The ME in ChristmastiME

I love Christmas. It gives me a reason (sales!) to shop for myself while complaining that I have no money to buy gifts for anyone else. I think one day my loved ones may catch on....

Grocery Receipt Assumptions

OK, you know those coupons that automatically spit out at your grocery store register? The kind where the machine says, "hmm, you bought Yoplait yogurt. Take this coupon for 25 cents off Dannon." Makes sense - I (or someone in my household) obviously eats yogurt. So the good folks at Dannon figure that I'll try their brand given enough monetary incentive. Same product, different brand. Not too much of a stretch there.

However, I had a different experience at Vons last night. Below is a list of my purchases:

Crystal Light Lemonade Mix
Cheddar Cheese
Colby Jack
Brie Wedge (yes, I see the pattern - I like my cheese and I have to feed my co-worker as well)
Little Debbie Gingerbread Cookies
Little Debbie Chocolate Tree Cakes
Turkey and Cheddar Lunchables
Garden Salad Mix
Arrowhead Water

That's it - that's all I bought. As a result, the friendly coupon machine spit out two offers:

1. Save $5.00 on a Fred Clause DVD (OK, that seems like a pretty generic coupon - probably give it to all demographics - saturate the market and all that).

2. $3.00 off ENFAMIL BABY FORMULA.

OK, this is what completely throws me. What on my list of purchases pegs me as a new mother? Or a caregiver of children? Granted, the Lunchables and the Little Debbies probably smack of packing school lunches, but those are really for me because I'm lazy and like junk food. Going with the kid assumption, why wouldn't I get a coupon for some sugary cereal or fruit roll-up thingy? But INFANT formula? That's a pretty narrow market.

I know - it's the brie. Because all new moms spend $9.00 on a wedge of cheese. Or perhaps it's the Crystal Light, because all new moms are trying to watch their calories.

I swear, next time I'm going to buy milk and wind up with a coupon for anti-fungal cream.

Mom Story #1

Now that we're far enough removed from October, I've been thinking about old Mom stories. She was the stoic Midwestern type - did what needed to be done without complaint, never played before she worked, and uttered few words. She wasn't what you'd call a pleasure seeker. She just felt that she was put on this earth to do what needed to be done - no more, no less.

Imagine my surprise when my sister-in-law Julie related a Mom story to me. Involving men. And stripping. And nearly being forcibly evicted from a club.

My mother loved Vegas. She didn't just love Vegas - she loved Vegas. And being a stay at home mom at the time herself, Julie was more than happy to accompany my mother so she could get her fix of nickel slots (yes, that's all Mom played - she'd drive 4+ hours to play nickel slots and it was the grandest excursion she could think of).

Apparently, they got the idea (after lots of alcohol, no doubt) to go to a male strip club. Won't that be fun! (tee hee, tee hee)

This is where the story gets good. Seems that Mom imbibed a bit too much of her beloved 7 and 7's, and really got into the show. By "really got into", I mean that she grabbed a dancer's ass. My mother. Grabbed some 20-something, probably gay (not that there's anything wrong with that) dude's ass. My mother who spent every Saturday morning cleaning our house until it smelled of bleach. My mother who dutifully cooked my father a full meat and potatoes dinner every night so he could fall asleep in front of the TV and completely ignore her. My mother whose idea of a splurge was to buy me a frozen dinner on the rare night that she didn't cook (usually because Dad was out drinking). My mother grabbed a guy's ass. His naked ass. In a club.

Well, security wasn't all too happy about that. They rushed over, ready to evict my troublemaking mother. Luckily, the dancer thought it was funny and waved them off. Mom stayed, slightly better behaved. And my sister-in-law was mortified (bonus!)

Moms (especially my mom) aren't supposed to be women. They're just supposed to be moms. Information to the contrary just throws off the universe's equilibrium. But it IS pretty damn funny. You go, Mom!

Dick Flick

Seriously - my new favorite phrase. Never heard it before. Queenie, I think I love you.

Dick Flick

Try, Try Again

The Boy and I are giving it another go. I know there are those that will think that once something's done, you should leave it there. And normally I would agree. Except that this time, it's me. This time, it's The Boy. In short, my heart wants us together.

