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.