A few months ago, I wrote in this entry about a story I'd read about a couple that had met during the Holocaust. He was imprisoned in a Nazi concentration camp; she was posing as a Christian in a village nearby. Each day, she went to the fence surrounding the camp and tossed him an apple. He called her his "angel girl."
As the story went, eventually he was moved to a different camp, and the two pretty much forgot about each other until years later, when they were set up on a blind date. He proposed marriage that very night, and today, many years later, the two are still married. The couple has told the story for many years and recently wrote a book together.
Usually one to listen to anything with a healthy dose of skepticism, I believed the couple's story because I wanted to believe it. What's wrong with believing in something beautiful and poetic once in awhile? But even I can't deny that truth is only occasionally stranger than fiction. And neither can the man who told the story: CNN reports today that he now admits it was made up.
Fake memoirs seem to be a growing trend these days, and I find it very disappointing. I almost feel pity for the people who think so little of their own personal stories that they need to make up fake ones so others will be interested. Call me a journalist (go ahead, I dare you), but I think we all have a good, true story to tell.
The man who told the story of the girl with the apples says now that he only wanted to bring hope and happiness to people. And, I suspect, to himself -- he is quoted as saying that in his dreams, the story will always be true. So while part of me feels angry at him for lying, the other part of me sort of understands. Especially now, when we are just winding down from the Christmas season (ironic as that may be, since the man is Jewish). It was only a week ago that, for the umpteenth time, I read and enjoyed a reprint of the classic letter proclaiming, "yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus."
So why can't there be an angel girl too? Things don't always have to be true to be believed. Besides, I think it is almost more poetic that the story that ended up being a lie has such an Adam and Eve-like quality to it. Maybe truth is stranger than fiction after all.
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Monday, December 29, 2008
I'm a Little Bit of Everything, All Rolled Into One
It took me awhile, but I came up with 50 more facts.
51. My first published work was a movie review of The Secret Garden in Penny Power magazine. I think I was about 10.
52. I've often thought Live Bait would be a great name for a band. Especially one that performs in rural areas. Imagine the free advertising!
53. The mascot of every school I've attended has been a person. Growing up, I was a Warrior, and in college, I was a Fighting Scot.
54. My car is missing a hubcap on the right front tire. It fell off the car on August 13, 2007, the day Stella moved in.
55. My toes are almost always polished, even in the winter, because I hate the look of my feet and think the polish pretties them up just a little.
56. I would like to learn some obscure sport and get an obscure country to send me to the Olympic games, just so I could say I am an Olympic athlete.
57. I have never read a book by Stephen King.
58. Although I love to make lists, I hesitate to compile a list of things I want to do "before I die." I feel like if I finish completing all the tasks, I'll have no reason to live. And if I don't finish, I've failed.
59. I hated my first name when I was little, but now I love it and can't imagine myself being called anything else.
60. Despite the fact above, I have always been a little put out that my name can't easily be shortened into a nickname. My mom has a cousin named Ericka who is called Ricky, but no one has ever thought to call me that. I don't think I would make a very good Ricky anyway.
61. I hate Times New Roman font. This comes from an English class my freshman year of college. I hated the class and hated the professor, who insisted that everything we do be printed in this font. So I therefore hated the font. My first job out of college was at a law office where my boss also insisted on the use of this font. I hated that job. It seems that the Times New Roman font is a representation of bad memories for me.
62. I do not know my blood type.
63. I was almost an exchange student to Russia the year after I graduated high school. Because of red tape and finances, I decided against it. I have mostly not regretted it.
64. I have kept a journal since the age of 14. I think I have filled more than 70 books.
65. Earlier this year, I submitted a play to a festival, and although it was not chosen for production, it was a finalist.
66. My locker combination in fifth grade was 32-16-38.
67. When I played Clue as a kid, I was always Mrs. White.
68. I have a thing for novelty songs and novelty tee shirts.
69. I hate volleyball. My eleventh grade year, thanks to a team of really athletic girls (with the sole exception of yours truly) for our school-wide gym class tournament, I had to play in front of the entire school. I won a tee shirt with a graphic of hands making the triangle to hit a volleyball, which, when I put the shirt on, looked like hands on my boobs.
70. I received my SAT scores in the mail the same day as that volleyball tournament.
71. My first 45 record as a kid -- besides the story ones ("when you hear this sound, turn the page") -- was Culture Club's "Karma Chameleon." Eventually, it got a skip in it, and to this day, I still sing it, "lovin' would be easy if your colors were like my dreams, like my dreams, like my dreams...."
72. I love office supplies. The Staples catalog is like porn for me. Okay, I don't love office supplies that much. But close.
73. My favorite work of art is Edward Hopper's "Nighthawks."
74. I always wanted to go to a party where there was a big sandwich (you know, like a three-foot sub). My sister fulfilled that desire at my bachelorette party.
75. I wore a wedding dress to my bachelorette party but not to my wedding.
76. I love containers almost as much as I love office supplies.
77. My parents planned to name my sister Erika. I sometimes wonder what I would have been called had they done so, especially because my mom has told me she was surer than sure I would be a girl and that Erika was the perfect name for me.
78. I knew the very moment I laid eyes on my husband that I would marry him, but we didn't start dating for two whole years after we met.
79. I wrote the obituary of the priest who baptized me.
80. I once received a callback for the part of a prostitute in a play. I was not offered the part, but when the director called to let me know, he thanked me for coming to the callback dressed for the part. I had not done so. Not intentionally anyway.
81. December 23 is my favorite day of the holiday season.
82. I hardly ever sleep through the night without waking up.
83. I can list all of the United States in alphabetical order and name their capitals. I can also list all of the U.S. presidents in chronological order.
84. I missed my class reunion two years ago because I had to perform that night in Grease, which begins at a class reunion. Another reason I missed that event was because they'd sent the invitation a week before, to my parents' house. Because, you know, I still lived there after ten years. Or at least lived close enough to get in time an invitation sent so late. Yeah, not so much.
85. The only famous person I have ever approached is Barry Williams. (Though it wasn't on the street -- he was signing books and CDs at a store one day when I lived in Pittsburgh, and I went there on my lunch break.) I even got a picture taken with him, just so I could say, "and here's me with Greg Brady."
86. I am not a patient person. Oh, I'll wait. But I won't be quiet about it.
87. My favorite donut is peanut butter cream-filled with chocolate frosting on top. I can't eat them anymore, but when I could...mmm boy.
88. I don't like ankle boots. I don't mind them on other people, but they feel funny to me. So I almost always wear the knee length boots, even with pants.
89. I don't care for fireworks. I don't mind watching them, but I won't go out on purpose to see them.
90. My mom thinks I look like Kate Winslet. Most other people say Brooke Shields or Joan Cusack. I don't think I resemble any of those people enough to really look like them.
91. I had a temp job working in the office of a Pop Tart factory for a couple of months.
92. I enjoy asking people random questions like, "if you had a person from each country of the world over for dinner, what would you serve so that everyone would feel welcome?" I find they are good conversation starters.
93. I love music from the 50s and 60s and would rather listen to it than the stuff that's out today.
94. I am not competitive, but I am a very sore loser. Just ask anyone who has ever played miniature golf with me.
95. Whenever I see a license plate from Pennsylvania (unless I am in Pennsylvania), I wonder if the driver is someone I know.
96. One of my favorite things to do when I was little was get the mail. Even now, when my mail is hardly ever that exciting, I still like to get the mail.
97. There are certain songs that will make me smile, no matter what, when I hear them.
98. I have never mowed a lawn.
99. I purposely didn't get too serious on either half of this list, because I find when I start speaking seriously about serious things, I go overboard.
100. It took me about two weeks to compile this entry. Kind of goes to show that even I can't think of that many interesting things about me.
51. My first published work was a movie review of The Secret Garden in Penny Power magazine. I think I was about 10.
52. I've often thought Live Bait would be a great name for a band. Especially one that performs in rural areas. Imagine the free advertising!
53. The mascot of every school I've attended has been a person. Growing up, I was a Warrior, and in college, I was a Fighting Scot.
54. My car is missing a hubcap on the right front tire. It fell off the car on August 13, 2007, the day Stella moved in.
55. My toes are almost always polished, even in the winter, because I hate the look of my feet and think the polish pretties them up just a little.
56. I would like to learn some obscure sport and get an obscure country to send me to the Olympic games, just so I could say I am an Olympic athlete.
57. I have never read a book by Stephen King.
58. Although I love to make lists, I hesitate to compile a list of things I want to do "before I die." I feel like if I finish completing all the tasks, I'll have no reason to live. And if I don't finish, I've failed.
59. I hated my first name when I was little, but now I love it and can't imagine myself being called anything else.
60. Despite the fact above, I have always been a little put out that my name can't easily be shortened into a nickname. My mom has a cousin named Ericka who is called Ricky, but no one has ever thought to call me that. I don't think I would make a very good Ricky anyway.
61. I hate Times New Roman font. This comes from an English class my freshman year of college. I hated the class and hated the professor, who insisted that everything we do be printed in this font. So I therefore hated the font. My first job out of college was at a law office where my boss also insisted on the use of this font. I hated that job. It seems that the Times New Roman font is a representation of bad memories for me.
62. I do not know my blood type.
63. I was almost an exchange student to Russia the year after I graduated high school. Because of red tape and finances, I decided against it. I have mostly not regretted it.
64. I have kept a journal since the age of 14. I think I have filled more than 70 books.
65. Earlier this year, I submitted a play to a festival, and although it was not chosen for production, it was a finalist.
66. My locker combination in fifth grade was 32-16-38.
67. When I played Clue as a kid, I was always Mrs. White.
68. I have a thing for novelty songs and novelty tee shirts.
69. I hate volleyball. My eleventh grade year, thanks to a team of really athletic girls (with the sole exception of yours truly) for our school-wide gym class tournament, I had to play in front of the entire school. I won a tee shirt with a graphic of hands making the triangle to hit a volleyball, which, when I put the shirt on, looked like hands on my boobs.
70. I received my SAT scores in the mail the same day as that volleyball tournament.
71. My first 45 record as a kid -- besides the story ones ("when you hear this sound, turn the page") -- was Culture Club's "Karma Chameleon." Eventually, it got a skip in it, and to this day, I still sing it, "lovin' would be easy if your colors were like my dreams, like my dreams, like my dreams...."
72. I love office supplies. The Staples catalog is like porn for me. Okay, I don't love office supplies that much. But close.
73. My favorite work of art is Edward Hopper's "Nighthawks."
74. I always wanted to go to a party where there was a big sandwich (you know, like a three-foot sub). My sister fulfilled that desire at my bachelorette party.
75. I wore a wedding dress to my bachelorette party but not to my wedding.
76. I love containers almost as much as I love office supplies.
77. My parents planned to name my sister Erika. I sometimes wonder what I would have been called had they done so, especially because my mom has told me she was surer than sure I would be a girl and that Erika was the perfect name for me.
78. I knew the very moment I laid eyes on my husband that I would marry him, but we didn't start dating for two whole years after we met.
79. I wrote the obituary of the priest who baptized me.
80. I once received a callback for the part of a prostitute in a play. I was not offered the part, but when the director called to let me know, he thanked me for coming to the callback dressed for the part. I had not done so. Not intentionally anyway.
81. December 23 is my favorite day of the holiday season.
82. I hardly ever sleep through the night without waking up.
83. I can list all of the United States in alphabetical order and name their capitals. I can also list all of the U.S. presidents in chronological order.
84. I missed my class reunion two years ago because I had to perform that night in Grease, which begins at a class reunion. Another reason I missed that event was because they'd sent the invitation a week before, to my parents' house. Because, you know, I still lived there after ten years. Or at least lived close enough to get in time an invitation sent so late. Yeah, not so much.
85. The only famous person I have ever approached is Barry Williams. (Though it wasn't on the street -- he was signing books and CDs at a store one day when I lived in Pittsburgh, and I went there on my lunch break.) I even got a picture taken with him, just so I could say, "and here's me with Greg Brady."
86. I am not a patient person. Oh, I'll wait. But I won't be quiet about it.
87. My favorite donut is peanut butter cream-filled with chocolate frosting on top. I can't eat them anymore, but when I could...mmm boy.
88. I don't like ankle boots. I don't mind them on other people, but they feel funny to me. So I almost always wear the knee length boots, even with pants.
89. I don't care for fireworks. I don't mind watching them, but I won't go out on purpose to see them.
90. My mom thinks I look like Kate Winslet. Most other people say Brooke Shields or Joan Cusack. I don't think I resemble any of those people enough to really look like them.
91. I had a temp job working in the office of a Pop Tart factory for a couple of months.
92. I enjoy asking people random questions like, "if you had a person from each country of the world over for dinner, what would you serve so that everyone would feel welcome?" I find they are good conversation starters.
93. I love music from the 50s and 60s and would rather listen to it than the stuff that's out today.
94. I am not competitive, but I am a very sore loser. Just ask anyone who has ever played miniature golf with me.
95. Whenever I see a license plate from Pennsylvania (unless I am in Pennsylvania), I wonder if the driver is someone I know.
96. One of my favorite things to do when I was little was get the mail. Even now, when my mail is hardly ever that exciting, I still like to get the mail.
97. There are certain songs that will make me smile, no matter what, when I hear them.
98. I have never mowed a lawn.
99. I purposely didn't get too serious on either half of this list, because I find when I start speaking seriously about serious things, I go overboard.
100. It took me about two weeks to compile this entry. Kind of goes to show that even I can't think of that many interesting things about me.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Gimme Shelter
I often comment to my husband that we make good partners. We complement each other well and are both relatively reasonable people, which makes compromises a little easier when we are faced with conflict.
Usually, we have a calm discussion and come to a mutually agreeable arrangement for whatever is happening. There is one topic, however, that my sweet darling has simply refused to discuss.
The garage.
With our condo, we have one garage space and one outside parking space. He bought the place when we were dating, so he's always used the garage. When I moved in, the outside parking space became mine. I had previously been living in the city and parking on the street, so at the time, I was content to have off-the-street spot. I didn't care whether I had a garage.
Last winter, however, was rough. Nearly every day, it seemed, I was scraping or brushing my windows before I could leave for work. The roads had never been thoroughly cleaned, which made the commute stressful, and then, at the end of the day, I would have to brush and scrape at the office before making the trek home to park in my outside spot, let the snow and ice pile on and do it all again the next day.
This winter hasn't even officially begun, and it's already been brutal. On Monday, there was so much ice on my car that I couldn't open the doors without help, and once I got in, I had to let the car warm up for a good 10 minutes before I could even think about scraping. On Tuesday afternoon, we had snow, which meant a two-hour, 16-mile drive home (or, more realistically, slide home, since there wasn't really exposed pavement to speak of), where my husband was waiting, warm and dry, after his own commute...of four miles.
I hadn't mentioned the garage thing much, because, as I saw it, my husband had squatting rights. Sure, it would be nice to have a garage space, but he's the one who laid down the money for the place. But after nearly three years living there, I figured I had enough tenure to bring it up. He was extremely hesitant to discuss the subject, saying he wasn't sure if my car would fit, as it is larger than his car (albeit slightly) and the garage also contains his motorcycle, two bicycles and a myriad of other stuff.
I took the hint. He wasn't ready.
But on my two-hour drive home Tuesday night, I had some time to think. Why shouldn't I have a turn? I leave for work earlier, get home later and have a longer commute. Isn't that enough? Should I really have to be the one who scrapes and brushes every day too? Is that fair? I worked up a speech, which I presented calmly (no, really) over the phone while traffic was at a standstill. Once again hesitant, my husband begrudgingly agreed to give me a turn. Or at least to consider it. He also shoveled out the outside parking space before I got home, and brushed all of the snow off my car before I left for work yesterday.
I could tell, he really didn't want to get rid of that garage space.
But when I got home last night, I found his car parked in the outside spot, and the garage waiting for me. I called him from my cell phone to ask what was going on, and he told me the garage space was now mine. I could tell he was nervous -- he offered three times to come out and help me get my car in so I wouldn't hit his motorcycle. I refused the offers and parked (quite easily and without coming anywhere close to hitting anything, thank you very much) and went inside, where my husband was, I think, hoping I'd tell him the car wouldn't fit.
I know how much he loved having a garage space; his resistance to hand it over made that clear, as he is not at all a selfish person. I thanked him profusely and let him know how much it meant to me, hoping he would at least feel good about having done something nice. I almost felt a little bad about taking the spot away. And then he opened his mouth.
"Remember, you're going to have to make sure to shovel out all the snow and water that gets on the floor from your car so it stays away from the walls. And don't forget, the pedal for my motorcycle comes way out, so make sure you don't hit it. And don't hit your bicycle."
Nice try, dude. That spot is mine.
Usually, we have a calm discussion and come to a mutually agreeable arrangement for whatever is happening. There is one topic, however, that my sweet darling has simply refused to discuss.