Do we have issues? Absolutely. Are we going to work on them? Well, if we don't, it's going to be The Big Breakup Redux.

Couples counseling, here we come. I'll update as warranted (and as discretion allows).

Getting Back on the Horse

Yes, I know I haven't posted in about a million years. As you can probably imagine, my heart's not been in it. Between the anniversary of Mom's death and The Big Breakup, I just haven't been able to face people, to the point where I haven't even gone to the movies or shopping. But, I'm coming back to the land of the living. I've decided that I've used up my allotted moping time and now I'm going to work on being human again. This includes:

1. Going out in public (even went to a bachelorette party on Saturday)
2. Getting back into an exercise routine (I'm starting Jillian Michaels' 30 Day Shred today, cod help me)
3. Caring about what I put in my body (I tend to punish myself with food when depressed). No more fast food, no more blocks of cheese, no more crap
4. Caring about myself (as in realizing that I DO matter, even if other people don't honor that)
5. Focusing on the positive (going to Disneyland on Thanksgiving Day, the BNL cruise in January, being happy every day that I don't have a class to attend, being thankful all my pets are alive and kicking, etc.)

Yeah, this is my rah rah post. I'm psyching myself up as much as I'm giving you an update. I'll be better about posting. I'm sure something interesting will happen soon, right?

Broken

The Boy and I broke up on Saturday. I am officially broken. Not just my heart. The whole of me.

One more justification for hating October.

Mom Thoughts

Fall (and the start of school along with it) has come to mean something very different to me. As this post describes, it does hold some pleasant associations for me. But in the past couple of years, my attitude toward autumn has darkened a bit.

You see, I got the call that my mom was sick during the second week of September, two years ago. As a result, September reminds me of last minute flights to Florida, sitting by my mother’s bedside getting the news of her cancer, and being on the phone nonstop to various medical institutions, insurance companies, family members, etc.

October brings memories of bringing her home to California, going to visit her at my brother’s house every lunch hour and every day after work, staying with her on the weekends. This time of year, simple things like going to the grocery store bring me to tears. I’m reminded of my trips to the store during that time, frantically searching for anything my mother would eat. Looking for softer foods, things that used to be her favorites (like black licorice), nutrition drinks that would at least get some vitamins into her body. And I’m reminded of the futility of the endeavor when I’d bring them to her and she’d tell me, “I just can’t, honey. Nothing tastes good and it hurts to eat.”

Halloween is now lost on me. It’s now just known to me as, “that day that comes 4 days after the anniversary of Mom’s death.”

Other things that remind me of Mom in the fall:

1. Kahlua
Mom’s drink of choice as well as what I drank too much of at my brother’s house the night she died.

2. Nemo (as in Finding Nemo)
Trying to brighten up her hospital bed at my brother’s house, I bought a Nemo comforter and sheet set. I re-made that bed around her every day.

3. The season premiere of Grey’s Anatomy
This was the one hour I let myself have alone during my trip to Florida. It was the one hour out of the whole trip I tried to let myself forget the horrors of the lung cancer diagnosis. Now every season premiere of this show brings back that memory.

4. Foot Massagers
I bought one for Mom intending to give her a pedicure to make her feel better. She was never able to sit up long enough for me to do it.

5. Jeopardy/Wheel of Fortune
Mom loved these shows and it was one of the highlights of the day when we watched them together in the evening. Still can’t turn them on without thinking of her.

I’ll write some happy posts about Mom at one point. Probably in the spring, when other memories aren’t so overpowering.

WDW Status Update

Well, we found The Boy's money. Or rather, the credit card found the debited amount. In confusing parlance that could only come from a financial institution trying to cover its ass, we were told that the money came off of The Boy's credit card and was given to WDW for about a nanosecond. Then, it disappeared into the ether (thus, WDW did not receive the funds). But that's not the best part. Apparently, another cardholder with an account number similar to The Boy's was also debited for the WDW funds - however, the debit was not visible to that cardholder. Basically, the credit card company took this stranger's money in addition to taking The Boy's, but NOTHING wound up getting to WDW.

