Tuesday, December 13, 2011

Why do women do that?

There's this man I know...that asks me this question often. 90% of the time I have an insightful (and super interesting) explanation. I believe the other 10% of the time, the questions are irrelevant.



Today's "Why do women do that?" proceeded one word: Questionnaire.



Women have this habit (a beneficial habit in my humble opinion) of analyzing every situation as if they are required to fill out a questionnaire on it.




There's the rating: "What did you like the most?" "What did you think of that particular part?" "I'd say it could've used a little work...what did you think?" These are usually enthusiastically asked first, with the hope you'll join in on the fun.

Then the reflection: "I would like to see more of that next time." Reflect with caution (if reflecting outloud). We usually have a subtle lesson to teach at this point.

And finally the summary: These usually start with words like "Overall" or perhaps a long drawn out "So..." Expect this to be the majority of the conversation. What we really want, is for you to agree...with everything we've stated in the previous 17 minutes.

I AM guilty. All day long. Which means I can answer this question. Lucky boy!



While I look down on the idea of being stereotypical (I like that the least), I have to own the "questionnaire" in me. I prefer to consider it more of an "evaluation," but why mince words.




I find that the evaluation (mincing) is quite helpful in taking an issue, figuring out what and where things went wrong, and moving forward productively. How could one find that process unpleasant? More specific questions are generally welcomed: "Don't you see how I would feel (fill in dramatic adjective here)...?" and "So in the future, what can we do to avoid (fill in unpleasant situation here)...?" It's obviously a great idea to present these questions in the moment, when emotions are running high. Lest you forget that crucial piece...people love it.

Obviously.

Tuesday, November 15, 2011

Ding-dong ditch

Any legitimate plot for revenge should include a good old ding-dong ditch. And this one did...


After 2 1/2 teaspoons of NyQuil (directions say 2 but I figure I should make it worth my while) I was nestled in my bed, enjoying my recently dry-cleaned duvet like any lady would. Given the circumstances, I planned on upwards of 8 glorious hours of sleep. I'm a firm believer in a 1 to 1 ratio as far as sleep and work time are concerned.

Around 3:15 this morning an unusual (unless you live in my awesome apartment building) scene woke me...and it was a scene. Somebody was putting on quite a show, and the soundtrack was unlike one I have ever heard...especially directly above my head. While I did NOT care to entertain any thoughts or visions of what was occurring a vinyl floor away, the 5-7 silent minutes between sessions, did lead me to conclude a few things:


  • My upstairs neighbor apparently moonlights as a porn star

  • No matter what situation I'm in (or situation I'm forced to be in) I cannot escape Adelle's "Someone like You." Yes that's right, the latest hit was played at its peak volume during what I'm assuming was another peak of sorts.

  • Dogs have a keen sense of hearing...and respond to human howling, with more howling

  • I am willing to get out of bed, take out my retainer (whatever, my teeth are still straight), put on clothes, and storm up a flight of stairs to pound on a door and yell at a stranger, if bothered enough.
Since my door pounds and call to the police didn't do the trick (yes, it was so relentless that it necessitated an attempt to involve San Diego's finest) I did the next best thing- angry note. NOT the kind you leave on dirty college roommates' dishes, an even angrier note.



On my way to work I took my note (which was actually purple stationary with a cat on the right bottom corner, neither here nor there), taped it to the door, and since I assumed they were finally asleep....banged on the door as loud as I could! And ran to my car, to speed away.

My boldness from the twilight had passed, and now my left-over rage left me to nothing else but a Ding-dong ditch, OB style...we don't have door bells.



Angry note/DDD sent the message I was hoping for. The Star came down (to speak with my roommate who unfortunately was still home and getting ready) and fell all over herself apologizing. There was some excuse about "getting drunk and letting loose" (no fricken kidding) and then she cried.


That's right.


I think I made my point.


And like my angry note said...


"Have a little respect" -Downstairs

Tuesday, October 25, 2011

The Shredder

I'm not talking about what I call myself when I'm on a Jillian Michaels workout kick.



I'm talking about the piece of machinery in my office that I curse for it's size and inability to blend in with my decor.



For whatever reason, for many reasons really, I feel like I'm having a panic attack this morning...not like my standard freak out where I go around with a bottle of 409 and hand towels, but the kind where I feel like I'm losing air and having to take slow breaths to avoid passing out alone in my 3rd floor office!


I don't have the usual outlets here at work, although I suppose the cleaning lady wouldn't mind me throwing some of her Ajax in the lounge sink and giving it a good scrub. Instead of that perfectly normal way of dealing with things(?), I wrote down all of my cares...some of them are don't-cares but unfortunately still take up head-space...and threw them down the pike of my shredder.