The garage.
With our condo, we have one garage space and one outside parking space. He bought the place when we were dating, so he's always used the garage. When I moved in, the outside parking space became mine. I had previously been living in the city and parking on the street, so at the time, I was content to have off-the-street spot. I didn't care whether I had a garage.
Last winter, however, was rough. Nearly every day, it seemed, I was scraping or brushing my windows before I could leave for work. The roads had never been thoroughly cleaned, which made the commute stressful, and then, at the end of the day, I would have to brush and scrape at the office before making the trek home to park in my outside spot, let the snow and ice pile on and do it all again the next day.
This winter hasn't even officially begun, and it's already been brutal. On Monday, there was so much ice on my car that I couldn't open the doors without help, and once I got in, I had to let the car warm up for a good 10 minutes before I could even think about scraping. On Tuesday afternoon, we had snow, which meant a two-hour, 16-mile drive home (or, more realistically, slide home, since there wasn't really exposed pavement to speak of), where my husband was waiting, warm and dry, after his own commute...of four miles.
I hadn't mentioned the garage thing much, because, as I saw it, my husband had squatting rights. Sure, it would be nice to have a garage space, but he's the one who laid down the money for the place. But after nearly three years living there, I figured I had enough tenure to bring it up. He was extremely hesitant to discuss the subject, saying he wasn't sure if my car would fit, as it is larger than his car (albeit slightly) and the garage also contains his motorcycle, two bicycles and a myriad of other stuff.
I took the hint. He wasn't ready.
But on my two-hour drive home Tuesday night, I had some time to think. Why shouldn't I have a turn? I leave for work earlier, get home later and have a longer commute. Isn't that enough? Should I really have to be the one who scrapes and brushes every day too? Is that fair? I worked up a speech, which I presented calmly (no, really) over the phone while traffic was at a standstill. Once again hesitant, my husband begrudgingly agreed to give me a turn. Or at least to consider it. He also shoveled out the outside parking space before I got home, and brushed all of the snow off my car before I left for work yesterday.
I could tell, he really didn't want to get rid of that garage space.
But when I got home last night, I found his car parked in the outside spot, and the garage waiting for me. I called him from my cell phone to ask what was going on, and he told me the garage space was now mine. I could tell he was nervous -- he offered three times to come out and help me get my car in so I wouldn't hit his motorcycle. I refused the offers and parked (quite easily and without coming anywhere close to hitting anything, thank you very much) and went inside, where my husband was, I think, hoping I'd tell him the car wouldn't fit.
I know how much he loved having a garage space; his resistance to hand it over made that clear, as he is not at all a selfish person. I thanked him profusely and let him know how much it meant to me, hoping he would at least feel good about having done something nice. I almost felt a little bad about taking the spot away. And then he opened his mouth.
"Remember, you're going to have to make sure to shovel out all the snow and water that gets on the floor from your car so it stays away from the walls. And don't forget, the pedal for my motorcycle comes way out, so make sure you don't hit it. And don't hit your bicycle."
Nice try, dude. That spot is mine.
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Then Came You
I could not let my Georgia weekend end without telling the story of my celebrity sighting.
On Friday, Marla took me to a mall in Atlanta, where we did a little Christmas shopping and had lunch (Panera's chicken salad sandwich is dairy-free, by the way). We were walking toward a store she wanted to visit, and she was in the middle of telling me a story. Suddenly, I spotted him, in a cool leather jacket, walking toward me and laughing with a group of friends.
Emmanuel Lewis.
That's right. I totally saw Webster at the mall.
I took a good long look to make sure it was him, though I would think it would be kind of difficult to spot a guy who looked like that and wasn't Emmanuel Lewis. As soon as he passed us, I couldn't help cracking a smile, and Marla stopped in the middle of her story to ask what was wrong.
"I don't know if I want to say, because I might be wrong, and then I'd feel kind of bad," I said. After all, if the guy I'd seen had been someone else, I didn't want to make the generalization that any four-foot-tall-but-fully-adult black man who was not Gary Coleman must therefore be Emmanuel Lewis. (A quick Google search today let me know that Emmanuel Lewis does, in fact, live in Atlanta, and is often spotted out and about, so now I am positive it was him.)
Eventually, I told her who I'd seen, making Marla chuckle, though I am pretty sure that more than anything, she was annoyed that I had tuned out her story. Or she was just jealous that I had spotted an eighties television icon and she hadn't.
But I wouldn't worry if I were her. I'm willing to bet he'll hit the town again soon.
On Friday, Marla took me to a mall in Atlanta, where we did a little Christmas shopping and had lunch (Panera's chicken salad sandwich is dairy-free, by the way). We were walking toward a store she wanted to visit, and she was in the middle of telling me a story. Suddenly, I spotted him, in a cool leather jacket, walking toward me and laughing with a group of friends.
Emmanuel Lewis.
That's right. I totally saw Webster at the mall.
I took a good long look to make sure it was him, though I would think it would be kind of difficult to spot a guy who looked like that and wasn't Emmanuel Lewis. As soon as he passed us, I couldn't help cracking a smile, and Marla stopped in the middle of her story to ask what was wrong.
"I don't know if I want to say, because I might be wrong, and then I'd feel kind of bad," I said. After all, if the guy I'd seen had been someone else, I didn't want to make the generalization that any four-foot-tall-but-fully-adult black man who was not Gary Coleman must therefore be Emmanuel Lewis. (A quick Google search today let me know that Emmanuel Lewis does, in fact, live in Atlanta, and is often spotted out and about, so now I am positive it was him.)
Eventually, I told her who I'd seen, making Marla chuckle, though I am pretty sure that more than anything, she was annoyed that I had tuned out her story. Or she was just jealous that I had spotted an eighties television icon and she hadn't.
But I wouldn't worry if I were her. I'm willing to bet he'll hit the town again soon.
Georgia On My Lips
On Thursday night, I left on a 6:30 p.m. plane to Georgia to visit my friend Marla. (I might have considered a midnight train, but that would have taken a lot longer, so I chose the less musical option.)
Marla and I are both lovers of food; two years ago, she took me on a comprehensive eating tour of the greater Detroit area. So she had a big weekend of eating planned for this visit. She had called her favorite dining joints and checked on what they could offer me that was dairy free, though she already had a pretty good working knowledge, since she had a vegan stint last year. Unfortunately, thanks to my fear of flying (and related violent stomach flips) returning with a vengeance this week, I wasn't very hungry for much of my visit, but I did manage to sample some of Atlanta's finer fare.
I have to say, I was sort of expecting to find only treats smothered in butter (you know, the whole comfort food thing). But I was really impressed with the eagerness of Georgia's eating establishments to accommodate me. Part of it was Marla's pre-visit scouting, but everywhere we went, people were happy to tell me how things were cooked and what I could eat off of their regular menu. It was fabulous. During my visit, I consumed a massaman curry (naturally dairy free and wonderfully delicious), a toasty bagel and latke and an amazingly good piece of apple pie from a bakery that has, on their regular menu, several vegan options.
But the weekend wasn't all about eating. It was also about relaxing, something I needed more than I would like to admit. Thanks to work, getting ready for the holidays and other things going on, I have been crazily busy for the last month (or, you know, year). Add to that the return of my panicky fear of flying, and I was in major need of some therapeutic activity.
Enter Marla. She knows how stressed I've been (and knows even more what an uptight control freak I am), so she planned out a weekend that was nothing but fun. The first thing she said when I told her I was coming down was, "your ass is going to the spa." (Which it did, yesterday, for a mud wrap and massage.) The second thing she told me was to bring comfy lounge pants. Between the shopping, lounging, eating and spa goodness, Atlanta, for me, became a stress-free zone.
It's a good friend who invites you to visit, but it's a great friend who customizes the visit to exactly what you need without even having to ask.
Marla and I are both lovers of food; two years ago, she took me on a comprehensive eating tour of the greater Detroit area. So she had a big weekend of eating planned for this visit. She had called her favorite dining joints and checked on what they could offer me that was dairy free, though she already had a pretty good working knowledge, since she had a vegan stint last year. Unfortunately, thanks to my fear of flying (and related violent stomach flips) returning with a vengeance this week, I wasn't very hungry for much of my visit, but I did manage to sample some of Atlanta's finer fare.
I have to say, I was sort of expecting to find only treats smothered in butter (you know, the whole comfort food thing). But I was really impressed with the eagerness of Georgia's eating establishments to accommodate me. Part of it was Marla's pre-visit scouting, but everywhere we went, people were happy to tell me how things were cooked and what I could eat off of their regular menu. It was fabulous. During my visit, I consumed a massaman curry (naturally dairy free and wonderfully delicious), a toasty bagel and latke and an amazingly good piece of apple pie from a bakery that has, on their regular menu, several vegan options.
But the weekend wasn't all about eating. It was also about relaxing, something I needed more than I would like to admit. Thanks to work, getting ready for the holidays and other things going on, I have been crazily busy for the last month (or, you know, year). Add to that the return of my panicky fear of flying, and I was in major need of some therapeutic activity.
Enter Marla. She knows how stressed I've been (and knows even more what an uptight control freak I am), so she planned out a weekend that was nothing but fun. The first thing she said when I told her I was coming down was, "your ass is going to the spa." (Which it did, yesterday, for a mud wrap and massage.) The second thing she told me was to bring comfy lounge pants. Between the shopping, lounging, eating and spa goodness, Atlanta, for me, became a stress-free zone.
It's a good friend who invites you to visit, but it's a great friend who customizes the visit to exactly what you need without even having to ask.
Monday, December 08, 2008
Set Up Your Microscope and Tell Me What You See, You'll Still Know Nothing About Me
A few of my Facebook friends have made lists like this, of facts about themselves. I wanted to try for 100 things, but that's a lot of stuff, and I'm barely interesting enough for 50 things. Maybe I'll add more later if I feel a surge of fun factness.
1. I am a complete grammar snob.
2. I am always cold. Physically, I mean. Though sometimes emotionally as well, I'll admit. I don't think many people would describe me as a warm, loving person.
3. If I could hire just one person to do just one thing for me, it would be someone who would pick out my clothes. I have no fashion sense whatsoever.
4. I once got a funny anecdote published in Reader's Digest. And I got $300 for it.
5. My husband and my sister's husband were born on the exact same day. Same year and everything. The funniest part is, they have very little else in common.
6. I would love to live in my old hometown, if my old hometown could be picked up and plunked somewhere an hour or less from a major city.
7. I love reading advice columns.
8. The only dairy foods I really miss are ice cream and pizza.
9. When I don't have to drive anywhere, I love a huge-ass snow. I love a hard rain almost anytime.
10. The thought of having children scares the bejesus out of me.
11. I never want a surprise party thrown for me, because I hate the idea of being intentionally left out of something everyone else knows.
12. I hate spending the night in a house by myself. Always have. It's alright if I'm in the bed alone, but I like having someone else close by.
13. My favorite season is Fall.
14. I would love to have a piano in my house and learn to play again.
15. I would also love to have a house.
16. It drives me up the wall when people use "hun" as a term of endearment.
17. I love Starbursts and at one time not so very long ago would eat them until I felt ill. I've toned it down a bit now and only eat them in manageable doses. Mostly.
18. I once dressed up as a Spice Girl to dance for a guy on Valentine's Day. And it wasn't even my boyfriend; it was the boyfriend of an acquaintance. She dressed up as Ginger, and four of her friends rounded out the group. In a stunning display of my acting talent, I portrayed Sporty Spice. However, that was nothing compared to my very white friend Miranda who dressed as Scary.
19. Every single time I watch the last scene of Dead Poet's Society, I cry. I don't even have to watch the rest of the movie.
20. I once played a lady-in-waiting at the Pennsylvania Renaissance Faire. It wasn't a great experience altogether, but someday, it will be novel fodder, so not for nothing.
21. I hate weddings. I don't mind attending them, but I don't care to hear about the planning.
22. My mother has told me that she thinks I am her mother reincarnated. Given what I've heard about my grandmother, this could have been a compliment, an insult, or a little of both.
23. I was a live-in nanny for about seven months. The little girl I cared for is the one and only child who has ever made me think having kids might not be so bad.
24. The other thing on my pro list for having kids is the fact that lactose intolerant women often eat dairy without problems when they are pregnant.
25. I care nothing for celebrity gossip, but I will read about true crime all day long.
26. I didn't like Napoleon Dynamite or Edward Scissorhands, and so many people I know love both of those.
27. If I could have designed a man for myself, my husband looks exactly like that man.
28. He has none of that man's hobbies.
29. Birds freak me out.
30. When I was a little kid, my dream job was to be a "storekeeper," which basically meant grocery store cashier. I fulfilled that dream at 17 with a six-month stint at Greco's Market. It would have been longer, but alas, that was the entire time Greco's was open for business.
31. I can't stand Seinfeld. If I even hear the little twangy guitar noise come from my TV, I will leap over things to get to the remote so I can change the channel.
32. Growing up, I never wanted to go into journalism or writing of any kind. Funny how things change.
33. Even though I live in the Central Time Zone, I start my new year at Midnight in Eastern Time.
34. I have a sewing machine, but all I have managed to sew are wobbly-seamed blankets for Stella.
35. I think it would be fun to sing in an Abba tribute band.
36. Sometimes I think it would be fun to go back in time, Peggy Sue Got Married style. I'd like to try my high school years again knowing what I know now, just to see what would happen.
37. I never liked sweet potatoes until this year.
38. If I ever do have kids, the words of wisdom I plan to make them remember me by is "never pass up the chance to use the bathroom."
39. Unless it is horribly inconvenient, I always always take the stairs instead of an elevator.
40. When I was little, I had an imaginary friend named Pigeon. She lived in my mailbox with her family and grew to regular size when she came out of the mailbox. When my sister's best friend and our neighbor, Dani, moved to Massachusetts, Pigeon moved there too, to live in Dani's mailbox.
41. I love board games.
42. I think I would have fit in great in the 1950s and think it would be fun to time travel there.
43. My handwriting and memory were both a lot better before I got a job as a newspaper reporter.
44. In my acting days, I performed in a toga not one, not two, but three times.
45. If I had to choose a sitcom house to live in, I think I'd pick the Seavers' house on Growing Pains. I'd decorate a little differently though.
46. I've been hanging on to my Doc Martens for years in the hopes that everyone will start wearing them again.
47. I love the Golden Girls.
48. If I could have a famous friend, I would want it to be Christopher Guest.
49. If I ever become super wealthy and start a charitable organization, I'd like it to be a foundation that promotes literacy.
50. I don't care for crass humor, but I truly enjoy a good That's What She Said joke.
1. I am a complete grammar snob.
2. I am always cold. Physically, I mean. Though sometimes emotionally as well, I'll admit. I don't think many people would describe me as a warm, loving person.
3. If I could hire just one person to do just one thing for me, it would be someone who would pick out my clothes. I have no fashion sense whatsoever.
4. I once got a funny anecdote published in Reader's Digest. And I got $300 for it.
5. My husband and my sister's husband were born on the exact same day. Same year and everything. The funniest part is, they have very little else in common.
6. I would love to live in my old hometown, if my old hometown could be picked up and plunked somewhere an hour or less from a major city.
7. I love reading advice columns.
8. The only dairy foods I really miss are ice cream and pizza.
9. When I don't have to drive anywhere, I love a huge-ass snow. I love a hard rain almost anytime.
10. The thought of having children scares the bejesus out of me.
11. I never want a surprise party thrown for me, because I hate the idea of being intentionally left out of something everyone else knows.
12. I hate spending the night in a house by myself. Always have. It's alright if I'm in the bed alone, but I like having someone else close by.
13. My favorite season is Fall.
14. I would love to have a piano in my house and learn to play again.
15. I would also love to have a house.
16. It drives me up the wall when people use "hun" as a term of endearment.
17. I love Starbursts and at one time not so very long ago would eat them until I felt ill. I've toned it down a bit now and only eat them in manageable doses. Mostly.
18. I once dressed up as a Spice Girl to dance for a guy on Valentine's Day. And it wasn't even my boyfriend; it was the boyfriend of an acquaintance. She dressed up as Ginger, and four of her friends rounded out the group. In a stunning display of my acting talent, I portrayed Sporty Spice. However, that was nothing compared to my very white friend Miranda who dressed as Scary.
19. Every single time I watch the last scene of Dead Poet's Society, I cry. I don't even have to watch the rest of the movie.
20. I once played a lady-in-waiting at the Pennsylvania Renaissance Faire. It wasn't a great experience altogether, but someday, it will be novel fodder, so not for nothing.
21. I hate weddings. I don't mind attending them, but I don't care to hear about the planning.
22. My mother has told me that she thinks I am her mother reincarnated. Given what I've heard about my grandmother, this could have been a compliment, an insult, or a little of both.
