of a landscape picture and a piece of paper cut to look like window panes. I crave sunshine. We have windows-big ones-but they're 50 feet away from me and around a corner. I sit away from my 'team' because there aren't enough cubicle spaces,and I can't stand the people I sit near. We can listen to headphones and that is a godsend. The people in the cubicles around me are obnoxious, flaky, constantly verbal creeps. The women talk and act like they're in junior high (their S's hurt my ears-they're valley-girl style), complete with tantrums about things not being 'fair'-one actually complained to her boss in a loud whisper while stomping one foot and thrusting her fists toward the ground that it 'sucked' that they had to change a meeting schedule so that they weren't all away from the phones at the same time. If she'd seen me laughing and shaking my head in disbelief at her behavior I think I would've gotten slapped. The other day some poor soul decided to end it all by jumping off a bridge. Their comments about it were all comedic, bitter remarks about how their commute was affected, and that they couldn't believe that the person would pick rush hour to off themselves. They're soulless freaks. They also whistle non-tunes, sing things like 'Danke Schoen' off-key, and remark about every phone call they make, every stupid mistake they make (they make a LOT, it seems) and every bite of food they've ever taken. They karaoke in their free time, I probably don't need to mention-and if anything involves booze or doughnuts, count them in. I think I would learn to live with it if I didn't know that at some point I'll be moving closer to the people that are on my team, and do their jobs quietly, respectfully, and nearly gossip-free, as far as I can tell. I can't wait for that day. It's only going to be a move of 100 feet or so, but I think I'll make a grand, sweeping exit when the day comes. I think a gremlin will find it's way into their area around the same time. If they could find a reason to like themselves, I think they'd be much better people. Maybe.
But I have a routine, and my own area to keep as I may, and WEEKENDS.

Me, in a nutshell...

Read my VisualDNA™ Get your own VisualDNA™

Movin' on up...to somewhere...

So, I feel more like a grown-up today. I interviewed Friday for a position in a law firm and had a very strange feeling as I left. Mom, Bryan, and the woman at the head-hunting firm all asked me how it went. I just kept repeating 'I have NO idea.' I was frustrated to the point of rambling at even what had happened during the interview. The women who interviewed me were distant(physically and interpersonally-the conference table was HUGE),casual to the point of indifference and seemingly unprepared. I was kind of glad for the last part because I hate those 'tell me about the last time you...' interviews. I just don't remember things catagorically like that. Anyways, it was the first time I've walked out of an interview feeling unsure, confused, and downright curious. Because I had gotten the tip through an agency I didn't know much about the position that they were hiring for, and although the interviewers gave some information about it, I still couldn't picture the duties and responsibilities at all. I had a whole weekend to sit around and think about it. If the interview had definitely gone one way or the other, I wouldn't have fretted about it at all. Having little investment in it either way, since I couldn't really picture it, I couldn't even figure out for myself if I really wanted it or not. It would mean a great deal more money, a great deal less time, and a schedule shake up at JC (NOT a bad thing), but I knew something else was bound to come down the pike if this fell through.
But I got it. I have no idea how I pulled that off; if they really liked me and thought I was qualified or driven over another applicant, or if the others didn't even show but either way, I'm in the money. I'm a M-F 9-to-fiver. I've let the idea sink in all day now, and keep realizing how this changes things. In little ways, like I'll have to revamp my workout schedule and miss those late-morning runs before work, and in big ways, like this might mean the end of the chain of unskilled-little-more-than-minimum-wage jobs I've had until now. So here's my plan so that if I don't do it everyone can bug me until I do. I want to work a decent paying job like the one I got today, save a boatload of money in a few months, and move. My tentative relocation destination is Austin, Texas (see photo in post #1). I took the photo in December when I was visiting the lovely Esther (and Ben, of course), and pretty much fell in love. I'd heard it was a great place and I knew Bryan had always wanted to check it out, so I tooled around on foot most of a day and got a great vibe. Didn't see Lance Armstrong or Matthew McConaughey, but hey, if they like it, I'm sure it's cool. So what do you think, y'all (gotta get used to colloquialisms sooner or later, right?)? It's a scary proposition, moving somewhere you don't know anyone to make a life doing something you're not sure you want to do forever-but people do it everyday. Right? Right. I'll keep you posted.

I'm Good Enough, I'm Thtrong Enough...& Gosh Darnit, People Like Me!