Because of the trace initiated by The Boy (which took a week), both The Boy's account and the stranger's account have been credited back the amounts they were debited. However, that doesn't help with the trip we were supposed to take in 2 weeks. Even though The Boy has his credit card money back now, it's too late to reinstate our trip. Our room with a view is gone, along with all of our dining reservations.

After much fiddling around with dates and costs, we've decided to postpone our trip until next September. For our trouble, we are going to extend the trip to a 10 day excursion and rent a convertible so we can get to places like Sea World and Discovery Cove. This will give us plenty of time to pay it off in advance so we don't run into this situation again. But I'm sure something else will come up to block this next trip. Perhaps I'll contract typhoid fever.

15 Years and 3 Tries (AKA: Walt Disney World Hates Me)

For 15 years I’ve been trying to get to Disney World. Disneyland I’ve done. Probably hundreds of times by now. Mostly because it’s practically in my backyard. WDW, however, has been a pipe dream. That elusive temptress that beckons to me from across vast expanses of the U.S. “Come visit us. We’re so big here. There’s so much to do. Don’t you want to come see us?”

Alas, it’s not to be. I’m now at “3 strikes and you’re out” and I don’t even like baseball. My saga has been long and ridiculous, and I’m at the point where I’m just giving up. It’s too much hope. Too many expectations. And this is coming from someone who for several years bought 2-3 WDW tour guide books a year and read every page cover to cover, studiously making notes about where I would go and what I would see when I finally got to “the World.”

Let me take you through the events that got me here:

Attempt #1
My honeymoon. 1993. My ex and I loved all things Disney, so we thought the perfect honeymoon would be to take “The Big Red Boat” (Disney’s cruise line before its current incarnation) and then spend a week at the parks afterward. Sounds perfect, right? Except that we were poor and paying for everything ourselves. We had one credit card that was maxed out. So my dear mother offered to put the trip on hers and let us pay her back over time. We all went to the travel agent (yes, they had those before the internet), plunked down Mom’s card and were confirmed. We thought.

About a month before the wedding, I got a call from the travel agent that the ship’s itinerary was changing. Instead of leaving Florida 2 days after our wedding, it was leaving the day before. Obviously, this wasn’t going to work. In the early days of the cruise line, they weren’t running cruises back to back. The next one wouldn’t be for another month after the wedding. Well, that didn’t seem like much of a honeymoon. So we canceled, lost a deposit and figured we’d go another time. Ended up in San Diego for the honeymoon instead.

Attempt #2
The ex’s graduation. 8 years later. The ex was finally graduating with his masters in architecture. We were moving to San Diego. I had given notice at my job. I had put a deposit on a rental house in San Diego and given notice on the house we were living in at the time. The ex had quit his job. We had paid for the trip and were going to leave 2 days after his graduation ceremony. No cruise this time, but 10 days at WDW. At the Grand Floridian. The trip I had dreamed of and planned for so many years. Plane tickets were bought, spending money was set aside, everything about the trip was fully paid. We were even going to go to Discovery Cove so I could swim with the dolphins. Then the bottom dropped out.

About a week before the graduation, I got a call at work from the ex. Turns out, he wasn’t graduating. Turns out he’d been admitted to the masters program on probation on the condition that he raise his gpa. He didn’t do that. In fact, his thesis was far from being up to par and they were not only not letting him graduate, but they were kicking him out of the university. He couldn’t take another year and make it up. He couldn’t go into another program. He was no longer welcome at this university that we had taken hefty loans out for. And I had no idea about any of this until a week before my entire life was supposed to change.

Needless to say, this was not news that was received well. In fact, it was the catalyst to the divorce. The ex left to go to San Diego on his own, I stayed and got my job back, and after a while we divorced. Making those calls to cancel that trip and pull everything back (the trip and all the moving related arrangements) just about killed me. My mom was kind enough to make the calls about canceling the graduation party arrangements and contacting the out of town guests that they would not need to make the trip (I felt awful about all the travel arrangements that had already been made). So, WDW attempt #2 was down the drain.