23. I was a live-in nanny for about seven months. The little girl I cared for is the one and only child who has ever made me think having kids might not be so bad.
24. The other thing on my pro list for having kids is the fact that lactose intolerant women often eat dairy without problems when they are pregnant.
25. I care nothing for celebrity gossip, but I will read about true crime all day long.
26. I didn't like Napoleon Dynamite or Edward Scissorhands, and so many people I know love both of those.
27. If I could have designed a man for myself, my husband looks exactly like that man.
28. He has none of that man's hobbies.
29. Birds freak me out.
30. When I was a little kid, my dream job was to be a "storekeeper," which basically meant grocery store cashier. I fulfilled that dream at 17 with a six-month stint at Greco's Market. It would have been longer, but alas, that was the entire time Greco's was open for business.
31. I can't stand Seinfeld. If I even hear the little twangy guitar noise come from my TV, I will leap over things to get to the remote so I can change the channel.
32. Growing up, I never wanted to go into journalism or writing of any kind. Funny how things change.
33. Even though I live in the Central Time Zone, I start my new year at Midnight in Eastern Time.
34. I have a sewing machine, but all I have managed to sew are wobbly-seamed blankets for Stella.
35. I think it would be fun to sing in an Abba tribute band.
36. Sometimes I think it would be fun to go back in time, Peggy Sue Got Married style. I'd like to try my high school years again knowing what I know now, just to see what would happen.
37. I never liked sweet potatoes until this year.
38. If I ever do have kids, the words of wisdom I plan to make them remember me by is "never pass up the chance to use the bathroom."
39. Unless it is horribly inconvenient, I always always take the stairs instead of an elevator.
40. When I was little, I had an imaginary friend named Pigeon. She lived in my mailbox with her family and grew to regular size when she came out of the mailbox. When my sister's best friend and our neighbor, Dani, moved to Massachusetts, Pigeon moved there too, to live in Dani's mailbox.
41. I love board games.
42. I think I would have fit in great in the 1950s and think it would be fun to time travel there.
43. My handwriting and memory were both a lot better before I got a job as a newspaper reporter.
44. In my acting days, I performed in a toga not one, not two, but three times.
45. If I had to choose a sitcom house to live in, I think I'd pick the Seavers' house on Growing Pains. I'd decorate a little differently though.
46. I've been hanging on to my Doc Martens for years in the hopes that everyone will start wearing them again.
47. I love the Golden Girls.
48. If I could have a famous friend, I would want it to be Christopher Guest.
49. If I ever become super wealthy and start a charitable organization, I'd like it to be a foundation that promotes literacy.
50. I don't care for crass humor, but I truly enjoy a good That's What She Said joke.
Wednesday, December 03, 2008
When There's A Will
As of last night, I have another new trainer at the gym. Jeremiah has left my gym for one in another town.
When he told me he was leaving, I had mixed emotions. I liked working with him from an exercise standpoint, but he was way too quiet. I really need someone who will chat with me while I work out. So when, after our last session, he offered to make me an appointment with someone new, I asked him who was the most fun. He suggested someone named Will and pointed to a guy who was presently sitting on top of the overhead leg press apparatus while one of his trainees strained to move the weights and him.
Perhaps I should have elaborated on what I meant by fun.
But as it happened, Will turned out to be a nice guy, and definitely chatty. When we started the first exercise, he asked me why I'd signed up for training, saying I didn't really look like I needed it. I was flattered, although I took the compliment with a grain of salt. Though I'm sure he was at least somewhat sincere, he reminded me a bit of those guys in movies who are introduced to a girlfriend's mother and, smiling slyly, admonish the girl for not mentioning having a younger sister. We continued working, and at one point, he lowered the weight I was using, commenting that he "prefers form over weight."
"You could use that on your online dating profile," I joked.
"Nah," he told me. "That's not really true. I like a big girl." He elaborated that he likes a girl with "a 60-inch waist and an ass you can rest a coffee cup on."
No wonder he didn't think I needed any training. I'm surprised that he didn't send me out for a double cheeseburger instead.
When he told me he was leaving, I had mixed emotions. I liked working with him from an exercise standpoint, but he was way too quiet. I really need someone who will chat with me while I work out. So when, after our last session, he offered to make me an appointment with someone new, I asked him who was the most fun. He suggested someone named Will and pointed to a guy who was presently sitting on top of the overhead leg press apparatus while one of his trainees strained to move the weights and him.
Perhaps I should have elaborated on what I meant by fun.
But as it happened, Will turned out to be a nice guy, and definitely chatty. When we started the first exercise, he asked me why I'd signed up for training, saying I didn't really look like I needed it. I was flattered, although I took the compliment with a grain of salt. Though I'm sure he was at least somewhat sincere, he reminded me a bit of those guys in movies who are introduced to a girlfriend's mother and, smiling slyly, admonish the girl for not mentioning having a younger sister. We continued working, and at one point, he lowered the weight I was using, commenting that he "prefers form over weight."
"You could use that on your online dating profile," I joked.
"Nah," he told me. "That's not really true. I like a big girl." He elaborated that he likes a girl with "a 60-inch waist and an ass you can rest a coffee cup on."
No wonder he didn't think I needed any training. I'm surprised that he didn't send me out for a double cheeseburger instead.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
An Open Letter to The Writers of "The Office"
Dear Writers of "The Office":
Thank you for making Angela's favorite song "Little Drummer Boy." That has always been my most hated Christmas carol, but now that it's become a joke your show, when I hear it, I simply think of Dunder-Mifflin and all its hilarity instead of how much I hate the song.
Thank you for making my most hated Christmas song bearable.
Sincerely,
Erika
P.S. Nice job on the rest of the show too. It's top notch. One thing though: I'm kind of tired of the Jim and Pam drama, and actually all the drama, period. The show was, in my opinion, much stronger when it was just funny and not all soap opera-y. Bring back free pretzel day!
Thank you for making Angela's favorite song "Little Drummer Boy." That has always been my most hated Christmas carol, but now that it's become a joke your show, when I hear it, I simply think of Dunder-Mifflin and all its hilarity instead of how much I hate the song.
Thank you for making my most hated Christmas song bearable.
Sincerely,
Erika
P.S. Nice job on the rest of the show too. It's top notch. One thing though: I'm kind of tired of the Jim and Pam drama, and actually all the drama, period. The show was, in my opinion, much stronger when it was just funny and not all soap opera-y. Bring back free pretzel day!
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Pet Sounds
Once again, this week, we had to take Stella to the vet.Like many small dogs, she has been afflicted with a luxating patella, which basically means that her kneecap slips out every once in awhile. Sometimes it slips back in on its own, and sometimes we have to move it back for her. She's been limping around, picking up her right hind leg, for the last several weeks* and though we put her on crate rest for the majority of that time, it didn't seem to help.
The doctor prescribed an anti-inflammatory, and we've started giving her supplements that should help strengthen her joints, so we're hoping we'll be able to avoid surgery. Stel is not overweight, so that should work in her favor as, obviously, excess weight creates stress on the joints.
Nonetheless, the last several weeks have been stressful on all of us. Poor Stella hasn't been allowed to run and play, and my husband and I have been wondering about the what ifs. Throughout her life with us, we have spent more time worrying about Stella than I care to say. When we first got her, she had a long, rough bout of kennel cough. Then when we tried to switch her from puppy food to adult food, it took a good six months before we found one that agreed with her sensitive Boston Terrier tummy, and about a week after we did, she caught a parasite. As soon as that cleared up, this happened.
I love her to pieces, but lately, I've been feeling sad that I can't simply enjoy having her around instead of spending every day wondering what's next.
Then this morning, one of my coworkers came in late, telling the story of how his daughter threw up in his car. I couldn't help but think of the time Stella threw up in my car. It was an unpleasant ride for sure, but, being a dog, she was in her Terrier Carrier. Thus, all vomit was easily contained and washed away in the laundry room sink. I'm pretty sure my coworker can't say the same for his daughter's incident today.
Lesson learned: Be grateful for the dog. It may be stressful to take care of her sometimes, but a kid has to be way worse.
*She's still too fast for me to catch her. But in my defense, she's still running on three legs to my two, and she's only 16 pounds, where I am considerably heavier.
Friday, November 07, 2008
The Soundtrack of My Life
Stolen from a Facebook friend who probably stole it from someone else....
I did take away some of the categories I thought were dumb or weird. But that was before I did the exercise, so it still counts.
1. Put your iPod on shuffle. (Or you can write whatever comes on the radio.)
2. For each question, press the next button to get your answer.
3. YOU MUST WRITE THAT SONG NAME DOWN NO MATTER HOW SILLY IT SOUNDS!
WHAT WOULD BEST DESCRIBE YOUR PERSONALITY?
Home I do tend to hole up in the winter.
WHAT DO YOU LIKE IN A GUY/GIRL?
I Never Loved A Man (The Way That I Love You) I don't know if that answers the question, but at least it has to do with love. And let me just clarify that I am not a lesbian.
WHAT IS YOUR LIFE'S PURPOSE?
The Scotsman If you know this song, you'll know that my life's purpose is apparently looking under kilts. Sweet.
WHAT IS YOUR MOTTO?
I'm Walkin' Could be worse I guess.
WHAT DO YOUR FRIENDS THINK OF YOU?
She's Always A Woman To Me Thank God, because I'd be pretty upset if they thought I was a man.
WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT VERY OFTEN?
Wide Open Spaces This was more true 5-10 years ago, but I guess it's sort of true now.
WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR BEST FRIEND?
Hiphopapotamus vs. Rhymenoceros Hell yeah!
WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THE PERSON YOU LIKE?
Born in the U.S.A. This is funnier than you can imagine, because I am always telling my husband that he is American, not Italian.
WHAT IS YOUR LIFE STORY?
The Seer's Tower A bit poetic, and also reminiscent of my list of 30 things I wanted to do before I turned 30.
WHAT DO YOU WANT TO BE WHEN YOU GROW UP?
She Came in Through The Bathroom Window I guess it could be worse. I get to be a Beatles song, and at least it's not "Piggies."
WHAT DO YOU THINK WHEN YOU SEE THE PERSON YOU LIKE?
O Little Town of Bethlehem So not what I think.
WHAT DO YOUR PARENTS THINK OF YOU?
Girl, You'll Be A Woman Soon Dear God.
WHAT WILL YOU DANCE TO AT YOUR WEDDING?
Bitch I left this question on even though I already got married. I did not dance at my wedding, but this would have been a great one if I had.
WHAT WILL THEY PLAY AT YOUR FUNERAL?
O Tannenbaum It's the instrumental Charlie Brown version. I guess I'm alright with that.
WHAT IS YOUR HOBBY/INTEREST?
You Were Mine Um, yeah, not so much.
WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST SECRET?
Like A Virgin The secret is out! I have Madonna in my iTunes.
WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR FRIENDS?
Atomic Some of them, yeah, probably.
WHAT'S THE WORST THING THAT COULD HAPPEN?
Lonely Teenager Been there, done that.
HOW WILL YOU DIE?
In the Flesh Hey, there are worse ways to go.
WHAT IS THE ONE THING YOU REGRET?
Yesterday I guess that's all I can regret, right?
WHAT MAKES YOU LAUGH?
Should I Stay or Should I Go Only when I try to play it on Rock Band.
WHAT MAKES YOU CRY?
Chicago Poetic, no?
WILL YOU EVER GET MARRIED?
Karma Chameleon I did marry a man whose colors are like my dreams. He is not, however, a man without conviction and a man who doesn't know.
WHAT SCARES YOU THE MOST?
Adia I guess this makes sense when you consider that the last time I went to the dentist it was playing. The dentist is scary.
IF YOU COULD GO BACK IN TIME, WHAT WOULD YOU CHANGE?
Upon Those Stones This song is from Les Miserables. I guess I would change the French Revolution if I could, but something tells me other things might be on my list.
WHAT HURTS RIGHT NOW?
One Week Ah, yes, but which one?
I did take away some of the categories I thought were dumb or weird. But that was before I did the exercise, so it still counts.
1. Put your iPod on shuffle. (Or you can write whatever comes on the radio.)
2. For each question, press the next button to get your answer.
3. YOU MUST WRITE THAT SONG NAME DOWN NO MATTER HOW SILLY IT SOUNDS!
WHAT WOULD BEST DESCRIBE YOUR PERSONALITY?
Home I do tend to hole up in the winter.
WHAT DO YOU LIKE IN A GUY/GIRL?
I Never Loved A Man (The Way That I Love You) I don't know if that answers the question, but at least it has to do with love. And let me just clarify that I am not a lesbian.
WHAT IS YOUR LIFE'S PURPOSE?
The Scotsman If you know this song, you'll know that my life's purpose is apparently looking under kilts. Sweet.
WHAT IS YOUR MOTTO?
I'm Walkin' Could be worse I guess.
WHAT DO YOUR FRIENDS THINK OF YOU?
She's Always A Woman To Me Thank God, because I'd be pretty upset if they thought I was a man.
WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT VERY OFTEN?
Wide Open Spaces This was more true 5-10 years ago, but I guess it's sort of true now.
WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR BEST FRIEND?
Hiphopapotamus vs. Rhymenoceros Hell yeah!
WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THE PERSON YOU LIKE?
Born in the U.S.A. This is funnier than you can imagine, because I am always telling my husband that he is American, not Italian.
WHAT IS YOUR LIFE STORY?
The Seer's Tower A bit poetic, and also reminiscent of my list of 30 things I wanted to do before I turned 30.
WHAT DO YOU WANT TO BE WHEN YOU GROW UP?
She Came in Through The Bathroom Window I guess it could be worse. I get to be a Beatles song, and at least it's not "Piggies."
WHAT DO YOU THINK WHEN YOU SEE THE PERSON YOU LIKE?
O Little Town of Bethlehem So not what I think.
WHAT DO YOUR PARENTS THINK OF YOU?
Girl, You'll Be A Woman Soon Dear God.
WHAT WILL YOU DANCE TO AT YOUR WEDDING?
Bitch I left this question on even though I already got married. I did not dance at my wedding, but this would have been a great one if I had.
WHAT WILL THEY PLAY AT YOUR FUNERAL?
O Tannenbaum It's the instrumental Charlie Brown version. I guess I'm alright with that.
WHAT IS YOUR HOBBY/INTEREST?
You Were Mine Um, yeah, not so much.
WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST SECRET?
Like A Virgin The secret is out! I have Madonna in my iTunes.
WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR FRIENDS?
Atomic Some of them, yeah, probably.
WHAT'S THE WORST THING THAT COULD HAPPEN?
Lonely Teenager Been there, done that.
HOW WILL YOU DIE?
In the Flesh Hey, there are worse ways to go.
WHAT IS THE ONE THING YOU REGRET?
Yesterday I guess that's all I can regret, right?
WHAT MAKES YOU LAUGH?
Should I Stay or Should I Go Only when I try to play it on Rock Band.
WHAT MAKES YOU CRY?
Chicago Poetic, no?
WILL YOU EVER GET MARRIED?
Karma Chameleon I did marry a man whose colors are like my dreams. He is not, however, a man without conviction and a man who doesn't know.
WHAT SCARES YOU THE MOST?
Adia I guess this makes sense when you consider that the last time I went to the dentist it was playing. The dentist is scary.
IF YOU COULD GO BACK IN TIME, WHAT WOULD YOU CHANGE?
Upon Those Stones This song is from Les Miserables. I guess I would change the French Revolution if I could, but something tells me other things might be on my list.
WHAT HURTS RIGHT NOW?
One Week Ah, yes, but which one?
Wednesday, November 05, 2008
An Open Letter To Barack Obama
Dear Mr. President-Elect,
I'm sure you're hearing from many people today who want to tell you congrats on the whole White House thing, so I'll make this note brief. But I wanted to talk to you about that puppy you promised your daughters last night.
I don't know if you and the missus have looked into it at all, but if you haven't decided on a breed yet, I want to cast my vote for the Boston Terrier. If you research the breed on the American Kennel Club's Web site, you'll find that BTs are described as "conveying an impression of determination, strength and activity." Which is exactly what you want to do as president, so I think getting a Boston would make a nice statement.
Plus they're really cute, and I think people would really like seeing a little BT chasing a ball on the White House lawn.
I know you're busy preparing to run the country and stuff, but if you have a second, please peruse my posts about my own Boston Terrier, Stella, and make sure you look at her pictures. You can't have her, of course, but if you get a BT and want to have Stella come over for play dates, I'm sure we could work something out.
Sincerely,
Erika
I'm sure you're hearing from many people today who want to tell you congrats on the whole White House thing, so I'll make this note brief. But I wanted to talk to you about that puppy you promised your daughters last night.