Ever have one of those days? I can't remember where I read that this sculpture is, but I think I could stare at it for hours, feeling self-conscious and waving my hand in front of its face every once in a while. It's thought provoking, and I knew I wanted to use it in a post at some point, but I couldn't figure out how until today. It has a lot of impact and speaks volumes about whatever subject you could conceive, but I think it would be entirely different and more specific had the sculptor decided to form a woman. I relate to it in that everyone, but especially women in this society are ruled by shame. There are no set standards today because we have come to believe that 'there's always room for improvement.' Whether it be our bodies, our eating habits, our spirituality, our careers, our possessions or lack thereof, we are never good enough.
I went out for a run yesterday after work. In theory it would be a wonderful, life-affirming, calming and energizing endeavor. The weather was beautiful, my training regimen left room for just a short, peaceful jog, and I had great music on my iPod. As I started, though, I realized I wasn't falling into my natural stride within a few meters as usual, my legs felt heavy and unruly, and worst of all, my shorts kept getting shorter, and shorter, and shorter. Let the floodgates of negativity fall open as they may, and damned if I didn't make myself miserable thinking of how much potential this run had, and how disappointing I was that I couldn't reproduce the gloriously fast and easy 5-miler of two days prior. I heard myself saying I was probably grossing out innocent bystanders with my jiggly thighs sticking out of my ever-shorter spandex shorts, that I was weak, and out of shape, and would never be able to reach any sort of potential, let alone feel good about race participation. And those group rides I was thinking about joining? The masters swim meetings and jogging clubs? They'd laugh at me and wonder how I could think I deserved to even show up with their elite selves.
But wait a minute. How far did I just run? Two miles. How far did I used to run? Oh, yeah-a mile might as well have been a marathon. And how much exercise have I done this week? Two-a-days three days in a row, including one kick-ass weight lifting session? And how many calories have I been meticulously counting out every day? A measly 1200 while burning half that in a couple of hours everyday?! I wonder why I'm EXHAUSTED? I mentally stepped out of my body, turned toward myself and slapped the 'poor me' look off my silly face. If my best friends ever talked to me the way I do I'd never talk to them again. So I shut myself up, enjoyed the rest of the walk home on a truly beautiful evening (it's about freakin' time), popped open a hard cider that had been hiding in the back of the fridge (oooh-extra calories! Gasp!) and sat outside like a normal person, taking in the world and not obsessing about my next workout, the numbers on the scale, the calories in my next meal, or even what needed to get done in the house. When I finally came inside and walked past the mirror I noticed that my former self would have killed for these muscly thighs, and that in fact skin alone jiggles, if one bounces enough. I decided, too, that I deserved those creepy but somehow still a little flattering catcalls I got from a car full of guys speeding past me as I crossed an alley.
So I think I'll wake up early one Sunday morning soon and head down to the women's ride I heard about, and I know there's a cheap jogging club around town somewhere. I think I'll take my own advice for a minute and be good to myself. I may want to improve, but a bad day or two does not a failure make. Sadly, I knew that this blog would be an appropriate place to air these frustrations because I know I'm not alone in these feelings. We're all too hard on ourselves. Go be a good friend to #1.

At the Car Wash, Yeah!

Yes, that is a 15-foot icicle (stalactite?)at my neighborhood car wash. I was driving by and couldn't resist snapping a shot of something you don't see everyday-especially in a place that prides itself on being on the north edge of the Mason-Dixon line. Notice the caution tape across the entrance. They actually have to tell people that this bay is out of order?! That's like the Milk jug that I picked up at the grocery yesterday that has a label reading 'Allergy Information: Contains Milk.' Nice.

S.A.D., Anyone?

This is a beach not far from home, and the photos were taken at about noon. Can't you just hear the malevolent whistle of the wind, and feel the icy miniature snowballs like needles on your exposed skin? For all of you in warmer climes, I just wanted to let you know how lucky you are. You may miss home, but this kind of seeping cold that makes your jaw ache, your eyes tear and then freeze, your fingers feel numb and then on fire--it's not so romantic when you're in it.

Mark your calendars...

For 2/23/07. I know most of you are already looking forward as much as I am to the release of 'Reno 911: Miami' but for those of you who are unfamiliar, you have obviously been living in a comedy cave. Come out, dear ones, and see the light that is stupid, rude, bumbling and incompetent policing! Watch for 'Terry', my favorite flaming-gay rollerskating petty criminal, especially.

Will it be worth $8 and an evening of your life? Maybe not, especially if you don't like stupid humor. But hey, laughing makes you live longer, right? In that case, I'll be around forEVER, SUCKERS!