Attempt #3
My graduation. 2008. The Boy lovingly offered to take me to WDW this year if I could stay within a budget. It was going to be a kind of graduation present. So, back to the bookstore I went. I gathered information online, I pored over guide books and blogs. I found the perfect time to go, the perfect package and the perfect price. I had received WDW gift cards for graduation and my birthday, so I used that to put down the deposit with the agreement that The Boy would get me a gift card to make up for it, so he was paying for the whole trip.

Very long story very short, The Boy’s card does not want me to go to WDW. When it was time to pay the balance, he used the credit card. But I started getting worried. So I had him call Disney to confirm. Twice. Everything was fine. Until it wasn’t.

Turns out that even though the credit card issued a confirmation number for the WDW transaction and showed that the money had come off the card, WDW showed that they never received funds. Many calls later, turns out WDW didn’t get the funds, but the credit card has already pulled the money from The Boy’s account, and it’s in the ozone somewhere. So, while a trace is being done, the funds are not available for use by The Boy. Of course, in the middle of all this is the deadline for payment to WDW or the trip cancels. The Boy can’t use the credit card, because the available credit has already been pulled for the phantom payment that nobody can find. Having no other way to pay for it, we had to cancel our trip. We still haven’t found the money (the credit card company is still “tracing” it, and who knows how long that will take). So, no WDW.

I am now convinced that there is some Dharma-like force that is forever keeping me from my WDW dream. Trip has been booked 3 times. Trip has been paid for 3 times. Trip has been canceled 3 times. I’m convinced that if we had been planning to go anywhere else instead, everything would have been fine.

I just can’t take it anymore. I’m at the point where I’m going to accept that I’m persona non grata at WDW and stick with Disneyland. I’ve never had a problem going there. I’ll just stay where I belong.

Oh, and hopefully we’ll eventually find the missing credit card money. Probably just in time for retirement.

Struggling

I honestly don't know why it's so damn hard for me to stick with a weight loss plan when I seem to have so much control over every other aspect of my life. I always do what I need to do - work-wise, housework-wise, money-wise, friend-wise, etc. But when it comes to what I put in my mouth or going to the gym, I lose all resolve.

I'm starting to notice a pattern. Last summer, I dropped 20 pounds pretty quickly. I was motivated. Kept my calories to 1200 a day. Worked out every day. Then July hit, and I kept making allowances for myself to fall off the wagon. It's my birthday. We're on vacation. It's too hot to go to the gym. Then school started, so of course I couldn't keep a gym schedule and of course I could ignore what I was eating because I was so busy. So I put the 20 pounds back on.

Fast forward to this May. Disgusted with myself, I started doing the Biggest Loser plan. Do you have any idea how much fiber they expect you to eat? Like, more than twice the amount that Dr. Oz recommends. I was pretty good about the gym, and fastidious about what I put in my mouth, recording everything. It took me 6 weeks to lose 10 pounds. I felt bloated and awful all the time from all the fiber. I was discouraged about my progress, so when the same July time period came around, I was all too eager to throw the diet out the window. I still went to the gym 2-3 times a week, but that was just maintaining the 10 pounds I'd lost - I wasn't losing any more because of the way I was eating.

Now my Disneyworld trip is coming up in a month, and I really want to lose 10 more pounds before we go. I had wanted to have lost a total of 30 before we went, but my backsliding made that impossible. Now I'm trying to convince myself to go back to my own 1200 calorie a day and working out every day plan so I can at least do this other 10 pounds and be back to where I was last year. Then hopefully I can continue. I do want to get healthy. It's odd that I have so little motivation to control this aspect of my life, when I demand complete order in all other aspects of it.

Propaganda from my kitteh....

I'd swear Alex posted this if he had opposable thumbs....


more animals

Making a bad day better....

more graph humor and song chart memes

And Today Goes Down the Toilet in 3, 2, 1....