I don't know if you and the missus have looked into it at all, but if you haven't decided on a breed yet, I want to cast my vote for the Boston Terrier. If you research the breed on the American Kennel Club's Web site, you'll find that BTs are described as "conveying an impression of determination, strength and activity." Which is exactly what you want to do as president, so I think getting a Boston would make a nice statement.
Plus they're really cute, and I think people would really like seeing a little BT chasing a ball on the White House lawn.
I know you're busy preparing to run the country and stuff, but if you have a second, please peruse my posts about my own Boston Terrier, Stella, and make sure you look at her pictures. You can't have her, of course, but if you get a BT and want to have Stella come over for play dates, I'm sure we could work something out.
Sincerely,
Erika
Monday, November 03, 2008
Stage Mother
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It's true. My dog is adorable.It is also true that since we don't have children, my husband and I have turned into Those People With The Dog. You know. The people who love their dogs just a little too much. The ones who announce that our dog earned her AKC Canine Good Citizen certification the way parents would announce that their kid made the honor roll. And yes, the ones who tell people that she has already chosen what she wants to be when she grows up (a model).
In our defense, look how cute she is! Way cuter than a lot of kids. And way better behaved (sometimes). And as of the other day, it turns out that she is well on her way to becoming a model, just like she wanted.
Awhile back, my husband, who happens to be a professional photographer, took a Christmas-themed photo of our girl and uploaded it to a stock photo Web site. The other day, he checked the site and found out that it had been purchased by someone for use!
Unfortunately, there's no way to find out who purchased the image. Still, it sure is exciting to know that my little girl's face will be out there for the world to see. I'm sure it won't be long till she has her own TV show.
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Valerie Harper Will Not Hide In The Fruit Cellar
A coworker who recently returned from a trip to Ireland told me today about an awful B&B where she stayed while there. It was a long, sordid tale, but the gist is that the owners (a shirtless farmer and his butcher-apron-clad wife) were inattentive, the rooms were full of mosquitos (but no heat), the curtains in the bathroom were see-through and there was a machete underneath one of the bedroom windows.
I was relaying the story to my husband this evening, and when I got to the part about the machete, he said, "boy, it's like Jason Bateman lives there."
"Um...Jason Bateman?" I was sure he had to mean someone else, unless Bateman's performance in Teen Wolf Too was really that scary for him.
"Yeah, from Psycho."
Yeah, he'd been thinking of Norman Bates.
I was relaying the story to my husband this evening, and when I got to the part about the machete, he said, "boy, it's like Jason Bateman lives there."
"Um...Jason Bateman?" I was sure he had to mean someone else, unless Bateman's performance in Teen Wolf Too was really that scary for him.
"Yeah, from Psycho."
Yeah, he'd been thinking of Norman Bates.
Here Comes Suzy Snowflake
I had to scrape frost off of my windshield this morning before leaving for work.
I am so not happy about this. It's a good thing I love Christmas so much, because I've had to get out my holiday music just to make myself feel better about the chilly temperatures. I figure maybe I can fool myself into thinking it's December if I listen to Bing Crosby for awhile. On the up side, though, maybe I'll get my shopping done early.
I am so not happy about this. It's a good thing I love Christmas so much, because I've had to get out my holiday music just to make myself feel better about the chilly temperatures. I figure maybe I can fool myself into thinking it's December if I listen to Bing Crosby for awhile. On the up side, though, maybe I'll get my shopping done early.
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Flattery Will Get You
Last week when I went to my training session at the gym, Megan dropped a bomb on me.
She was leaving. She got a new job at a new gym and would be starting this week.
I was excited for her, especially when she told me about the significant boost in pay she'd be getting. She's fun, upbeat and a great motivator, so I know she'll do well at the new gig. But of course, I was sad for myself. I'd been working with her for two months, and under her tutelage, I have seen results.
As her last act as my trainer, Megan offered to schedule me a session with a different trainer for this week. I asked her to recommend someone who was fun and entertaining, and she gave me a guy named Jeremiah. I had my first session with him last night.
Jeremiah is a nice kid. (He's 20, and now that I'm 30, I figure it's alright to call someone who is 20 "kid"). He really wasn't that fun and entertaining at first though, and I kind of need someone who will chat with me; otherwise, I will realize I'm doing squats and suddenly want to leave.
So I asked him about his background, where he lives, what he enjoys. I found out that two months ago, he smashed into a fire hydrant while running down the street, and I saw the huge scar that pretty much encircles his entire right knee. But the jury was still out on whether or not I would like working with him.
Then he mentioned that he's going to be 21 in a few months, and I told him I just turned 30. He was genuinely surprised and told me I looked like mid-20s to him.
Have I mentioned that Jeremiah is awesome?
She was leaving. She got a new job at a new gym and would be starting this week.
I was excited for her, especially when she told me about the significant boost in pay she'd be getting. She's fun, upbeat and a great motivator, so I know she'll do well at the new gig. But of course, I was sad for myself. I'd been working with her for two months, and under her tutelage, I have seen results.
As her last act as my trainer, Megan offered to schedule me a session with a different trainer for this week. I asked her to recommend someone who was fun and entertaining, and she gave me a guy named Jeremiah. I had my first session with him last night.
Jeremiah is a nice kid. (He's 20, and now that I'm 30, I figure it's alright to call someone who is 20 "kid"). He really wasn't that fun and entertaining at first though, and I kind of need someone who will chat with me; otherwise, I will realize I'm doing squats and suddenly want to leave.
So I asked him about his background, where he lives, what he enjoys. I found out that two months ago, he smashed into a fire hydrant while running down the street, and I saw the huge scar that pretty much encircles his entire right knee. But the jury was still out on whether or not I would like working with him.
Then he mentioned that he's going to be 21 in a few months, and I told him I just turned 30. He was genuinely surprised and told me I looked like mid-20s to him.
Have I mentioned that Jeremiah is awesome?
Monday, October 13, 2008
Lessons From the Angel Girl
Ever since I took a History of Nazi Germany class in college, I have been fascinated with stories of the Holocaust. While part of my interest is certainly the horror story factor (the same thing that draws me to books about serial killers), and some of it has to be biological (my dad will devour any book he can get his hands on about World War II) I think what keeps me drawn to this period over and over again are the happy (or, rather, bittersweet) endings for those affected by the Holocaust. The tales of triumph over evil, survival in the worst of conditions and forgiveness of unforgivable acts.
A few years ago, I interviewed a Holocaust survivor for the newspaper where I worked. Born in Poland in 1932, he spent his formative years in a ghetto and then a concentration camp. He eventually emigrated to the United States and spent years hiding from his past, bottling his feelings deep inside (and turning instead to The Bottle for solace). It was only when he began telling his story that he began to find peace.
While I was listening to him that day, all I could think was how amazing it was that this man was sitting in front of me. He was a living, breathing piece of history, and I was having a conversation with him. I had lunch with him a week or so later, and he asked about me -- where I grew up, my education, my goals -- and I couldn't help thinking that nothing I had to say could be all that interesting to this man who had known such incomprehensible suffering.
Talking to him made me feel very privileged, though not in a good way. I am ever grateful that this man's suffering is incomprehensible to me; his life is not one I want to understand from a first-hand perspective. But at the same time, sitting at lunch with him, I felt the age-old urge to clean my plate because people are starving elsewhere, an almost guilt-like feeling, because I grew up in such relative privilege.
But today, I read a Holocaust story that made me realize there are two sides to that coin.
He was a teenager living in a death camp; she was posing as a Christian and living in the village nearby. Every day, she would come to the camp's fence and throw an apple to him; he would catch it and run away before he was seen. He called her his "angel girl."
When he got word that he would be moving to another camp, he bade her farewell, and the two forgot about each other until, years later and an ocean away, they were set up on a blind date. They got to talking about their wartime experiences and realized they had met before. He proposed marriage to her that very night. The couple, now of Florida, has been married for 50 years.
It sounds like something out of a movie. But Holocaust experts who have studied the man's memoirs believe it to be true, and so do I, if for no other reason than that I want to. I'm willing to bet there are no adjectives strong enough to describe the horrors of what these two experienced back then, and so should their joy of finding each other and falling in love be likewise indescribable. And just like I could never fully understand the suffering, I don't think I could ever fully understand that kind of happiness.
I'll take what I have. But I am glad to know that those who suffer the most often have the greatest joys as well.
A few years ago, I interviewed a Holocaust survivor for the newspaper where I worked. Born in Poland in 1932, he spent his formative years in a ghetto and then a concentration camp. He eventually emigrated to the United States and spent years hiding from his past, bottling his feelings deep inside (and turning instead to The Bottle for solace). It was only when he began telling his story that he began to find peace.
While I was listening to him that day, all I could think was how amazing it was that this man was sitting in front of me. He was a living, breathing piece of history, and I was having a conversation with him. I had lunch with him a week or so later, and he asked about me -- where I grew up, my education, my goals -- and I couldn't help thinking that nothing I had to say could be all that interesting to this man who had known such incomprehensible suffering.
Talking to him made me feel very privileged, though not in a good way. I am ever grateful that this man's suffering is incomprehensible to me; his life is not one I want to understand from a first-hand perspective. But at the same time, sitting at lunch with him, I felt the age-old urge to clean my plate because people are starving elsewhere, an almost guilt-like feeling, because I grew up in such relative privilege.
But today, I read a Holocaust story that made me realize there are two sides to that coin.
He was a teenager living in a death camp; she was posing as a Christian and living in the village nearby. Every day, she would come to the camp's fence and throw an apple to him; he would catch it and run away before he was seen. He called her his "angel girl."
When he got word that he would be moving to another camp, he bade her farewell, and the two forgot about each other until, years later and an ocean away, they were set up on a blind date. They got to talking about their wartime experiences and realized they had met before. He proposed marriage to her that very night. The couple, now of Florida, has been married for 50 years.
It sounds like something out of a movie. But Holocaust experts who have studied the man's memoirs believe it to be true, and so do I, if for no other reason than that I want to. I'm willing to bet there are no adjectives strong enough to describe the horrors of what these two experienced back then, and so should their joy of finding each other and falling in love be likewise indescribable. And just like I could never fully understand the suffering, I don't think I could ever fully understand that kind of happiness.
I'll take what I have. But I am glad to know that those who suffer the most often have the greatest joys as well.
Pick A Little, Talk A Little
Yesterday, I was shopping at an establishment I don't really frequent, but visited because I had a coupon. I don't really like shopping there unless I can get something cheaper there than somewhere else. And the reason can be summed up in four little words.
"You finding everything alright?"
I spent about 10 minutes in the store, and I was asked this four times. I don't know if I looked particularly confused, or if the employees were particularly bored, or if they're just supposed to ask every customer they come across if they need help. But after the third time, I had the urge to stand up on a chair and yell, "I'm finding everything just fine! No need to ask me again!"
But it wasn't the over-helpfulness of the employees that turned me off yesterday. (And I grant you, I'd rather over-helpfulness than employees who are nowhere to be found when I actually do need help.) Nor was it the fact that the store's server went down, making it impossible for them to verify credit card transactions till they rebooted and forcing a long line of people to stand there for 10 minutes. These things happen; they're annoying, but they happen. No, what turned me off was the conduct of one particular employee during that wait.
This girl, talking to another girl behind the register, told the story of Wendy, who had requested the day off and not gotten it. She had called a couple of her work friends, including the storyteller, the day before to say she planned to call in sick. The girl told Wendy she'd better not; it was going to be really busy, and they needed her. Well, whaddayaknow, Wendy had a friend of her dad's call in for her, saying she was very ill, then had the audacity to text a friend at work and ask how things were going. (And obviously, with the server down and all, things were not going well.)
I know all workplaces have their gossip, and the story of Wendy is probably one repeated in every retail establishment across the country. But that doesn't mean the place to tell it is in front of a long line of customers.
What I don't think the girl realized is that telling that story made the whole store look bad. There was a sign in the window asking for holiday help, but if I'd been considering applying, I would have changed my mind right there. Who wants to work at a place where you know you could be talked about in front of customers? And who wants to work at a place where employees feel it is OK to call in sick when they are not sick, and brag about it to coworkers? Not to mention how bad the telling of the story looked to customers, who I think I can safely say were all wishing the girl would call her manager for help rebooting the system instead of talking to her neighbor. (And now that I've blogged the story, I have an urge to go back to that store on a day this week when Wendy is working and ask her if she's feeling better.)
The experience wasn't quite as bad as my Labor Day excursion to Hobby Lobby, but it still left a bad taste in my mouth. Maybe I can't appreciate either situation because I have never worked retail (unless you count six months in a grocery store that hardly ever got customers other than the moms of the part-time employees). And maybe I am expecting too much. But I do sort of hope that the next time I go shopping, I won't have any reason to remember the store employees.
"You finding everything alright?"
I spent about 10 minutes in the store, and I was asked this four times. I don't know if I looked particularly confused, or if the employees were particularly bored, or if they're just supposed to ask every customer they come across if they need help. But after the third time, I had the urge to stand up on a chair and yell, "I'm finding everything just fine! No need to ask me again!"
But it wasn't the over-helpfulness of the employees that turned me off yesterday. (And I grant you, I'd rather over-helpfulness than employees who are nowhere to be found when I actually do need help.) Nor was it the fact that the store's server went down, making it impossible for them to verify credit card transactions till they rebooted and forcing a long line of people to stand there for 10 minutes. These things happen; they're annoying, but they happen. No, what turned me off was the conduct of one particular employee during that wait.
This girl, talking to another girl behind the register, told the story of Wendy, who had requested the day off and not gotten it. She had called a couple of her work friends, including the storyteller, the day before to say she planned to call in sick. The girl told Wendy she'd better not; it was going to be really busy, and they needed her. Well, whaddayaknow, Wendy had a friend of her dad's call in for her, saying she was very ill, then had the audacity to text a friend at work and ask how things were going. (And obviously, with the server down and all, things were not going well.)
I know all workplaces have their gossip, and the story of Wendy is probably one repeated in every retail establishment across the country. But that doesn't mean the place to tell it is in front of a long line of customers.
What I don't think the girl realized is that telling that story made the whole store look bad. There was a sign in the window asking for holiday help, but if I'd been considering applying, I would have changed my mind right there. Who wants to work at a place where you know you could be talked about in front of customers? And who wants to work at a place where employees feel it is OK to call in sick when they are not sick, and brag about it to coworkers? Not to mention how bad the telling of the story looked to customers, who I think I can safely say were all wishing the girl would call her manager for help rebooting the system instead of talking to her neighbor. (And now that I've blogged the story, I have an urge to go back to that store on a day this week when Wendy is working and ask her if she's feeling better.)
The experience wasn't quite as bad as my Labor Day excursion to Hobby Lobby, but it still left a bad taste in my mouth. Maybe I can't appreciate either situation because I have never worked retail (unless you count six months in a grocery store that hardly ever got customers other than the moms of the part-time employees). And maybe I am expecting too much. But I do sort of hope that the next time I go shopping, I won't have any reason to remember the store employees.
Friday, October 10, 2008
Human Good Citizen
Last night, as I was drifting off to sleep, I got to thinking about all the work we've put into having Stella certified as a Canine Good Citizen. We went through 30 weeks of obedience classes and hours of working at home, not to mention socializing her everywhere we could, taking her to doggie daycare and spending quite a bit of money in the process, all to help Stella learn good manners.
In addition to being proud of my dog, I was proud of myself and my husband for getting her to this point. When we first brought Stella home, we had no idea how to train her; we just kind of hoped that if we said "sit" enough times, she would. And many times during obedience class, I thought to myself, what if we ever have a child? Who is going to teach me obedience for kids?
I think of my downstairs neighbor, Mr. McCrochety, who complains constantly about my husband's and my noisy habits (such as walking up the stairs and doing laundry). He's so quick to point out what he sees as flaws in other people, so quick to complain about the smallest annoyance, yet he has never shown one bit of courtesy or kindness to my husband or me. I always greet him with a friendly "hello" when I see him, yet last week, I was walking out the door right behind him, and he let it slam in my face rather than holding it for me. If you ask me, he's someone who could use some obedience training.
And why don't we have good citizen training for people? Stella had to take a test; why shouldn't McCrochety and all the other people of the world? Why shouldn't we all have to prove that we are fit to be a part of society? And why shouldn't we take our children to classes where they learn good manners? I'm sure that going to regular school helps, but my high school psychology teacher always said that two-thirds of a person's personality was formed by the time he or she turns five. So wouldn't it help to start those good habits early? And wouldn't it help to have some way to measure how we're doing?
And so, here is my test for becoming a Human Good Citizen.
Accepting a friendly stranger. To successfully complete this item for Canine Good Citizen certification, a dog must sit or stand nicely by its owner. If the dog barks or growls, jumps up on the person or shies away from the person, the dog doesn't pass the test. I don't see any problem with the qualifications for a Human Good Citizen being pretty much the same. Any person who makes a rude remark or catcalls, or doesn't at least acknowledge that the other person is there, will be disqualified.