Oh, Puh-leeze.

This storm brought St. Louis to a standstill. This beautiful, powdery 3-or-4 inch accumulation of snow closed schools and businesses; including my own, swamped every grocery store and cleaned their shelves of milk and bread and cost hundreds of thousands of dollars in time, energy and repair costs for accidents throughout the metro area. I know that everyone says that where they come from it's (fill in the blank per appropriate condition), but come on-3 inches? 20 degrees? This is not a big deal, St. Louisans! What would these people do in Iowa? Duluth? Buffalo, for heaven's sake?! They love their DRAMA here.

Happy Valentine's Day!

I know it's a Hallmark holiday kept alive by bitter housewives, but isn't it fun to take a day out of the year to show people that you love and appreciate them and not look silly?! I'm such an optimist I make myself sick. You're probably all picturing me wearing a tutu and carrying a sparkly wand, prancing around saying 'turn that frown upside-down!'and well, you'd have a pretty accurate imagination. I would have a better day, however, if my valentine were less than 1600 miles away.

Paranoid? Me?

O.K, it's officially a conspiracy. Yesterday I got the only squeaky treadmill. I switched after a mile or so, and let someone else feel self-conscious. I guess I'm "them" now.

Awww...

"Eternal Embrace"
http://news.yahoo.com/s/nm/20070206/sc_nm/italy_embrace_dc

I am dork...hear me screech

So, I'm on the elliptical machine at the gym yesterday at 6:15 a.m, minding my own business, still bleary-eyed from the cold, and enjoying anonymity in a sea of sweating bodies. After 10 minutes or so I start noticing over my music an intermittent screech- someone's obviously dragging their feet on a treadmill and each time they take a step, their sole is making this intrusive, repetitive noise. I hate that. It goes away, finally. Then, a minute or so later, it's back in full force. I pop out one headphone, localize the sound to my left and rear, and try to go back to my workout and block it out. Gone! Nope, it's back. Dude! Pick up your feet! I start looking around, politely letting the offender know that I can hear it, and it's getting old. I can't find it, and the only machines around me are sporadically-used weight machines. I keep going, getting truly annoyed. At minute 29 I make the sad realization that it's my machine, screeching on the higher-resistance "hill" portions of my workout and silent on the lower-resistance cycles. That's probably why when I walked in this was the only machine not being used, and why as I pumped away I kept noticing that the people on machines near me kept leaving, and weren't replaced. I had been making a fool of myself looking around and probably rolling my eyes when I couldn't find the sound and everyone else knew it was coming from about 2 feet behind me. Well, you won't find me at the gym early on Thursdays for a couple of weeks. Good thing I can laugh at myself, or I could be feeling really dumb. Oh, wait-I still do.

da catz...

These are my non-deductible (*sigh*) dependents. Blu Snuffluppagus Silvertoes, III (AKA "Blu")has a very strict daily schedule. It consists of rousing me, eating, yelling to play with the water in the sink while I try to brush my teeth around him, sleeping in a cold room all day, eating, sleeping by the radiator as evening falls, eating, chasing his sister during their nightly sugar rush, doing his caterwaul water call over his bowl in the hallway, romancing and sniffing it for about 5 minutes before finally drinking, and promptly retiring on the bed or with his feet under the radiator once again (he likes to be spontaneous with this final choice). The exception to this schedule is of course when he gets his bath-no, not when he bathes himself, but when he is forced under the faucet in the sink and comes out fuzzy, deflated, emasculated and smelling like a baby. Those days are spiced up by sulking, licking the areas of his body he can reach and/or isn't too lazy to get to, and running away if we're in the same room.

Princess Bella Petunia Slipperfeet (AKA "Bella"), on the other hand, has a malleable schedule. It pretty much just revolves around me. She's neurotic, needy and startles every time the wind changes direction (she hates noise, you know). People that are around her for any length of time go through the same affection process. First it's cute and flattering that she wants to rub on you and sit on you constantly, then it gets real old. Typing around a cat gets old; getting woken up by loud, wet purring and whiskers tickling your face as she signals to you that she needs to get under the covers and spoon with you, invariably as you finally really get to sleep gets maddening; and seeing her pout, plead and finally wail as you walk out the door, surely abandoning her forever, gets heartbreaking. Then you start to wonder at her capacity for love, however. How can a being be so infatuated and unconditional for so long? What has she been through that she sees ME as her savior? The one who whines loudly as I pull up the covers, fully awake, and get her fur out of my face as she settles her tiny head on the pillow; The one who wants to scream when all I want to do is check my darn email and can't see the screen!