I wrote an e-mail to my roommate in response to her inquiry about my day. Then I realized it just about said it all:

God, I hate today. So far:

1. Had to sit through an hour and a half long meeting.
2. Students keep coming in looking for Computer Science Department (I work in the Dean's Office).
3. Call from a frantic mother because little Johnny is stuck in Cabo because of a hurricane.
4. Have to set up a meeting that I can't get a consensus on for a date.
5. Called Disneyworld to give airline info and find out final payment hasn't been received
6. Had an argument with The Boy over #5.
7. Got a letter from the credit card company stating the reason they raised my interest rate is because my balances have been too high for too long, so I'm an increased credit risk. Never mind that I always pay more than the minimum and pay it early.
8. Got a call from my boss while at I was at lunch that he couldn't get on a conference call. Got to the office 1/2 an hour after it was supposed to start and found out he'd had to push it to 3:45 because he couldn't dial in. Long story short, the instructions on how to dial in were in the details of his appointment on his calendar (I put them there 2 months ago thinking ahead) but neither one of us thought to look there.
9. Just really having a no good, very bad day.

The LAST thing I want to do right now is go to the gym, as I watch the minutes tick away to the time where I would need to change clothes in order to go right after work. But I know I have to. Which makes today worse.

I'm convinced that this is the price I'm required to pay for finding all those fabulous bargains at Macy's on Saturday. O fate, why do you mock me?

Mark Wahlberg, Stop Stalking Me!

OK, maybe the title sounded funnier in my head. There IS a story behind this.

Last October, for Stacey's birthday, we (we being me, Dave, Stacey and Chip) all went to the Four Season in Beverly Hills for brunch. This was supposed to be the best brunch in the city, and it really was. Rooms of food. A low to the ground kid's table with macaroni and cheese, small pizza slices, pb&j with the crust cut off cut like tea sandwiches, cupcakes - the works. For the grown-ups there was sushi, shrimp, salmon, mahi mahi, dim sum, eggs benedict, waffles with chocolate sprinkles, fruit, salads, cheeses (yum, cheeses!), omelettes, syrup from a beautiful silver decanter, and tables of desserts. We arrived at 11am, and stayed for about 2 hours.

As I said, there are rooms of food. Our table was in the very back of the restaurant, nestled between 2 windows. When we were finally done, we strode out through the rooms of food to the entrance. While going past the kid's food table, I saw a little boy who was about 2 1/2 or 3 years old. I'm all about the kids, so I looked down and smiled and waved at him. Then I noticed someone I assumed to be his father right behind him as I was raising my eyes back to normal height so I could continue my exit. Our eyes met and he said, "hi" so I said "hi" and continued walking. Something told me I should know who he was, but I kind of dismissed it.

From behind I feel The Boy's hand clamp down on my shoulder and spin me around. "Mark Wahlberg!" he said. "Oh, that's who that was. I thought I he looked familiar, but I couldn't think of who it was." Please remember that all of this happened in the space of about 4 seconds. Given a chance to collect my thoughts, I certainly would have processed who this nice gentleman was.

So we left, thinking it was a cute story. I was more concerned about how absolutely stuffed I was and how I was going to stay awake driving everyone home.

Flash forward to yesterday, when The Boy and I went back to The Four Seasons for brunch (this time to celebrate our anniversary). We get seated in the same room (different table). On our way to gather our first plates of food, I make a comment as we pass the kid's table, "mmm...I just want the food on the kid's table." This time I feel just a tap on my arm, turn around and The Boy says, "Mark Wahlberg". I said, "again?" as I peeked over his shoulder. This time Mark was with his daughter (I'm guessing it's his daughter) of about 5 helping her load up her plate with goodies. More interested in food than celebrities, I just kind of shook my head and said, "too funny" while thinking how nice it is that he is the one with his kids instead of handing them off onto someone else to take care of.

After we sat down, we mused on whether Mr. Wahlberg has a standing brunch reservation or if he might just be living at the hotel when he's in town. I figured that if he has kids, he probably doesn't live in the hotel, but what do I know? It's not my business. Just random chitchat as we ate. Whatever the reason, he seems like a pleasant person and a doting father.

But if I see him there again the next time we go to brunch, I might have to explain to him that I'm with The Boy and let him down gently. ;)

Flowers

Yeah, I got 'em. Do I know my Boy or what? I do love him. He's a Classic Romantic. Red roses (the florist was out of my favorite tulips). He always thinks of me. I truly don't do enough in return.