Appearance and grooming. The American Kennel Club says that Canine Good Citizens should be clean, groomed and generally well cared for. I don't think that's too much to ask of people.
Walking through a crowd. The person must walk nicely, taking care not to shove others out of the way, and always saying "excuse me" when having to get past someone.
Sitting on command and staying in place. For people, this would more commonly be known as "shut up and wait your turn." I think a good place to do this test would be the mall on Christmas Eve or a doctor's office during flu season.
Coming when called. For a dog, this means literally coming to you when you tell him to do so. For humans, I'd say it would mean making onesself available when needed. A child ignoring the parent who asks him to clear the table or a call center person who reads a response off a monitor without listening to the question would receive an immediate failure.
Reaction to distraction. For dogs, this means they have to sit or stand nicely in place and not freak out when someone drops a book or bounces a ball or drags a walker nearby where they're standing. For people, I think this should mean not answering one's cell phone while sitting down to dinner or in public places, diligently doing one's work without screwing off all day and turning off the TV when someone has something important to say.
Supervised separation. For dogs, this means being out of the sight of one's owner for three minutes without whining, barking or otherwise show agitation or nervousness. It shows that the dog can be left with a trusted person and still maintain good manners. For people, I think this test should show independence. It would have to be given at adulthood, of course, but I think a person should be left alone for three weeks and would have to demonstrate the ability to take care of onesself without relying on a parent or spouse. A person would have to cook his or her own meals, do his or her own laundry and generally take care of himself or herself without having someone standing by either giving orders or serving the person.
In addition to being proud of my dog, I was proud of myself and my husband for getting her to this point. When we first brought Stella home, we had no idea how to train her; we just kind of hoped that if we said "sit" enough times, she would. And many times during obedience class, I thought to myself, what if we ever have a child? Who is going to teach me obedience for kids?
I think of my downstairs neighbor, Mr. McCrochety, who complains constantly about my husband's and my noisy habits (such as walking up the stairs and doing laundry). He's so quick to point out what he sees as flaws in other people, so quick to complain about the smallest annoyance, yet he has never shown one bit of courtesy or kindness to my husband or me. I always greet him with a friendly "hello" when I see him, yet last week, I was walking out the door right behind him, and he let it slam in my face rather than holding it for me. If you ask me, he's someone who could use some obedience training.
And why don't we have good citizen training for people? Stella had to take a test; why shouldn't McCrochety and all the other people of the world? Why shouldn't we all have to prove that we are fit to be a part of society? And why shouldn't we take our children to classes where they learn good manners? I'm sure that going to regular school helps, but my high school psychology teacher always said that two-thirds of a person's personality was formed by the time he or she turns five. So wouldn't it help to start those good habits early? And wouldn't it help to have some way to measure how we're doing?
And so, here is my test for becoming a Human Good Citizen.
Accepting a friendly stranger. To successfully complete this item for Canine Good Citizen certification, a dog must sit or stand nicely by its owner. If the dog barks or growls, jumps up on the person or shies away from the person, the dog doesn't pass the test. I don't see any problem with the qualifications for a Human Good Citizen being pretty much the same. Any person who makes a rude remark or catcalls, or doesn't at least acknowledge that the other person is there, will be disqualified.
Appearance and grooming. The American Kennel Club says that Canine Good Citizens should be clean, groomed and generally well cared for. I don't think that's too much to ask of people.
Walking through a crowd. The person must walk nicely, taking care not to shove others out of the way, and always saying "excuse me" when having to get past someone.
Sitting on command and staying in place. For people, this would more commonly be known as "shut up and wait your turn." I think a good place to do this test would be the mall on Christmas Eve or a doctor's office during flu season.
Coming when called. For a dog, this means literally coming to you when you tell him to do so. For humans, I'd say it would mean making onesself available when needed. A child ignoring the parent who asks him to clear the table or a call center person who reads a response off a monitor without listening to the question would receive an immediate failure.
Reaction to distraction. For dogs, this means they have to sit or stand nicely in place and not freak out when someone drops a book or bounces a ball or drags a walker nearby where they're standing. For people, I think this should mean not answering one's cell phone while sitting down to dinner or in public places, diligently doing one's work without screwing off all day and turning off the TV when someone has something important to say.
Supervised separation. For dogs, this means being out of the sight of one's owner for three minutes without whining, barking or otherwise show agitation or nervousness. It shows that the dog can be left with a trusted person and still maintain good manners. For people, I think this test should show independence. It would have to be given at adulthood, of course, but I think a person should be left alone for three weeks and would have to demonstrate the ability to take care of onesself without relying on a parent or spouse. A person would have to cook his or her own meals, do his or her own laundry and generally take care of himself or herself without having someone standing by either giving orders or serving the person.
Canine Cum Laude
Last night, my little girl became a Canine Good Citizen!For those not familiar, the Canine Good Citizen program is something created by the American Kennel Club to promote responsible dog ownership and obedience. To become certified, a dog must successfully complete a 10-item test.
It's almost hard to believe she was able to do it. Less than a year ago when we started puppy classes, little Stel was so afraid of other dogs that she would whine and hide behind my husband and me whenever they had playtime. Now, thanks to class and doggie daycare, my little girl is a social butterfly who can't wait to meet new people and puppy dog friends.
Stella still has some challenges to overcome. She still jumps up on people, and that's a really tough habit to break with a small dog; people tend to immediately bend over to pet her and reinforce the bad behavior. And she does get a bit barky when she's on her leash, although she's starting to grow out of it a bit and getting more selective about who should be on the receiving end. (For example, she no longer barks at the nice lady who lives upstairs and always pets her and says hi, but she still barks at McCrochety, who does nothing but complain about her and everything else. Smart girl.)
Still, she's learned enough to pass the test, and it's not an easy one. I do have to admit, a big part of me is just relieved that we don't have to repeat this class; we've been doing obedience since the end of last December, and I think the whole family is a bit tired of the routine. But when I think of how far we've come, I know all the time and effort was worth it. I'm so proud of my girl!
As for what's next, Stella plans to take a well-deserved break for a little while and then jump into therapy dog training, maybe early next year. Someday, she hopes to become a full-fledged service dog. Or a model, she can't decide.
After last night, I know she could do anything she puts her mind to.
Thursday, October 09, 2008
My Own List of 30 Skills
After reviewing the list of 30 skills to have before 30 (according to thefrisky.com), I thought I'd put together my own list. Because when it comes right down to it, I don't think it's really important for me to know how to hard boil an egg.
I kept these from thefrisky's list.
1. Ask a man out
2. Send a thoughtful thank you note
3. Say "no" gracefully
4. Balance her checkbook
5. Read a map
6. Apologize when she's wrong
7. Dress for her body type
8. Feign interest
And here are the rest, according to me. Be it known that I am not proficient at all of these, but again, I've got 10 days.
9. Craft a well-written letter (be it a complaint letter to a company, a cover letter for a job or a letter to the editor of the local paper)
10. Bake a cake or cookies from scratch
11. Gracefully give and accept compliments
12. Gracefully give and accept criticism
13. Seek professional help (be it plumber, psychologist, lawyer, whatever)
14. Navigate a party full of strangers
15. Foster a new friendship
16. Make a clever joke at exactly the right time
17. Walk away from an argument with dignity, not parting shots
18. Find fulfilling ways to spend a free day
19. Special order something in a restaurant
20. Take a great photo
21. Defend herself, both verbally and physically
22. Cook a fantastic holiday meal
23. Clean everything in her home
24. Stand up for a good cause
25. Knowledgeably choose a candidate for public office
26. Laugh at herself
27. Put together a great outfit
28. Know how to do at least one thing no one else she knows knows how to do
29. Navigate a new city
30. Genuinely celebrate a friend's successes when faced with personal challenges
I kept these from thefrisky's list.
1. Ask a man out
2. Send a thoughtful thank you note
3. Say "no" gracefully
4. Balance her checkbook
5. Read a map
6. Apologize when she's wrong
7. Dress for her body type
8. Feign interest
And here are the rest, according to me. Be it known that I am not proficient at all of these, but again, I've got 10 days.
9. Craft a well-written letter (be it a complaint letter to a company, a cover letter for a job or a letter to the editor of the local paper)
10. Bake a cake or cookies from scratch
11. Gracefully give and accept compliments
12. Gracefully give and accept criticism
13. Seek professional help (be it plumber, psychologist, lawyer, whatever)
14. Navigate a party full of strangers
15. Foster a new friendship
16. Make a clever joke at exactly the right time
17. Walk away from an argument with dignity, not parting shots
18. Find fulfilling ways to spend a free day
19. Special order something in a restaurant
20. Take a great photo
21. Defend herself, both verbally and physically
22. Cook a fantastic holiday meal
23. Clean everything in her home
24. Stand up for a good cause
25. Knowledgeably choose a candidate for public office
26. Laugh at herself
27. Put together a great outfit
28. Know how to do at least one thing no one else she knows knows how to do
29. Navigate a new city
30. Genuinely celebrate a friend's successes when faced with personal challenges
10 To 30
With 10 days to go before my 30th birthday, I read with interest this list of 30 Skills Every Woman Should Have Before Turning 30, according to thefrisky.com.
Let's see if the frisky folks would think I'm ready. Here are the skills I either have or need to acquire in the next 10 days.
1. Hard boil an egg
I know how to do this, but I never eat hard-boiled eggs, so I have only ever used this skill when making Easter eggs to color or potato salad for my mom.
2. Diplomatically tell Mom to butt-out
My mom doesn't really butt in too much, but if she did, I would use the same policy for her as I use for others who do butt in: I just wouldn't tell her things.
3. Ace a job interview
I need to work on that one. I'm much better on paper than in person.
4. Ask a man out
I wouldn't say I've ever been good at this, but now that I'm married, it's easy: "Honey, should we go to the movies Saturday? Yeah? Cool."
5. Send a thoughtful thank you note
I don't write thank you notes as often as I maybe should, but I do write them, and I think I do a decent job.
6. Listen to a friend in need
This is tricky. I'm not really the shoulder-to-cry-on friend. I'm the already-cried-and-now-I-need-a-sarcastic-comment friend. But if all of the friend's shoulder-to-cry-on friends are all busy that day, I do alright as long as I don't have to say anything caring and supportive.
7. Ask for help
I'm about 50/50 on this one. Sometimes I ask for help on things I could really do myself, but then other times, I refuse to ask when I should. But I'd say I get it right about half the time.
8. Effectively end an unhealthy relationship (romantic or platonic in nature)
This is a skill I only recently picked up in the past few years. I still don't find it easy, but luckily, I don't have to do it very often.
9. Beautifully wrap a gift
Hmm. I might be able to do this if I actually tried. I can wrap OK if I take the time and effort, but I've never really done the curly ribbon and all that jazz.
10. Say “no” gracefully
Sadly, this is one skill I have not yet learned at all. Guess I've got 10 days to pick it up.
11. Whip up a great dinner with the five items in her fridge
I guess I could do this. I don't know if I'd want to have company over that night, though.
12. Forget pleasing him, by 30 a woman should be able to tell her man exactly how to please her
Um, my mom reads this blog, so I'm just gonna ignore this one.
13. Sew a button
Learned this at age 10.
14. Mix a kick-ass cocktail
This is along the lines the cooking with five items thing. I could probably make a cocktail I like, but I don't know if anyone else would like it.
15. Take off her bra without removing her shirt
Yeah, I can do this.
16. Apply lip gloss in the dark
I guess I could do this, but I don't know why I ever would.
17. Balance her checkbook
Yeah, I can do this too.
18. Create a budget
Can I? Yes. Do I? Not so much. At least, not in written form.
19. Find the best deal
I'm insanely cheap, so yes, this is a skill I have. For me, the bigger lesson was knowing that "deal" doesn't always mean cheaper, that sometimes, paying more actually gets you more.
20. Negotiate a salary and/or pay raise
I can't do this, but then again, I've never really felt the need.
21. Read a map
I have a terrible sense of direction, so this is something I can and must definitely do.
22. Hail a cab
I don't think I've ever had to do this, but I could, I guess.
23. Say something in French just for the hell of it
Voulez-vous du beurre?
24. Apologize when she’s wrong
I'm not sure I spelled that French thing right. If I didn't, I'm sorry. Does that count?
25. Dress for her body type
Eh. I don't do great, but I think I avoid the worst pitfalls most of the time. I do this by dressing boring.
26. Change a flat (or know who to call to come change it)
In theory, I know how to change a flat, but I haven't ever done it when not under the watchful eye of my dad. But in case it's ever an issue, I have my husband on speed dial.
27. Spot a fake (handbag, diamond, potential friend…)
Handbag? Possibly. Diamond? Maybe. Potential friend? Absolutely.
28. Feign interest
Are you kidding? My entire professional life is based on this skill.
29. Know what to tip on a $25 dinner bill
Yes, and if I ever forget, some lady once gave me a little wallet card with a chart on it.
30. Hold a baby
I can do this, but don't tell my mother-in-law.
Let's see if the frisky folks would think I'm ready. Here are the skills I either have or need to acquire in the next 10 days.
1. Hard boil an egg
I know how to do this, but I never eat hard-boiled eggs, so I have only ever used this skill when making Easter eggs to color or potato salad for my mom.
2. Diplomatically tell Mom to butt-out
My mom doesn't really butt in too much, but if she did, I would use the same policy for her as I use for others who do butt in: I just wouldn't tell her things.
3. Ace a job interview
I need to work on that one. I'm much better on paper than in person.
4. Ask a man out
I wouldn't say I've ever been good at this, but now that I'm married, it's easy: "Honey, should we go to the movies Saturday? Yeah? Cool."
5. Send a thoughtful thank you note
I don't write thank you notes as often as I maybe should, but I do write them, and I think I do a decent job.
6. Listen to a friend in need
This is tricky. I'm not really the shoulder-to-cry-on friend. I'm the already-cried-and-now-I-need-a-sarcastic-comment friend. But if all of the friend's shoulder-to-cry-on friends are all busy that day, I do alright as long as I don't have to say anything caring and supportive.
7. Ask for help
I'm about 50/50 on this one. Sometimes I ask for help on things I could really do myself, but then other times, I refuse to ask when I should. But I'd say I get it right about half the time.
8. Effectively end an unhealthy relationship (romantic or platonic in nature)
This is a skill I only recently picked up in the past few years. I still don't find it easy, but luckily, I don't have to do it very often.
9. Beautifully wrap a gift
Hmm. I might be able to do this if I actually tried. I can wrap OK if I take the time and effort, but I've never really done the curly ribbon and all that jazz.
10. Say “no” gracefully
Sadly, this is one skill I have not yet learned at all. Guess I've got 10 days to pick it up.
11. Whip up a great dinner with the five items in her fridge
I guess I could do this. I don't know if I'd want to have company over that night, though.
12. Forget pleasing him, by 30 a woman should be able to tell her man exactly how to please her
Um, my mom reads this blog, so I'm just gonna ignore this one.
13. Sew a button
Learned this at age 10.
14. Mix a kick-ass cocktail
This is along the lines the cooking with five items thing. I could probably make a cocktail I like, but I don't know if anyone else would like it.
15. Take off her bra without removing her shirt
Yeah, I can do this.
16. Apply lip gloss in the dark
I guess I could do this, but I don't know why I ever would.
17. Balance her checkbook
Yeah, I can do this too.
18. Create a budget
Can I? Yes. Do I? Not so much. At least, not in written form.
19. Find the best deal
I'm insanely cheap, so yes, this is a skill I have. For me, the bigger lesson was knowing that "deal" doesn't always mean cheaper, that sometimes, paying more actually gets you more.
20. Negotiate a salary and/or pay raise
I can't do this, but then again, I've never really felt the need.
21. Read a map
I have a terrible sense of direction, so this is something I can and must definitely do.
22. Hail a cab
I don't think I've ever had to do this, but I could, I guess.
23. Say something in French just for the hell of it
Voulez-vous du beurre?
24. Apologize when she’s wrong
I'm not sure I spelled that French thing right. If I didn't, I'm sorry. Does that count?
25. Dress for her body type
Eh. I don't do great, but I think I avoid the worst pitfalls most of the time. I do this by dressing boring.
26. Change a flat (or know who to call to come change it)
In theory, I know how to change a flat, but I haven't ever done it when not under the watchful eye of my dad. But in case it's ever an issue, I have my husband on speed dial.
27. Spot a fake (handbag, diamond, potential friend…)
Handbag? Possibly. Diamond? Maybe. Potential friend? Absolutely.
28. Feign interest
Are you kidding? My entire professional life is based on this skill.
29. Know what to tip on a $25 dinner bill
Yes, and if I ever forget, some lady once gave me a little wallet card with a chart on it.
30. Hold a baby
I can do this, but don't tell my mother-in-law.