They're EXPENSIVE (did I mention they need Rx FOOD?), messy, high-maintenance, sometimes smelly, have ruined furniture and clothes, are completely ungrateful, and so darn cute. Who needs kids?

LIES! They're all LIES!

I love my iPod!

I'm getting back in shape for this triathlon season, and love seeing the results when I sync up my nano to the Nike+ site, but I must admit I've gotten a little obsessed. I have a total of 4 workout logs, 2 for just running and 2 for lists of everything I'm doing and schedules for raising my mileage, weights lifted, speed, and pool distance. It's so easy to forget the last time you took a day off when you're doing two-a-days and having a life.

I Googled myself yesterday to see if this blog would pop up [it didn't :'^( ], and saw my name in a list of 'endurance athletes' for my 5 miler in NYC last year. That was fun, I sound like somebody!

It's an easy-run, upper-body workout day, I love those (I just hate how sore my arms will be tomorrow-I hate getting back into lifting!), gotta go!

Brrrrr...

my bedroom window this blustery, flurry-y (?) morning...

A night in Bizarreville

These two images may seem completely unrelated, and that's because they are. They do a decent job of describing my night, though-without boring you with the thousand words involved. Well...decent, but not good enough, sorry. Here goes.

Mom and I went to dinner and a movie tonight-I'm sure I speak for both of us when I say we felt very civilized and organized-coordinating our schedules to do the same things at the same time. Dinner was at our favorite Mongolian BBQ where we noticed straight away that there was very little socializing going on among the guests. It seemed so strange; it was a Saturday night at a popular dinner hour, and the restaraunt was full of families, but the only voices we heard were of children, young enough to be too busy entertaining themselves to be bothered with the business of eating. We were seated in the corner, and I was facing the rest of the patrons, stealthily people-watching as one of the small, thin, deeply accented waitresses brought a pitcher of water to fill our glasses. It was all-you-can-eat-crablegs night, and the eating was fierce-you might say competitive.

As I sat there contemplating the abundance around me I started thinking about what the others must be thinking. The patrons certainly weren't talking, so there must have been some brain activity going on behind the scenes. The parents of the morbidly obese children, from 5 to 17 (their ages were hard to gauge, they were so big); what did they think of their family's furtive attitude toward unhealthy food, and did they take any responsibility? The thin waitresses, speaking in their native tongue comfortably, giggling and watching the melee ensue; were they mocking us? I guess it just distilled my feelings-clarified them as the cooks had done to the butter that was dripping off of my fellow American's chins. It's not worth it. I've been big and I've been small, and I can tell you that the best cake (pizza, chocolate, burrito, etc) in the world isn't worth to me how it feels to be strong and willful and COMFORTABLE. It literally made me watch my choices and portions. I know I sound haughty-that's okay, it's my truth.

Then there was the movie. 'Notes on a Scandal' was creepy, shocking, insightful and somehow, not the least bit overdone. I have a newfound reverence for Dame Judi Dench. Her character was calculating, opportunistic, manipulative, evil, bizarre and yet vulnerable (can you hear the gravelly, private cackle?). I highly recommend it, even though it made my skin crawl. It was a good night that spotlighted (with a gazillion candle-power bulb) some of my feelings on moderation, health and boundaries.

Question:

Does everyone's childhood smell like old library books?

Race Day

This was a proud moment for me. August 20, 2006, at 17.9 or so of 18 frustrating and technically flawed miles, after a 450 yd. swim during which I couldn't breathe ( I was soon thereafter diagnosed with allergy-related asthma; I love St. Louis), and before a 5k (3.1 mi) run that was hillier, and therefore much harder, than the 5 miler in Central Park just two months prior. It was officially my 2nd triathlon, my first being a longer swim ( I could breath for that one), shorter bike and run that was noncompetitive and truly fun. Two of my biggest fans were there for both (I couldn't ask Dad to drive 7 hours to see me as I ran/rode by waving-but he was there in spirit), and were so proud and so patient when I was stressed and cranky for the "real" one, pictured above.