Anniversaries, Expectations, and The Cold, Hard Truth

It took me starting a blog to figure out exactly how pathetic my life really is. I love reading other people's blogs - be they witty, profound, or just plain dorky. However, my life does not exactly merit "must read" status. What did I do this week? Hmm...I worked. Went to the gym a couple times. Had a couple of arguments with The Boy. Did laundry. Got various parts of my person waxed. Yeah, good times.

Today is mine and The Boy's anniversary. Sometimes I'm loathe to call it an anniversary because the connotation (especially at my age) is that it's a wedding anniversary. Which, of course, it's not. Four years ago today (on a Sunday) we met at Coldstone in Sherman Oaks for ice cream. And sat on the patio for hours and talked. Three dates later I pulled the "we're just friends, right?" line on him because he hadn't bothered to even try to kiss me (date 3 is supposed to be the sex date, and I hadn't even merited a liplock). He was befuddled, stammered something into the phone and rectified the situation the next evening. Some people are horrified at that story, but seriously - it was either be blunt, or just not see him again on the assumption that "he just wasn't that into me." This is why I always vote for saying what you thinking and asking for information you don't have.

We're going to the Four Seasons for brunch on Sunday to celebrate (because I love brunch and would much rather eat that than dinner). I'm waiting to see if any flower deliveries show up at my office today. Not that I'm expecting one, but it's his MO. It would also be fitting because the offices on my floor will be closed 11:30 to 2:00 and I imagine that's when Mr. Flower Delivery Guy would drop by. Of course, by voicing this it means he hasn't thought about flowers at all. Which is fine. They're lovely, I like them, but I don't expect them.

Maybe something unexpected will happen this weekend and I'll have something to write about. No, not an engagement - the progression is: Staff job for The Boy -> Live Together -> Proposal -> Wedding at Disneyworld. Since we have no control over Step 1, there's no telling when subsequent steps will happen. By something unexpected I mean like winning the lottery. Or finally selling Mom's trailer. Or tripping and breaking my ankle.

School's Out Forever

I graduated in May, 2008. No, not with my master's (even though I'm OLD). Just with my bachelor's. In linguistics. Magna Cum Laude. From a state school, but I graduated nontheless.

I also work at the same state school from which I graduated. That means that no matter how long it is since I got my degree, fall will always mean the start of school for me. A new beginning. The excitement and anticipation of freshmen on an unfamiliar and huge campus who can be picked out of a crowd because they're inevitably looking up at the buildings, trying to figure out where they are instead of plowing headfirst into them. I try to take pity on as many as I can and direct them to their destinations. Sometimes I worry that I'm embarrassing them by offering my help, but I try to come across as kindly and motherly, so they don't think I'm trying to demean them. (Those of you who know me personally know what a stretch this can be for me).

You can usually pick the seniors out pretty quickly, as well. They're dragging themselves to class instead of exhibiting the wide-eyed optimism and anticipation of the newbies. They've been through this before. They just want it to end. That was me last year. "Just get me through this, and I'll be done."

Sophomores and Juniors are kind of lumped into a group who know what they're doing and just blend into the background. They're just going about their business because they're no longer at the beginning, but can't see the end yet.

The transfer students are an odd mix of freshmen and seniors. It's still a new campus for them, so they have that lack of confidence about them. But, they just left a community college (or in the rarer case, another university), so they're not new to bigger campuses and professorial attitudes of, "come or don't come - it's your grade."

There's a teeny, tiny part of me that is saddened that I don't have to make a trip to Staples for school supplies this year, that I don't have to figure out the best time to go to the bookstore to beat the crowds. But the bigger part of me is so relieved that I no longer have a student persona. I don't have to schedule and re-schedule my days and weeks according to the amount of studying I have to do. I can actually read a book for pleasure (which I think I'm going overboard on this summer, judging from the stack of books on my desk). I can take a freakin' vacation during the school year. That one is huge. I am finally getting to Disney World in September because I'm no longer limited to going during the most crowded (read: most expensive) times of the year (when the kids are out of school).

So I'll leave academia to the fresh faced freshmen, the weary seniors, and all those in between. And please - don't you start on me about a master's, too.