An Open Letter To CNN.com
Dear CNN.com,
My boss says that when giving criticism to someone, you should open with a compliment, then give your criticism, then close with a compliment, so the person or party doesn't think you're being too harsh. That said, I'd like to tell you a few things.
1. You're pretty good at taking a news story from a few years ago and making it look like a new one by putting a current-sounding headline on it.
2. I read this on your website today:
After his father was diagnosed with dementia in 1996, Anthony Lazzara Jr. faced a difficult decision: He either could place his father in a facility, or him and his wife could care for him themselves.
Him and his wife? Are you kidding me? Did a third grader write this? I can't believe such a glaring and ugly grammatical error would be committed by a major news source like you. Do you not have proofreaders? Or are they third graders too? I overlook a lot of dumb stuff on your website, but this makes me want to stop reading it altogether.
3. I like your hair.
Sincerely,
Erika
My boss says that when giving criticism to someone, you should open with a compliment, then give your criticism, then close with a compliment, so the person or party doesn't think you're being too harsh. That said, I'd like to tell you a few things.
1. You're pretty good at taking a news story from a few years ago and making it look like a new one by putting a current-sounding headline on it.
2. I read this on your website today:
After his father was diagnosed with dementia in 1996, Anthony Lazzara Jr. faced a difficult decision: He either could place his father in a facility, or him and his wife could care for him themselves.
Him and his wife? Are you kidding me? Did a third grader write this? I can't believe such a glaring and ugly grammatical error would be committed by a major news source like you. Do you not have proofreaders? Or are they third graders too? I overlook a lot of dumb stuff on your website, but this makes me want to stop reading it altogether.
3. I like your hair.
Sincerely,
Erika
Friday, October 03, 2008
My Favorite Stuff I Had As A Kid
I felt a little bad about mentioning all that stuff my parents denied me as a child. So I figure it's only fair to talk about some of my favorite things I had. Because, you know, people totally care about that stuff.
My Earring Tree -- It looked like a rainbow, and it was sparkly. I think it mostly delighted me because having it meant my ears were pierced, and everyone knows you're nobody till you get your ears pierced. (Erika trivia -- I got my ears pierced on October 19, 1985, my seventh birthday. Or was it my sixth birthday in 1984? I must check with my mom to see if she remembers. I know for sure it was the same year she got the blue drapes for the living room, because she took my picture modeling my new earrings in front of her new drapes.)
Albert the Running Bear and Violet the Exercise Bear -- In second grade, Mrs. Gilvary had an Albert and a Violet that everybody took turns taking home for a night or a weekend. We all loved them. For Christmas that year, I got an Albert as a present, and then I won Violet in a class raffle of some sort. Mrs. Gilvary's class was the best. (Erika trivia -- I was so mad when I found out that Kurt Knott said that my Albert wasn't a real Albert because his sweatsuit was blue and Mrs. Gilvary's Albert wore a red sweatsuit. I'd really liked Kurt Knott before that, and that just ruined my whole opinion of him.)
My Chalkboard -- My parents probably got it for me thinking it might be a fun way for me to learn things. But mostly I remember using it to play school and yelling at my imaginary students. And coloring it by turning the chalk sideways and scribbling with the whole side of the piece.
My Pencil With The Replaceable Points -- I have no idea what they are actually called, but it was, as I remember, sort of a precursor to the mechanical pencil. They had a bunch of plastic tips inside them, with lead points, and once you wore down the lead, you'd take that tip off, push it down through the top of the pencil, and a brand new one would come out! You never had to sharpen your pencil! That is the one and only thing in my life that I had before anyone else I knew.
My Books -- At one point, I owned every book in the Baby-Sitters Club series and every book in the Sweet Valley Twins series. The former was my favorite; I can still remember the thrill I felt every time I opened a new one to read. I don't know what's wrong with kids today that they need Harry Potter as an incentive to read. I was happy with the stories of a bunch of dorky girls with after-school babysitting jobs. (Erika trivia -- I only had up to #41 in the BSC series and don't think I read anything after that. So if anyone wants to get me the rest for my birthday, I think that's a very appropriate gift for someone who is turning 30. I don't remember where I stopped collecting the Sweet Valley Twins books, so obviously, I was not as much of a fan as I thought at the time.)
My Phone -- My favorite thing about it was that it had a "hold" button. I thought that was very grown up. (Erika trivia -- In middle school, Krista Shellenberger gave me a diary as a present. There were two keys with it, and I dropped one down into the phone through a little space by the hangup button. It remained there until the phone stopped working in college.)
My Roller Skates and My Skate Case -- Oh, the days of Saturday mornings at Great Skate. (Erika trivia -- my seventh birthday party was held there. Among my gifts was a Derek Barbie and the Rockers doll from Darcey Mesaris.)
My Caboodles -- Ever since Kelly Leiter got one, I wanted one of those things so bad. Snoopy Snowcone Machine bad. Partly because they were so darn cool, and partly because having one meant I would probably also have some makeup to put in it. And for my 12th birthday, I got three. A little one (from Steph Moulthrop) a medium one with two trays that slid out from the middle (from Darcey Mesaris) and a huge one with a mirror and two trays that lifted up from inside (from my mom). And funnily enough, they all matched. That was the best birthday ever. (Erika trivia -- That was the year I had a joint birthday party with Steph Moulthrop, and I got really mad about something and ended up going upstairs to sleep in my bed. I went back down eventually.)
My Earring Tree -- It looked like a rainbow, and it was sparkly. I think it mostly delighted me because having it meant my ears were pierced, and everyone knows you're nobody till you get your ears pierced. (Erika trivia -- I got my ears pierced on October 19, 1985, my seventh birthday. Or was it my sixth birthday in 1984? I must check with my mom to see if she remembers. I know for sure it was the same year she got the blue drapes for the living room, because she took my picture modeling my new earrings in front of her new drapes.)
Albert the Running Bear and Violet the Exercise Bear -- In second grade, Mrs. Gilvary had an Albert and a Violet that everybody took turns taking home for a night or a weekend. We all loved them. For Christmas that year, I got an Albert as a present, and then I won Violet in a class raffle of some sort. Mrs. Gilvary's class was the best. (Erika trivia -- I was so mad when I found out that Kurt Knott said that my Albert wasn't a real Albert because his sweatsuit was blue and Mrs. Gilvary's Albert wore a red sweatsuit. I'd really liked Kurt Knott before that, and that just ruined my whole opinion of him.)
My Chalkboard -- My parents probably got it for me thinking it might be a fun way for me to learn things. But mostly I remember using it to play school and yelling at my imaginary students. And coloring it by turning the chalk sideways and scribbling with the whole side of the piece.
My Pencil With The Replaceable Points -- I have no idea what they are actually called, but it was, as I remember, sort of a precursor to the mechanical pencil. They had a bunch of plastic tips inside them, with lead points, and once you wore down the lead, you'd take that tip off, push it down through the top of the pencil, and a brand new one would come out! You never had to sharpen your pencil! That is the one and only thing in my life that I had before anyone else I knew.
My Books -- At one point, I owned every book in the Baby-Sitters Club series and every book in the Sweet Valley Twins series. The former was my favorite; I can still remember the thrill I felt every time I opened a new one to read. I don't know what's wrong with kids today that they need Harry Potter as an incentive to read. I was happy with the stories of a bunch of dorky girls with after-school babysitting jobs. (Erika trivia -- I only had up to #41 in the BSC series and don't think I read anything after that. So if anyone wants to get me the rest for my birthday, I think that's a very appropriate gift for someone who is turning 30. I don't remember where I stopped collecting the Sweet Valley Twins books, so obviously, I was not as much of a fan as I thought at the time.)
My Phone -- My favorite thing about it was that it had a "hold" button. I thought that was very grown up. (Erika trivia -- In middle school, Krista Shellenberger gave me a diary as a present. There were two keys with it, and I dropped one down into the phone through a little space by the hangup button. It remained there until the phone stopped working in college.)
My Roller Skates and My Skate Case -- Oh, the days of Saturday mornings at Great Skate. (Erika trivia -- my seventh birthday party was held there. Among my gifts was a Derek Barbie and the Rockers doll from Darcey Mesaris.)
My Caboodles -- Ever since Kelly Leiter got one, I wanted one of those things so bad. Snoopy Snowcone Machine bad. Partly because they were so darn cool, and partly because having one meant I would probably also have some makeup to put in it. And for my 12th birthday, I got three. A little one (from Steph Moulthrop) a medium one with two trays that slid out from the middle (from Darcey Mesaris) and a huge one with a mirror and two trays that lifted up from inside (from my mom). And funnily enough, they all matched. That was the best birthday ever. (Erika trivia -- That was the year I had a joint birthday party with Steph Moulthrop, and I got really mad about something and ended up going upstairs to sleep in my bed. I went back down eventually.)
Things I Always Wanted When I Was A Kid But Never Got
A coworker of mine came in to work today with a hat that looks like a Hungry Hungry Hippo. She plans to wear it as part of her Halloween costume. When I was little, I always wanted that game but never had it. Seeing that hat got me to thinking about some of the other stuff I wanted but never got, and since my birthday is coming up, I thought I'd compile a list.
Snoopy Snowcone Machine -- I can't even tell you how much I wanted one of these. I don't know why; I don't even like snowcones. But even now, I think if I got one as a present, I might cry tears of joy...and then put it in the back of my kitchen cabinet, because I'd never, ever use it.
Cowboy (or Cowgirl) Boots -- In first grade, Krista Smith had a pair I coveted. They were gray. That is all I remember about Krista Smith.
My Little Pony -- I had a kick-ass My Little Pony game that had a carousel with a ball on top, and when you pumped the ball up and down, it made the carousel spin. Then whatever color came up when it stopped, you got a rubber stamp of the pony that color. And whoever got all the colors first won, or something. But I never had any actual My Little Pony ponies. In retrospect, I'm not sure why I cared, because I've never liked horses.
Leather Pants -- I'm not sure if I really wanted these or just thought they were super cool, but I remember saying once that I liked the ones on the lady in the "99 Red Balloons" video. My sister made fun of me. In retrospect, though, she was right. Leather pants would have a looked kind of strange on a six-year-old.
Pound Puppy -- We didn't have a real dog either. My parents were so mean.
Cabbage Patch Kid Musical Swing -- I totally don't remember wanting this, but a few years ago, when my parents pulled out the old Santa letters (erm, I mean copies of the Santa letters, because the originals obviously went to the big guy himself) I had asked for it like four years in a row.
Snoopy Snowcone Machine -- I can't even tell you how much I wanted one of these. I don't know why; I don't even like snowcones. But even now, I think if I got one as a present, I might cry tears of joy...and then put it in the back of my kitchen cabinet, because I'd never, ever use it.
Cowboy (or Cowgirl) Boots -- In first grade, Krista Smith had a pair I coveted. They were gray. That is all I remember about Krista Smith.
My Little Pony -- I had a kick-ass My Little Pony game that had a carousel with a ball on top, and when you pumped the ball up and down, it made the carousel spin. Then whatever color came up when it stopped, you got a rubber stamp of the pony that color. And whoever got all the colors first won, or something. But I never had any actual My Little Pony ponies. In retrospect, I'm not sure why I cared, because I've never liked horses.
Leather Pants -- I'm not sure if I really wanted these or just thought they were super cool, but I remember saying once that I liked the ones on the lady in the "99 Red Balloons" video. My sister made fun of me. In retrospect, though, she was right. Leather pants would have a looked kind of strange on a six-year-old.
Pound Puppy -- We didn't have a real dog either. My parents were so mean.
Cabbage Patch Kid Musical Swing -- I totally don't remember wanting this, but a few years ago, when my parents pulled out the old Santa letters (erm, I mean copies of the Santa letters, because the originals obviously went to the big guy himself) I had asked for it like four years in a row.
An Open Letter To The Chicago White Sox
Dear Chicago White Sox,
I'm sure every member of your team is a loyal reader of this blog, and you've simply been waiting in the wings with your barbecue chips (Nick Swisher), Chief Crunchie ice cream bars (Alexei Ramirez), Sprite (Brian Anderson) and grilling tools (A.J. Pierzynski) for an invitation to a barbecue at my house.
Well, if you'll all just send me your e-mail addresses, I will happily send you that invite now, because thanks to the best e-card website ever, I finally have the perfect thing to send. I look forward to hearing from you.
Sincerely,
Erika
P.S. Good luck with the whole playoff thing. If you win the World Series again, maybe I can spring for a cake that says "congratulations." Or a Fudgie the Whale cake.
I'm sure every member of your team is a loyal reader of this blog, and you've simply been waiting in the wings with your barbecue chips (Nick Swisher), Chief Crunchie ice cream bars (Alexei Ramirez), Sprite (Brian Anderson) and grilling tools (A.J. Pierzynski) for an invitation to a barbecue at my house.
Well, if you'll all just send me your e-mail addresses, I will happily send you that invite now, because thanks to the best e-card website ever, I finally have the perfect thing to send. I look forward to hearing from you.
Sincerely,
Erika
P.S. Good luck with the whole playoff thing. If you win the World Series again, maybe I can spring for a cake that says "congratulations." Or a Fudgie the Whale cake.
Friday, September 26, 2008
More Than Words
Two days ago, I woke up with that bubble-in-my-throat feeling that made me think I might be coming down with something. Yesterday, I again woke up with it, and it stayed.
Today, I woke up feeling mostly alright, but curiously, I have absolutely no voice. And I mean no voice at all. If I drink a glass of water, I can get a couple of words out, but I sound like one of Marge Simpson's sisters.
This rarely happens to me. I can think of only one other time it has when my voice has gone away for longer than the few minutes after I get out of bed. In a way, it's kind of nice to be alone and quiet with me. But on the other hand, it makes it a little hard when I actually have to communicate. I seem to be able to squeak out only a few letters here and there. Stella has been looking at me funny all morning long, probably because she's been hearing me say things like, ".... .... .... g.... f..... g... d...." And even I don't know what that means.
Today, I woke up feeling mostly alright, but curiously, I have absolutely no voice. And I mean no voice at all. If I drink a glass of water, I can get a couple of words out, but I sound like one of Marge Simpson's sisters.
This rarely happens to me. I can think of only one other time it has when my voice has gone away for longer than the few minutes after I get out of bed. In a way, it's kind of nice to be alone and quiet with me. But on the other hand, it makes it a little hard when I actually have to communicate. I seem to be able to squeak out only a few letters here and there. Stella has been looking at me funny all morning long, probably because she's been hearing me say things like, ".... .... .... g.... f..... g... d...." And even I don't know what that means.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Go, You Chicken Fat, Go!
Last night during my workout session, my personal trainer, Megan, told me she plans to flee the country in June to backpack through Europe for awhile. She said she figures now is a good time to do it, since she's young and has nothing tying her down.
I'm totally excited for her, and I think it's a great thing. But who is going to get me all buff and fit now? I guess I can work with someone else, but I really like Megan, and I'm seeing results under her tutelage. I don't want her to leave!
I told her she is not allowed to go anywhere until I reach my fitness goals. She then made me do the hardest workout she's ever made me do, sending me home with jelly for legs.
I guess she's really serious about this whole Europe thing.
I'm totally excited for her, and I think it's a great thing. But who is going to get me all buff and fit now? I guess I can work with someone else, but I really like Megan, and I'm seeing results under her tutelage. I don't want her to leave!
I told her she is not allowed to go anywhere until I reach my fitness goals. She then made me do the hardest workout she's ever made me do, sending me home with jelly for legs.
I guess she's really serious about this whole Europe thing.
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Stuck On You
Stella has been having a rough time of it lately.
A few months ago, we began to transition her from puppy food to adult food, and for some reason (an allergy or something), the new food didn't agree with her little digestive system. I won't go into details, but suffice it to say the results were fairly explosive. After a couple of vet visits, a few rounds of "just in case" parasite-ridding medication and a prescribed food that would get things back in order, we tried again with a different brand. This time, things went a little better, but still, the new food did not agree with our girl.
Finally, a month or so ago, someone told my husband about a great food with no fillers or artificial anything and suggested we try it for the next go-round. He picked up a bag, we made the transition, and magically, things seemed to fall into place. Our little girl had finally found a grown-up food she could handle.
Our elation lasted about a week, and then we were back to the, um, explosions. And they were worse than ever. We put her on a bland diet for a couple of days, but I really didn't think the food was the problem this time. After all, she had been eating it with good results for awhile; with the other foods, the change was pretty immediate. Last night, we took her to the vet, and we found out I was right; it wasn't the food at all. My little girl had brought home a pet without permission. Giardia.
For those who don't know, Giardia are one-celled parasites that live in the small intestines of dogs and cats. Animals usually pick them up from drinking infected standing water (or, pleasantly, eating the poo of another infected animal). I've been reading up on the little buggers, and it seems that they can live outside the body for quite some time, so it is recommended that owners wash any bedding and whatnot that pets have come in contact with, disinfect everything, etc., to make sure they're all gone from the home.