I felt so cool when I got to the check-in area at 6:30 that morning, got my race packet and start time, and got my number written down my right arm and leg in big, permanent black marker. If they had told me that tattooing the numbers was an option, I would've had to have a think. I tried to act the part, warming up and concentrating, all the while trying not to wobble as I walked, feeling the butterflies doing tumbling routines in my stomach. I just didn't want to come in dead last, or wipe out on the railroad tracks ( I wiped out, but not on the tracks-my chain came off going up the steepest of many hills about 4 miles in), or drown in what I knew would be an ugly, gasping, rhythmless swim. Above all, I wanted to finish. I knew I had trained for it, and trained well, so not finishing for any reason would be all that much harder, knowing that I could do it all on a normal training day. Race day is different, though-the energy is intoxicating. It's much easier to doubt yourself when everyone is so amped up on adrenaline and nervousness.

I did it obviously-my official time was 2:05:57 (my start time was 32 min after the first participant), and my times leave room for much improvement. Next year, breathing easily and strong on hills, I'll come in first place-ahead of me. And then, in keeping with tradition, bring on the pasta!

How many people can call themselves triathletes? I wear it proudly. Now get out from behind the computer and go train for something! As my old PE teacher used to say during our yearly timed-mile drill "your body is LOVING this!"

I highly recommend training for something you could never have imagined, and take a couple of great cheerleaders with you-thanks, again Mom, Bryan, et al!

We

So, it's been a couple of days since I started this little experiment. I guess I'm a blogger, now. So, my sweetie is a chopper pilot. I write that knowing he'll cringe as he reads it-but hey, at least I didn't say "driver." I've been supportive in a bumbling way since he started looking for money for training, and actually going after his dream as if he didn't have a care in the world. I know it was scary, but you wouldn't know it, looking at him. He's got the best game face of anyone I've ever known because he's got such a sweet face, he ends up looking innocent and curious, when in fact he's reading every person and every situation with the instincts of a mountain cat. Sounds dramatic and kind of silly-but really-he's so good at assessing people and situations for what they truly are.

So anyways, he's plugging away at his training with a tenacity I couldn't muster-he's had more obstacles and roadblocks than Navy Seal-and it's paying off. He looked through his log book and he's got over 100 hours, much of that as Pilot-in-command (sounds so cool) and is over halfway through the training that will get him a job as an instructor to build hours to become more employable. Did you catch that? He'll be an instructor BEFORE he even gets a decent-paying, stable job. That's how it goes with professional pilots, and it scares me to death that his instructors are still so new to this, AND the first thing he'll have to deal with is fresh students!! I trust him more than anyone, but it's the other guys that freak me right out.

He's doing all these crazy things in training to get him ready for crazy things in the real world I guess. One of his exercises (that I almost wish he hadn't shared with me) is my idea of a nightmare. He's learning to fly by instruments alone, which means that he wears a hood that blocks him from looking outside the cockpit (I hate that word). That's scary enough. Now his instructor is having him put his head between his knees while he (the instructor) gets the helicopter all off kilter and out of whack with his flightplan. Then Bryan pops up and using instruments only, gets the helicopter back on track, and keeps it from falling out of the sky. Within 5 seconds. It took you almost that long just to read "within 5 seconds".
I guess I haven't mentioned to many people, let alone here, that I'm a nervous flyer. My dad's a helo pilot too, and I was never scared to fly with him, and he's answered my questions about the physics of flying a gazillion times and Bryan has as well, but I still don't really get it, and I HATE turbulence. So to get all discombobulated and then have to save it, all while having your line of vision impaired?! I don't think so. I wouldn't even sign on, and if I was forced, I'd totally cheat and look out the windscreen. Forget about it.

But I've been supportive. I'm ignorant about FAA regulations, but I've helped him with studying them. I'm clueless about instruments and what they do and how (gyroscopes are cool, though-thanks, dad). VORs, vectors, RPMs, there's so much jargon that goes right over my head. I've never understood the desire to pilot an aircraft (a 22 just flew right past the window as I wrote that!) but, being exposed to the behind-the-scenes aspects of the industry my whole life has been cool, unique for sure, but I've only ever been kind of a casual-but-interested observer. Except for that month that I decided to be an F-14 fighter pilot, it made sense at the time-Top Gun was big, the whole thing seemed really enticing. Those of you that know me can probably picture me with my dad and his buddies, or with Bryan and his, quietly watching and smiling and nodding, the whole time wide-eyed and watching, pretty much lost but taking everything in.
So the other day Bryan and I had been talking about all the flyboys we've come into contact with, that inflate their own egos by talking about, living, breathing, dreaming about flying and everything that goes with it. You know the type-can't have a normal conversation for all the techy-talk. Every field has them, always pining for the new gear, the latest innovation, or obsessed with the old classics. What struck me was that all these guys seemed to love chewing gum. They'd stand there, cocky and self-conscious, hands-in-pockets or clicking a pen, or something to occupy themselves, talking shop and smacking away on gum. My dad and Bryan are exceptions to the poser, can't-talk-about-anything-else stereotype. They've both got the skills and the knowledge to be confident in themselves to the degree that they can be whole people, with other conversation topics on their minds. I've gotta say it though, I love you, Dad, but you were never more butch than when you were around your guard buddies, in your camo-green "zoom-bag" outfit, with a peice of Extra clicking between your jaws. It was just one clearly defined side of you and it was great.