Hitting a Wall

My tolerance for relationship BS has grown dangerously thin. When in disharmony with The Boy, I find myself picking at the minutiae of the issue to try to get my point across. He complains about the time spent discussing the issue, and I complain because he doesn't seem to "get it" unless I take it apart at the molecular structure and lead him through it by the nose, step by step, confirming his understanding at each interval.

Example:

Me: X means X. I meant X. That's why I said X.
Him: Well, if you really meant X, then you should have been clearer.
Me: How can I be clearer than saying X and meaning X?
Him: Well, when you said X, I thought you meant X plus Y.
Me: Did I say X plus Y?
Him: No
Me: Then it's your fault for inferring Y! I didn't say Y!
Him: But if it were me, I would say X plus Y, not just X. You need to be clearer.
Me: What you would say has nothing to do with what I DID say! You make this up in your head and then punish me for not doing/saying what you think I should do/say instead of listening and understanding what I DID do/say! I was clear! I said X. I meant X. It's not my fault you brought Y into it from your own head!

And on it goes. So I have to break down in steps what X means, even though X clearly means X. I said X. I meant X. X is a series of clearly defined English words that are not ambiguous.

I find it ironic that in past arguments he has gotten upset that I can't just let what he said mean what he said and understand there's no hidden meaning. So why can't he see that's what he's doing to me??

I'm tired. I'm tired of the hours of conversational breakdown and analysis it takes for us to get past an argument. I'm tired of the resentment I feel much of the time because it seems harder and harder for us to have a simple conversation. And I wonder more and more if that means we're ultimately not compatible. But I can't even bring that up because mentioning breaking up or not being right for each other is a cardinal sin. According to him, it's manipulation to get my own way - bring up breaking up, and I automatically win the argument because he doesn't want to lose me. So, I can't be honest because it's manipulative. There goes that Y inference again. It can't possibly be because I have real doubts - it's because I want to manipulate him into acquiescence.

Again I say, I'm tired. But I can't say that to him, either.

Emotional Girl

Why, thank you Terri Clark - as a matter of fact, I will use your song title.

There are some days when I really hate my body. More specifically, I hate the things I have to do to my body. Most specifically, I hate taking The Pill.

There are women all over the world who know what I'm talking about. You take The Pill every day. You never miss it. And then you realize that you have a big vacation/weekend/date coming up and the timing is, well, inconvenient. It will be that week. The one where you take the white pills (or in my case, just don't take any pills since it's the same thing). The one where you'll have YOUR PERIOD. But you can't have YP during this week, because of the aforementioned vacation/weekend/date.

If you're like me, the answer is to play with your pills. Don't take the white pills (or just stop taking the sugar pills). Just pop open the next pack and skip the period altogether. Or, do like I did and take an extra week, THEN have your period, THEN get back on your regular cycle.

Oh, it won't jack up your emotional well-being or anything. It won't completely confuse your reproductive system by trying to figure out why the hormone levels didn't drop off like normal, and then BAM! all of a sudden grind everything to a screeching halt. Oh, and that standing waxing appointment you have? Better count weeks and reschedule as necessary.

The ultimate insult, however is when you as a woman go to all of this trouble, and then it doesn't happen. Oh, the vacation/weekend/date happens, but it doesn't happen. For whatever reason. Reasons I'm sure that are quite logical and acceptable and reasonable. But you completely screwed your hormones up for no apparent reason.

So...you're left getting a more intense than usual period because of all the games you're playing with your estrogen and progesterone, you didn't get any it, and NOW your boy is trying to figure out why the hell you've turned into the 3 headed bitch monster and all you can do is be irritated with him for having that attitude because it's all his fault. If he didn't have sperm, you wouldn't have to hormonally trick your own body. It's all his fault that your emotions are all over the place and you want to cry when you hear about someone adopting a puppy and then you skip to remembering every slight that everyone in your life ever perpetrated against you since the first day of preschool and now you want to eat every pastry you can get your hands on but refuse to drive to the store to get said pastry because it's too far. And HE has the nerve to think something is wrong with YOU?