And the most exciting news is that humans can get them too. We're not planning on eating any poo, of course, but you can't be too careful. So tonight, my husband and I are going to clean our home from top to bottom with as much disinfectant as we can, just in case.
Now I know how parents feel when their kids come home with a head full of lice. Gross.
A few months ago, we began to transition her from puppy food to adult food, and for some reason (an allergy or something), the new food didn't agree with her little digestive system. I won't go into details, but suffice it to say the results were fairly explosive. After a couple of vet visits, a few rounds of "just in case" parasite-ridding medication and a prescribed food that would get things back in order, we tried again with a different brand. This time, things went a little better, but still, the new food did not agree with our girl.
Finally, a month or so ago, someone told my husband about a great food with no fillers or artificial anything and suggested we try it for the next go-round. He picked up a bag, we made the transition, and magically, things seemed to fall into place. Our little girl had finally found a grown-up food she could handle.
Our elation lasted about a week, and then we were back to the, um, explosions. And they were worse than ever. We put her on a bland diet for a couple of days, but I really didn't think the food was the problem this time. After all, she had been eating it with good results for awhile; with the other foods, the change was pretty immediate. Last night, we took her to the vet, and we found out I was right; it wasn't the food at all. My little girl had brought home a pet without permission. Giardia.
For those who don't know, Giardia are one-celled parasites that live in the small intestines of dogs and cats. Animals usually pick them up from drinking infected standing water (or, pleasantly, eating the poo of another infected animal). I've been reading up on the little buggers, and it seems that they can live outside the body for quite some time, so it is recommended that owners wash any bedding and whatnot that pets have come in contact with, disinfect everything, etc., to make sure they're all gone from the home.
And the most exciting news is that humans can get them too. We're not planning on eating any poo, of course, but you can't be too careful. So tonight, my husband and I are going to clean our home from top to bottom with as much disinfectant as we can, just in case.
Now I know how parents feel when their kids come home with a head full of lice. Gross.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
Things I've Seen People Do In Movies And On TV And Would Like To Try Doing Sometime
1. Talk on the phone as if I'm talking to someone other than who I am actually talking to so that someone standing in the same room I'm in doesn't realize who I'm really talking to.
Hello?
Erika, it's me, your husband.
Yes, hello. I'm glad you called.
I know you must have been worried that the kidnappers killed me.
Yes, yes, I was curious about that. But I would like to change my order from the kung pao chicken to the moo shu pork.
Are the kidnappers there with you now?
They are. And please, don't forget the egg rolls this time.
2. Have a shopping montage and come home with bags and bags of new clothes.
3. Have an argument while talking on my flip phone and slam it shut to hang up on the person.
4. Do a spontaneous yet perfectly choreographed dance in the street with a bunch of strangers.
5. Throw a drink in someone's face.
6. Have a madcap day/night in the big city.
7. Go to a wedding where someone objects or runs.
8. Solve a big mystery, even though I have absolutely no investigative capabilities or intuition about that sort of thing.
9. Walk into a grocery store only to find out I am the millionth customer when sirens go off and balloons drop on me.
10. As part of a spa day, get a facial mask and cucumber slices over my eyes, and eat the cucumber slices.
Hello?
Erika, it's me, your husband.
Yes, hello. I'm glad you called.
I know you must have been worried that the kidnappers killed me.
Yes, yes, I was curious about that. But I would like to change my order from the kung pao chicken to the moo shu pork.
Are the kidnappers there with you now?
They are. And please, don't forget the egg rolls this time.
2. Have a shopping montage and come home with bags and bags of new clothes.
3. Have an argument while talking on my flip phone and slam it shut to hang up on the person.
4. Do a spontaneous yet perfectly choreographed dance in the street with a bunch of strangers.
5. Throw a drink in someone's face.
6. Have a madcap day/night in the big city.
7. Go to a wedding where someone objects or runs.
8. Solve a big mystery, even though I have absolutely no investigative capabilities or intuition about that sort of thing.
9. Walk into a grocery store only to find out I am the millionth customer when sirens go off and balloons drop on me.
10. As part of a spa day, get a facial mask and cucumber slices over my eyes, and eat the cucumber slices.
Expressions I Don't Like
"Staycation" -- Yes, yes, the economy is in the crapper, no one has money to travel, so we're enjoying the pleasures of home, and that's great. But the term "staycation" was only cute the first time.
"On the cheap" -- I don't even have anything to say about this; I just don't like it. I don't think it makes much sense, and anyway, wouldn't it just be easier to say "cheaply?"
"Pain at the pump" -- Another economy-inspired phrase, this one was also clever the first time and never since.
"Le sigh" -- According to urbandictionary.com, this came from Pepe Le Pew. Do we really want to be saying something a cartoon skunk first said?
And a bonus -- I don't mind so much when people say, "it is what it is," but I do mind when people complain about people saying "it is what it is."
"On the cheap" -- I don't even have anything to say about this; I just don't like it. I don't think it makes much sense, and anyway, wouldn't it just be easier to say "cheaply?"
"Pain at the pump" -- Another economy-inspired phrase, this one was also clever the first time and never since.
"Le sigh" -- According to urbandictionary.com, this came from Pepe Le Pew. Do we really want to be saying something a cartoon skunk first said?
And a bonus -- I don't mind so much when people say, "it is what it is," but I do mind when people complain about people saying "it is what it is."
Thursday, September 11, 2008
United They Stand...For A Minute Or Two (Or, Waxing Politic)
I heard on the radio today that presidential candidates John McCain and Barack Obama plan to set aside their differences and visit Ground Zero together to observe the anniversary of the Sept. 11 terrorist attacks. The two also plan to pull their attack ads on each other, just for today, in a sort of temporary cease-fire.
We often hear that the aftermath of the 2001 attacks showed the best of this country. There were stories of daring rescues, dedicated volunteers rushing to the aid of survivors and donations of all kinds from across the country. People set aside their political arguments and united with their countrymen, against a common enemy.
I guess McCain and Obama are trying to rejuvenate in all of us that proud American feeling by doing this today, but to me, it isn't touching or heartwarming. It is one day of doing what they should be doing every day. I'm not saying they should begin each morning with a hug and a declaration of "I treasure your friendship," or even that they have to pretend to like each other or agree on anything. They are competitors; let them compete.
But instead of playing nice just for one 24 hour period, I believe it would make a far better statement to stand together today and announce they plan to pull the attack ads permanently and continue the election process in a dignified way. One day of unity is not unity. It is a publicity stunt.
I've wondered lately whether the poor voter turnout that is always being reported is really apathy, or simply a boycott. I, for one, am torn about November's election. Neither candidate is wowing me at this point. And while they saying goes, "if you don't vote in an election, you can't complain about the results," I don't know if choosing randomly, so long as you're choosing something, is a great way to go about picking the leader of a country.
I plan to keep an eye on both candidates for the next few months and hope one ends up standing out to me as the person I would like running my country. In the meantime, though, I plan to spend tonight sitting in front of the TV. A night without attack ads seems like freedom to me.
We often hear that the aftermath of the 2001 attacks showed the best of this country. There were stories of daring rescues, dedicated volunteers rushing to the aid of survivors and donations of all kinds from across the country. People set aside their political arguments and united with their countrymen, against a common enemy.
I guess McCain and Obama are trying to rejuvenate in all of us that proud American feeling by doing this today, but to me, it isn't touching or heartwarming. It is one day of doing what they should be doing every day. I'm not saying they should begin each morning with a hug and a declaration of "I treasure your friendship," or even that they have to pretend to like each other or agree on anything. They are competitors; let them compete.
But instead of playing nice just for one 24 hour period, I believe it would make a far better statement to stand together today and announce they plan to pull the attack ads permanently and continue the election process in a dignified way. One day of unity is not unity. It is a publicity stunt.
I've wondered lately whether the poor voter turnout that is always being reported is really apathy, or simply a boycott. I, for one, am torn about November's election. Neither candidate is wowing me at this point. And while they saying goes, "if you don't vote in an election, you can't complain about the results," I don't know if choosing randomly, so long as you're choosing something, is a great way to go about picking the leader of a country.
I plan to keep an eye on both candidates for the next few months and hope one ends up standing out to me as the person I would like running my country. In the meantime, though, I plan to spend tonight sitting in front of the TV. A night without attack ads seems like freedom to me.
Too Fat Polka
Last night, I had an appointment with my trainer at the gym. It's been about a month since I had my first session, so I wanted to check my body fat to see if it had gone down at all. As luck would have it, some semi-beefy dude sitting at a table in the front asked me, as I walked in, if I wanted to measure my body fat. He seemed shocked when I told him, "yes, that was actually on my list of things to do today." He thought I was joking, and I think it threw him off a little. Later, when I did make a joke, he thought I was serious.
As it turned out, my body fat has gone down 1.5 percentage points since last month. My trainer and the head of training both said that's great, but Semi-Beefy Dude didn't seem to think so. He said next month I should try for another three percentage points, which the head of training told me -- right in front of Semi-Beefy -- is way too much. (The two also had differing opinions of ideal body fat. Semi-Beefy said 14-18 percent, the other guy said 18-21 percent. I've looked at a few charts, and it looks like Semi-Beefy is trying to get me into the "athletic" category, while the other guy wants me in the "fit" category. Or, Semi-Beefy thinks I am a man, since 14-18 percent is in the "fit" category for a man.)
S-B also told me that if I want to see better results, I ought to eat more protein. I'm not sure exactly what moved him to make that determination. He asked me, "how is your diet," and I told him, "it's pretty good but not great." Somehow, from that, he gleaned that I was not eating enough protein.
The thing is, he is probably right; I don't eat enough protein. And I'll bet that's pretty common, so maybe it's a natural assumption. But to look at the change in my body fat and immediately say "you need more protein" seemed a little strange. (He worked for the gym; he wasn't a protein powder salesman or anything.) I would have thought a more reasonable conclusion would be "you need less fat" or "you need to do harder workouts" or a half dozen other things besides, if he really thought my body fat loss wasn't enough. (That's when the joke came in. He said most people eat too many carbs, cereal for breakfast, sandwich for lunch, pasta for dinner, when we really should try to eat more chicken. I told him I often eat chicken for breakfast, and he didn't realize I was joking about that. He thought "yes, I'd like my body fat taken" was a joke, but "chicken for breakfast" sounded totally normal. Fitness makes people weird.)
As he lectured me on the benefits of protein, he was talking pretty fast, like he was giving a rehearsed speech. A lot of people at the gym talk like that, so I didn't take it personally. But it did annoy me, because in telling me what he thinks I need to do to get fit, he made me late for my training appointment.
When I was leaving the gym (after a really tough ab workout), a guy who looked like a tan version of Vin Diesel held the door for me and asked me how my workout had gone. I told him it was great and very challenging, and that I expected to see a flat stomach and six pack when I got home and looked in the mirror. (He also didn't realize I was joking. Maybe I need to work on my delivery. I realize these weren't hilarious jokes, but come on, even a polite smile would have been nice.) He proceeded to ask me how often I work out and tell me how often I should work out to get the results I want. (He did not, however, ask me what results I want.) I don't think the guy even worked at the gym; I don't remember seeing him there before. But maybe I looked like I needed the help.
Note to self: Do not wear "Please Give Me Unsolicited Advice" t-shirt to the gym anymore. And probably also do not wear long Nike running pants, as they apparently make me look fat, protein-deficient and possibly like a man.
As it turned out, my body fat has gone down 1.5 percentage points since last month. My trainer and the head of training both said that's great, but Semi-Beefy Dude didn't seem to think so. He said next month I should try for another three percentage points, which the head of training told me -- right in front of Semi-Beefy -- is way too much. (The two also had differing opinions of ideal body fat. Semi-Beefy said 14-18 percent, the other guy said 18-21 percent. I've looked at a few charts, and it looks like Semi-Beefy is trying to get me into the "athletic" category, while the other guy wants me in the "fit" category. Or, Semi-Beefy thinks I am a man, since 14-18 percent is in the "fit" category for a man.)
S-B also told me that if I want to see better results, I ought to eat more protein. I'm not sure exactly what moved him to make that determination. He asked me, "how is your diet," and I told him, "it's pretty good but not great." Somehow, from that, he gleaned that I was not eating enough protein.
The thing is, he is probably right; I don't eat enough protein. And I'll bet that's pretty common, so maybe it's a natural assumption. But to look at the change in my body fat and immediately say "you need more protein" seemed a little strange. (He worked for the gym; he wasn't a protein powder salesman or anything.) I would have thought a more reasonable conclusion would be "you need less fat" or "you need to do harder workouts" or a half dozen other things besides, if he really thought my body fat loss wasn't enough. (That's when the joke came in. He said most people eat too many carbs, cereal for breakfast, sandwich for lunch, pasta for dinner, when we really should try to eat more chicken. I told him I often eat chicken for breakfast, and he didn't realize I was joking about that. He thought "yes, I'd like my body fat taken" was a joke, but "chicken for breakfast" sounded totally normal. Fitness makes people weird.)
As he lectured me on the benefits of protein, he was talking pretty fast, like he was giving a rehearsed speech. A lot of people at the gym talk like that, so I didn't take it personally. But it did annoy me, because in telling me what he thinks I need to do to get fit, he made me late for my training appointment.
When I was leaving the gym (after a really tough ab workout), a guy who looked like a tan version of Vin Diesel held the door for me and asked me how my workout had gone. I told him it was great and very challenging, and that I expected to see a flat stomach and six pack when I got home and looked in the mirror. (He also didn't realize I was joking. Maybe I need to work on my delivery. I realize these weren't hilarious jokes, but come on, even a polite smile would have been nice.) He proceeded to ask me how often I work out and tell me how often I should work out to get the results I want. (He did not, however, ask me what results I want.) I don't think the guy even worked at the gym; I don't remember seeing him there before. But maybe I looked like I needed the help.
Note to self: Do not wear "Please Give Me Unsolicited Advice" t-shirt to the gym anymore. And probably also do not wear long Nike running pants, as they apparently make me look fat, protein-deficient and possibly like a man.
Thursday, September 04, 2008
Come On Along And Work Out To The Lullaby Of Broadway
I'm really trying to give this fitness thing a go. But after only three weeks, I'm kind of running out of things to do at the gym.
I like the weight training, but for now, I really need my trainer beside me, telling me which machines to use in what order. And I love cycling and swimming, but I don't want to do the same things over and over, lest I get bored with them, or my body get used to them, rendering them unaffective. (The trainers at the gym are really big on mixing it up -- I was told not to do the same workout more than once within three weeks.) I need to try some new things, mix it up a little bit.
In that spirit, last night, I took a sampler class which was comprised of small bits of basic step, kickboxing and Latin dance. I'd done a little of the step and the kickboxing before, but the Latin dance was new to me. And I really liked the small bit we did. Of the three, it was the dance that was my favorite.
I like doing the kind of exercise that makes me forget I'm exercising. For many people, that means playing a sport. But since I am not at all athletic, sports have no allure for me and usually don't give me that great a workout -- why bother trying to chase around a ball I know I have no chance of hitting? (That said, I did sign up for a raquetball clinic. I don't know what I was thinking.) I'm not that graceful either, but with dance, you're not really competing with anyone, and I can follow basic instructions, so even if I look stupid, I can still have fun and get a good workout.
The instructor who ran last night's session said there will be a Latin class starting up next week, but it's kind of early in the evening, so I'm not sure I'd be able to make it in time after work. Still, I'd like to try, because it seems to be the only dance-y class offered there. Plus I think with the music, it would be fun and different. I'm tired of working out to crappy Top 40 hits remixed with a fast beat.
On the way home, I got to thinking what kind of exercise class I'd really like to attend. Since I really enjoy the dance-y stuff (so long as it's not too complicated -- I remember stumbling all over myself trying to do the Paula Abdul dance workout tape in high school), I was thinking a good one would be a workout to Broadway tunes.
Richard Simmons and a few others have put out workout tapes with Broadway music, but from what I can see, the songs are all really old. I can't really blame them for that -- the Broadway shows everyone knew during the workout tape heyday of the 80s and early 90s hardly provided good exercise songs. I can't imagine myself sweating to any of the songs from Les Miserables or anything from Andrew Lloyd Webber. (Can't you just see a room of people trying to do leg lifts to "Do You Hear The People Sing"?)
But I think that the shows that are popular on Broadway and on tour these days would provide some great workout tunes. I could see myself enjoying an exercise routine set to Urinetown's "Run Freedom Run," Hairspray's "Welcome to the 60s" or even the "Fisch Schlapping Song" from Spamalot. And I can only imagine the calorie-burning choreography that could be used for Avenue Q's "You Can Be As Loud As The Hell You Want (When You're Makin' Love).