So my supportive self, gabbing away with Bryan in one of our many existential, contemplative, hours-long conversations mentioned the "Gum Hypothesis." It had been one of those unclear memories, just an atmospheric, tertiary detail, really. One of those things that if you were to set up a scene from an event in your past that you would include without thinking: naturally the intimidating men talking about things I can't understand are chewing gum, I mean, what else would they be doing? Here's another example ( I warned you I'm random): one day I was recalling how my mom would deal with me wanting things in stores and being a brat if I couldn't have them. I just quoted her without knowing where the quote came from; I just blurted out "I can't hear you when you're whining."

So I told him that maybe that was the key to feeling like you're the shiznit and becoming the cocky flyboy--chewing gum, maybe any oral-fixation quencher could be substituted, like a toothpick. We had a good laugh, and I didn't think about it again until a couple of days later when Bryan brought it up again. He had mentioned the Gum Hypothesis to his instructor, an Italian Gent named Damiano. I don't think Damiano realized that I intended it as a joke, because he suggested they try it, and they did. Walked straight over to the shop, bought some Wrigley's and went for a flight.
Here's the kicker-Damiano told Bryan it worked-he thought Bryan flew better with gum. See, I am a good girlfriend.

'ello

I write this first post as I argue with myself about why in the world I would create a blog. No good reason, nothing exciting going on in my life, and no one to read it. It's the posterity of it, though, I suppose. The fact that if someone random found it, they could have a chuckle at the mundane aspects of my life, and if someone I care about sees it, they'll know what's going on in my random, question-addled brain in a sporadic fashion.

So what's going on in my life right now? A relatively decent amount, actually. Work at JC has been relatively profitable. The keyword being relatively. It's feast or famine, I've learned the hard way. Turnover is about 85%, as Bryan says, in his amazingly quick-witted way "those are Burger King numbers." So true. So my days there are numbered. I've done my homework on the Nutrition and Fitness career path and it's not for me.

I've tried entering a career field three ways:
1. Go to school 'cause you've got nothing better to do and you're supposed to go to college straight from HS. Drift around anonymously for a while, trying every field in the school's catalog until you have enough hours to have a degree but no cohesive field of study (African Art, Museum Studies, Biology, Anthropology, Statistics, etc, etc, etc).
2. Go back to school after a break from going to school and working full time. Make the decision to move to go to said school and actually move within a month of the decision. Apply and get accepted to a program that sounds great, has cool toys and fun people. Have a great time and make great friends while in school, knowing but not accepting until 6 credit hours from graduation that you have no skills or desire to make your education a career.
3. Think of something that fits your lifestyle completely, has enveloped your life without you realizing it for the preceding three years, and could actually be the basis for a career. Could, in actuality, be labeled a 'passion.' Try it on. Get a job in a related field, tour schools with programs that would get you to your destination career and sit with it for a while.

The latter is the one I would recommend by far, for obvious reasons. It took a lot of the other 2's worth of life experience to cool my jets and let me do the sensible thing, however. The sucky part: it didn't work.

The moral of the story that I've learned with my latest approach is that people don't want to lose weight and live healthier lifestyles; they just want to be thinner and have energy to do the things that the pretty people on TV do. Mind you, they wouldn't do them if they had the energy, they'd probably just spend more time at the mall buying the smaller clothes. I'm bitter and jaded, but I just want to pack up my health and my fitness and do something that will actually allow me to pay rent, eat regularly, even clothe myself.

So stay tuned, I may be on to a new, more viable idea. My spontaneous, adventurous side (see 2, above), has begun to itch again, and change of scenery may be inevitable. I'm listening to my world-wise, money-conscious side (read: Bryan) more now, realizing that falling on my face is a very real possibility if I move too quickly, think, or should I say acknowledge, too little.