Don't even bring up the condom argument. Any man (boy) who's been in a relationship for more than 6 months wants to do The Pill thing so he doesn't have to wear a raincoat. "See, Babe- here are my test results. All clear. Your turn to go to the doctor, right? It'll be so much better for both of us. Since we don't have to worry about STD's, you just go on The Pill and everything will be fine."

Except that it's not fine. It's up to you to schedule things so no conflicts arise. It's up to you to make sure that special event is not spoiled. Because if you don't watch your cycle and you do wind up with your little friend at an inopportune time, there is no look of disappointment and despair on Earth to rival that of a man who thinks he's getting some only to be told, "not this week." They can (sort of) handle it when it's a regular week. They know it has to come sometime. But if you didn't plan ahead for a special occasion, they're like kids who have been told that Christmas is canceled.

I'm not saying there's a better answer. It's just like a lot of male/female dynamics. Somehow the responsibility falls to the woman, and she is the one who has to smooth the way, make everything OK. I know why there's not a male Pill. What boy do you know who would be as diligent about monitoring reproductive cycles as women are? A guy would forget to take a Pill (or 4) and chalk it up to being busy or thinking about other things. But if a woman misses a Pill? Well, obviously she's trying to get pregnant and trap the guy with a method the guy has no control over.

And no, I will NOT be like Belle de Jour and "stick a bit of sponge up there until it's done." Eww.

Food Masochism

I've come to the conclusion that I'm a masochist - when it comes to food (so sorry it doesn't show itself in a more interesting arena. For that, please visit Ms. Belle de Jour, whose blog is right over there on the sidebar).

You see, I've been trying to eat healthfully and work out since June. I refuse to call it a diet, because that conveys a sense of being temporary, and I'm trying to make permanent changes. On the whole I'm pretty successful, but occasionally (lately more than occasionally) I decide that I'm in the mood for some fast food or sweets and I allow myself to have it, while trying to keep portion size down so I stay somewhat inside my calorie range for the day.

The kicker is, I feel like absolute crap when I eat the foods that taste good. I get bloated, gassy (which I really can't abide), sluggish, and generally feel icky. Now when I ate like this all the time, I never noticed the difference, since I didn't have anything to compare it to. Now that the majority of my meals are healthy, I really notice the difference.

The masochism part comes in because after some careful analysis (done in my own head), I've noticed that I hit the fast food places when I'm particularly down on myself - when I feel I've been unfair (especially to The Boy), when I feel like I've failed (like making a mistake at work) or when I feel like I should be punishing myself in some way. It's not emotional eating in the sense that if I get angry or sad I head for the fridge - generally if I'm emotional, I tend not to eat. I'm just starting to notice that my chosen method of self-punishment is through food. I did something wrong, so I need to eat crap so I feel like crap.

I actually really like the healthy food I eat - mainly things like chicken with salsa, broccoli, whole wheat pitas, yogurt, milk, fruit. The one thing I love that I try not to eat a lot of is cheese, but I'll even have that as long as I can incorporate it into my daily calories. So it's not that I'm running away from the healthy stuff - I really think this is my chosen form of punishment.

Now that I realize that, perhaps I can knock it off. While I don't think I'll ever be into the psychiatric definition of masochism, I think perhaps I can channel these impulses into something a bit more constructive. Any suggestions?

Apologies to Steven Page...

...for stealing his title. For those of you who don't know, Mr. Page wrote and performed a song titled Wilted Rose as part of his solo effort The Vanity Project. While the song's lyrics contemplate the political landscape, the title means something a bit different for me.

These days I'm the one feeling like a wilted rose - the bloom of youth has left me, yet there are still glimpses of the potential that was once there. I'm no longer the ingenue with all the potential of a wide open life ahead of me, yet I'm not in the winter of my life (as far as I know). If you squint hard enough, you can still see the beauty (figuratively speaking) that once was.

Lest you think this blog is some sort of downer pity party, my intention is for it to be something far different. While this rose is wilted, it still has worth. You can still tell it's a rose, and still appreciate it as such. The wilted roses are the ones that get pressed into scrapbooks, the ones that signify experience and memories. The wilt represents the weight of time's passing and the gaining of experience. So, yes - I AM a wilted rose. And proud of it.