So how about it?
I like the weight training, but for now, I really need my trainer beside me, telling me which machines to use in what order. And I love cycling and swimming, but I don't want to do the same things over and over, lest I get bored with them, or my body get used to them, rendering them unaffective. (The trainers at the gym are really big on mixing it up -- I was told not to do the same workout more than once within three weeks.) I need to try some new things, mix it up a little bit.
In that spirit, last night, I took a sampler class which was comprised of small bits of basic step, kickboxing and Latin dance. I'd done a little of the step and the kickboxing before, but the Latin dance was new to me. And I really liked the small bit we did. Of the three, it was the dance that was my favorite.
I like doing the kind of exercise that makes me forget I'm exercising. For many people, that means playing a sport. But since I am not at all athletic, sports have no allure for me and usually don't give me that great a workout -- why bother trying to chase around a ball I know I have no chance of hitting? (That said, I did sign up for a raquetball clinic. I don't know what I was thinking.) I'm not that graceful either, but with dance, you're not really competing with anyone, and I can follow basic instructions, so even if I look stupid, I can still have fun and get a good workout.
The instructor who ran last night's session said there will be a Latin class starting up next week, but it's kind of early in the evening, so I'm not sure I'd be able to make it in time after work. Still, I'd like to try, because it seems to be the only dance-y class offered there. Plus I think with the music, it would be fun and different. I'm tired of working out to crappy Top 40 hits remixed with a fast beat.
On the way home, I got to thinking what kind of exercise class I'd really like to attend. Since I really enjoy the dance-y stuff (so long as it's not too complicated -- I remember stumbling all over myself trying to do the Paula Abdul dance workout tape in high school), I was thinking a good one would be a workout to Broadway tunes.
Richard Simmons and a few others have put out workout tapes with Broadway music, but from what I can see, the songs are all really old. I can't really blame them for that -- the Broadway shows everyone knew during the workout tape heyday of the 80s and early 90s hardly provided good exercise songs. I can't imagine myself sweating to any of the songs from Les Miserables or anything from Andrew Lloyd Webber. (Can't you just see a room of people trying to do leg lifts to "Do You Hear The People Sing"?)
But I think that the shows that are popular on Broadway and on tour these days would provide some great workout tunes. I could see myself enjoying an exercise routine set to Urinetown's "Run Freedom Run," Hairspray's "Welcome to the 60s" or even the "Fisch Schlapping Song" from Spamalot. And I can only imagine the calorie-burning choreography that could be used for Avenue Q's "You Can Be As Loud As The Hell You Want (When You're Makin' Love).
So how about it?
Monday, September 01, 2008
Clowns To The Left Of Me, Jokers To The Right
Taking advantage of my Labor Day off, I took lunch to my husband (who, unfortunately, had to work) and then headed to Hobby Lobby to pick up some supplies for a few projects. I was waiting for an employee to cut some material for me when two women came up and interrupted.
"Excuse me," they said. The employee said nothing; she didn't even look up. I thought that was kind of rude, but it was none of my business, so I just waited while she kept cutting. They tried to get her attention again, and I could tell by her face she was purposely ignoring them (she had that same look most people have when they pass a panhandler on the street -- eyes down, pretending not to hear). After a few more attempts by the customers, she told them tersely, "just a minute." One of the women started to ask a question, and the employee told them again, "just a minute," and the customers upped the rude ante by telling her, "'I'll be with you in a moment.' That's what you're supposed to say." The employee and the customers argued for another minute, with the customers ultimately walking away, saying, "you serve the public, honey."
I thought that was the end of it, but as the employee finished cutting and folding my material, she started muttering, "I hate this job, I hate this job." Despite my best efforts to put on the same panhandler face she'd been wearing a minute before, the employee decided to tell me that she's worked at Hobby Lobby for seven and a half years and hates the job, then explain that she was busy helping me and didn't like customers interrupting to ask her a question. Then she told me that she plans to put in her two weeks notice. I'm not sure whether she was planning this before or if she had just decided. I thought it best not to ask, lest I get myself into an actual conversation. I felt it better just to nod and get the hell out of there.
I'm not sure who to side with here, because the customers were pretty rude, but she was rude first, and I really don't think it's good form to tell a customer "I hate my job." Plus, I really don't think counting to one yard and and cutting in a straight line could be all that difficult that she wouldn't be able to at least look up to acknowledge another customer who has a question. Then again, I wouldn't want to acknowledge any customer who tells me what my job is. I like to see customers standing up for themselves, but I have never so much as raised my voice in a store, and I've certainly never resorted to "you serve the public, honey." So I guess I will side with myself, the innocent bystander, who not only had to listen to the altercation but then had to listen to the employee ranting about the altercation.
I listened to her for as long as I could stand while still being polite, and, as soon as she broke for a breath, I said, "I hope your day gets better" and high-tailed it away from her.
Happy Labor Day to all.
"Excuse me," they said. The employee said nothing; she didn't even look up. I thought that was kind of rude, but it was none of my business, so I just waited while she kept cutting. They tried to get her attention again, and I could tell by her face she was purposely ignoring them (she had that same look most people have when they pass a panhandler on the street -- eyes down, pretending not to hear). After a few more attempts by the customers, she told them tersely, "just a minute." One of the women started to ask a question, and the employee told them again, "just a minute," and the customers upped the rude ante by telling her, "'I'll be with you in a moment.' That's what you're supposed to say." The employee and the customers argued for another minute, with the customers ultimately walking away, saying, "you serve the public, honey."
I thought that was the end of it, but as the employee finished cutting and folding my material, she started muttering, "I hate this job, I hate this job." Despite my best efforts to put on the same panhandler face she'd been wearing a minute before, the employee decided to tell me that she's worked at Hobby Lobby for seven and a half years and hates the job, then explain that she was busy helping me and didn't like customers interrupting to ask her a question. Then she told me that she plans to put in her two weeks notice. I'm not sure whether she was planning this before or if she had just decided. I thought it best not to ask, lest I get myself into an actual conversation. I felt it better just to nod and get the hell out of there.
I'm not sure who to side with here, because the customers were pretty rude, but she was rude first, and I really don't think it's good form to tell a customer "I hate my job." Plus, I really don't think counting to one yard and and cutting in a straight line could be all that difficult that she wouldn't be able to at least look up to acknowledge another customer who has a question. Then again, I wouldn't want to acknowledge any customer who tells me what my job is. I like to see customers standing up for themselves, but I have never so much as raised my voice in a store, and I've certainly never resorted to "you serve the public, honey." So I guess I will side with myself, the innocent bystander, who not only had to listen to the altercation but then had to listen to the employee ranting about the altercation.
I listened to her for as long as I could stand while still being polite, and, as soon as she broke for a breath, I said, "I hope your day gets better" and high-tailed it away from her.
Happy Labor Day to all.
Friday, August 29, 2008
The Power of Suggestion: Part II
I love it when people respond to things I write. Partly because that means someone is reading the things I write, and partly because sometimes it gets me candy.My favorite piece of mail this week came from my friend Miranda, who, in response to a post I wrote, sent me the package in the photo. There was also a book inside of things to do before you turn 30. Many of them I've already done ("write a complaint letter" was one), but there are some I haven't. Perhaps I'll give a few a try before October 19.
After I finish my candy.
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Whenever You're Near, I Hear A Symphony
I've really been enjoying my new gym.
I've had two sessions now with my personal trainer, Megan, who makes me work but ensures my ability to walk the next day. And I'm loving the pool. I've been swimming more times in the last two weeks than in the last seven years. I'm actually sorry I didn't switch gyms a long time ago.
What I was most excited about was that my new gym holds classes in separate rooms with doors, so that no matter what kind of yelling is going on, you can't hear it on the main floor. Unfortunately, I forgot about what might happen if I actually take a class.
Last night, I took an hour-long cycling class. I'd done the same one (but with a different instructor) last week and left sweaty, hungry and exhausted, so I was looking forward to another great workout last night. It's a good thing I went in so determined.
At the front of the class were three ladies who obviously knew each other and the instructor, at least from class. They bantered with each other, and it was entertaining for a minute, but about five seconds into the warm-up, it got ugly. Ugly and loud.
That's right, they began shrieking.
I thought The Shrieking Machine of my old gym was bad, but here there were three of them, plus the instructor! She would say something, and they would shriek in response. It was as if the instructor was Diana Ross and these three were her Supremes. Except instead of singing delightful Motown tunes, these three were just screaming. They weren't even saying words. I kind of wanted to get up and leave, but I would have felt self-conscious so I rode it out, literally.
Throughout the class, I got used to the shrieking. And to their credit, these ladies at least howled with the beat of the music. But I still don't understand the point. That class was tough; it took a lot of energy to do some of the stuff she was having us do, and all that yelling had to have taken up quite a bit of energy too, not to mention breath.
So I guess I won't let myself be deterred just yet. I got a great workout, so I think I'll continue taking the class. And who knows...maybe someday, I'll learn to accept the shrieking.
Or, I'll just switch to a class where the students are a little more reserved.
I've had two sessions now with my personal trainer, Megan, who makes me work but ensures my ability to walk the next day. And I'm loving the pool. I've been swimming more times in the last two weeks than in the last seven years. I'm actually sorry I didn't switch gyms a long time ago.
What I was most excited about was that my new gym holds classes in separate rooms with doors, so that no matter what kind of yelling is going on, you can't hear it on the main floor. Unfortunately, I forgot about what might happen if I actually take a class.
Last night, I took an hour-long cycling class. I'd done the same one (but with a different instructor) last week and left sweaty, hungry and exhausted, so I was looking forward to another great workout last night. It's a good thing I went in so determined.
At the front of the class were three ladies who obviously knew each other and the instructor, at least from class. They bantered with each other, and it was entertaining for a minute, but about five seconds into the warm-up, it got ugly. Ugly and loud.
That's right, they began shrieking.
I thought The Shrieking Machine of my old gym was bad, but here there were three of them, plus the instructor! She would say something, and they would shriek in response. It was as if the instructor was Diana Ross and these three were her Supremes. Except instead of singing delightful Motown tunes, these three were just screaming. They weren't even saying words. I kind of wanted to get up and leave, but I would have felt self-conscious so I rode it out, literally.
Throughout the class, I got used to the shrieking. And to their credit, these ladies at least howled with the beat of the music. But I still don't understand the point. That class was tough; it took a lot of energy to do some of the stuff she was having us do, and all that yelling had to have taken up quite a bit of energy too, not to mention breath.
So I guess I won't let myself be deterred just yet. I got a great workout, so I think I'll continue taking the class. And who knows...maybe someday, I'll learn to accept the shrieking.
Or, I'll just switch to a class where the students are a little more reserved.
Monday, August 25, 2008
Pearly What? (A Confession)
Until recently, I had a blog with a list of 30 things I intended to do before I reached age 30 and entries about what I did to complete those goals. I deleted the blog when I realized two things. One, I'm probably not going to get them all done by my birthday, which is October 19. And two, I really don't care.
I'm a little disappointed that I didn't finish what I started, but the truth is, there weren't that many things on the list that I really, truly wanted to do. Many of them were just there because I needed 30 things and couldn't think of anything good to add to the list (which I only spent a week or so compiling). That said, I did learn a few things while I worked on ticking off the tasks I cared enough about to complete, or attempt to complete.
1. Donating to charities really does feel good, and what you give comes back to you in the way of address labels and solicitations for more money.
2. It's harder to come up with self-indulgent things to do than you would think.
3. Scrambled eggs with stuff in them is just as good as a well-made omelet.
4. The Montoursville Area School District failed me by not putting "The Catcher In The Rye" on its list of required literature. I should have read that book years ago.
5. The gym is NOT the place to work on learning the words to "Baby Got Back," particularly when your gym is full of ladies who pack much back.
6. There are things I care about a lot more than the things I used to care about, and there are things I want much more than the things I used to want.
That last one makes me feel like maybe I'm not such a failure at having abandoned my project and deleted the blog. I started the whole thing because I wanted to get myself ready for was to be the grown-up stage of my life -- the Summer, if you will. What I found out was that I'm already there. Some of the things I wanted to do were things I cared about a long time ago, but not now, and attempting to fulfill them made me feel like I was regressing, not moving forward.
So now, in the last not-quite-two-months before I turn 30, I plan to complete only the tasks I care enough about to remember what they are. For example, I fully intend to travel to the top of the Sears Tower, and I intend to (brag that I will) perform "Baby Got Back" while at the top (and completely chickening out once I'm up there).
And I WILL make it to Wisconsin. I had a dream last night that I actually got there. I was driving, but I'd missed my exit or something and had to turn around, but first, I decided to stop for fuel. I saw a gas station up ahead and, as I was getting ready to pull into the entrance, noticed a sign welcoming me to Wisconsin. I filled up my tank and congratulated myself on accidentally driving into the Badger State. Somewhere, I even picked up (well, stole from the side of the road, but I can admit it, because this was a dream and not real life) a gigantic three-dimensional Wisconsin-shaped road sign, which I intended to use as a mold for my 30th birthday cake.
Side note: I am thinking a Wisconsin-shaped birthday cake might actually be a fantastic idea, firstly because I've been talking for six years about traveling there, despite everyone I know telling me it's "only OK," and also because I would, in effect, be eating the dairy state to celebrate completing the year in which I stopped eating dairy. That kind of irony is usually only found in great works of literature or on Three's Company.
So I guess it has been a good year for learning life lessons. I am tinkering with the idea of making a 40 Things To Do Before I'm 40 list. With 10 years to complete the tasks, I'll be able to list things that are a little deeper than learning to cook something new or memorizing offensive novelty rap songs. Then again, I wonder if the things I would list today would still resonate with me in two, five, nine years. Still, I like the idea of having a long-term project and a milestone birthday as the day to launch it. So I guess the one big thing left for me to do before I turn 30 is something that wasn't even on my list before -- come up with a new project that I care enough about to complete.
I'm a little disappointed that I didn't finish what I started, but the truth is, there weren't that many things on the list that I really, truly wanted to do. Many of them were just there because I needed 30 things and couldn't think of anything good to add to the list (which I only spent a week or so compiling). That said, I did learn a few things while I worked on ticking off the tasks I cared enough about to complete, or attempt to complete.
1. Donating to charities really does feel good, and what you give comes back to you in the way of address labels and solicitations for more money.
2. It's harder to come up with self-indulgent things to do than you would think.
3. Scrambled eggs with stuff in them is just as good as a well-made omelet.
4. The Montoursville Area School District failed me by not putting "The Catcher In The Rye" on its list of required literature. I should have read that book years ago.
5. The gym is NOT the place to work on learning the words to "Baby Got Back," particularly when your gym is full of ladies who pack much back.
6. There are things I care about a lot more than the things I used to care about, and there are things I want much more than the things I used to want.
That last one makes me feel like maybe I'm not such a failure at having abandoned my project and deleted the blog. I started the whole thing because I wanted to get myself ready for was to be the grown-up stage of my life -- the Summer, if you will. What I found out was that I'm already there. Some of the things I wanted to do were things I cared about a long time ago, but not now, and attempting to fulfill them made me feel like I was regressing, not moving forward.
So now, in the last not-quite-two-months before I turn 30, I plan to complete only the tasks I care enough about to remember what they are. For example, I fully intend to travel to the top of the Sears Tower, and I intend to (brag that I will) perform "Baby Got Back" while at the top (and completely chickening out once I'm up there).
And I WILL make it to Wisconsin. I had a dream last night that I actually got there. I was driving, but I'd missed my exit or something and had to turn around, but first, I decided to stop for fuel. I saw a gas station up ahead and, as I was getting ready to pull into the entrance, noticed a sign welcoming me to Wisconsin. I filled up my tank and congratulated myself on accidentally driving into the Badger State. Somewhere, I even picked up (well, stole from the side of the road, but I can admit it, because this was a dream and not real life) a gigantic three-dimensional Wisconsin-shaped road sign, which I intended to use as a mold for my 30th birthday cake.
Side note: I am thinking a Wisconsin-shaped birthday cake might actually be a fantastic idea, firstly because I've been talking for six years about traveling there, despite everyone I know telling me it's "only OK," and also because I would, in effect, be eating the dairy state to celebrate completing the year in which I stopped eating dairy. That kind of irony is usually only found in great works of literature or on Three's Company.
So I guess it has been a good year for learning life lessons. I am tinkering with the idea of making a 40 Things To Do Before I'm 40 list. With 10 years to complete the tasks, I'll be able to list things that are a little deeper than learning to cook something new or memorizing offensive novelty rap songs. Then again, I wonder if the things I would list today would still resonate with me in two, five, nine years. Still, I like the idea of having a long-term project and a milestone birthday as the day to launch it. So I guess the one big thing left for me to do before I turn 30 is something that wasn't even on my list before -- come up with a new project that I care enough about to complete.
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