This has a two-fold purpose: 1) symbolic. deep right? and 2) I don't want people seeing my "cares!" Who knows where the contents of my trash could end up...I don't. One can't be too sure.


Now back to work. And hopefully a normal-paced heartbeat.

Thursday, September 22, 2011

Secret Power

So many anecdotes, so little time.


My deepest apologies. I'm sure your life choices and philosophies depend on these short stories. I'll try a little harder.


For the ten minute block I have (that of course continues to be interrupted, leading me to immediately minimize this screen-remember that quick reflexes are important to survival) I will share with you a secret power we all possess.


It's called the power of song. What? Yes...

One of my favorite people (who keeps me on my toes, and one-ups just about every story I have to tell; fave in many ways) boldly shared the following: "Every time you wear those boots I think you should be on a motorcycle."


Internal: Um...okay. That's not exactly what I was going for (for the past 2 years that I've been wearing this particular pair!)

External: Begin singing.


I literally began singing. Don't ever underestimate the sweet sound of an alto.


Result: laughter. Who can continue acting smug while they're laughing? No one. Did I feel silly? Only for looking like I own a Harley.

But I can get past that.
















Wednesday, September 7, 2011

Are you KIDDING me?

Welcome to a segment I like to call Are you kidding me? Sometimes, Are you FREAKING kidding me is actually more appropriate. Just depends on the day and matter at hand.





I used to experience many, many AYKM's in my personal life...they've mostly evolved into more work-related scenarios.






Although I haven't been in my current position (not upright in an Ergonomic chair, but current occupation rather) for all that long, I have been here long enough to make the following snide question pretty...snide.



When a certain student came into my office trying to get away with something (typical) she put her best foot forward with a prompt insult. "Hi...Sara right?" You can insert your name and repeat the question (which really isn't a question) if it'll provide you a more vivid picture. Did I mention there was a French accent involved? Yea. Whole 'nother level right?



While I snootily laughed and confirmed my name, I felt the desire for a bit of a stronger reaction...something that involved chucking mini Krakel bars from my candy jar at a particular femme grossiers.



She may not have the where-with-all to fully understand the consequences of her silly remark (I'm not calling it a question again)...but guess what little French Fry, when you make a point to walk into my office and pretend you don't know me, you just decided that you weren't going to get any more friendly-email-reminders about your incomplete file! That's right, from now on...my email reminders are no longer going to be friendly. You just stepped on the All-Business-Train. Remember the smiley faces and peppy exclamation points?

They're gone now.


I'd mind my manners if I were you, otherwise the next stop could be Accidentally-losing-your-paperwork-Town!

Ya know my name now?

Friday, August 19, 2011

Many are called, few are chosen...

I'm not called or chosen...to be office-bound

I would consider the idea of a glorious home office; perhaps one that had a plush white rug in the center, classically matted photos and fantastic lighting. Are you getting a visual of what my future could hold? Other than that, I'm just not into the whole thing. A good indicator of my feelings is that a scenario that includes me changing an ink cartridge (like yesterday for example) almost brings me to tears. I sort of feel the same way about scanning documents and file cabinets.

While many nuances of the administrative lifestyle bring up not-so-enticing emotions inside me, I am fairly certain that the greater part of the issue is due to the fact:

I just don't like being told what to do. Ever.

I know. Tough break. It's not that I'm a Princess or anything (if you disagree you can just keep that to yourself), I've just never been in a position where I really feel like I'm someones subordinate (there's a much less appropriate word that comes to mind, but I'll keep it clean this afternoon. Happy Friday).

Not even my see-how-many-post-its-I-can-pick-up-with-my-toes-under-my-desk game entertains me these days. Blogging from there sure is fun though.

It's like I want to point my finger and yell "NO!" even before being asked a question. And that could cause an awkward scene I think.


I'm sucking it up, don't worry about it, and will continue to persevere here in my suite on the 3rd floor...but I'm not thrilled about it. With some islands in my near future, I think I'll survive the 136 hours until then. Then I can look forward to some time off at Christmas? Is this what life has become?

Suffering with you,

BSS

Monday, July 25, 2011

Monday means...










1. Black bra under white cami- I'm sure the one person I see at work today will think it's cool




2. Side braid, so "in" even for non-hipsters




3. Learning things- in the graduate class being taught next door to my office...Sarah and Abraham, Classic




4. Struggler's lunch- cherry tomatoes, turkey meat and pudding did the trick today. Is that an almond in my desk drawer? What a convenient protein.




5. Lots of emails- piled up from taking a Friday off. You WISH you went to Comicon...in a vintage Batman tee




6. Opening up Google calendar to see what the next weekend holds, I hold fast to a work-to-live philosophy.




7. "I miss you already" texts...don't judge my luuurve




8. Reviewing online bank statement (what do you propose I do on a 30-minute break?)




9. Standing afternoon meeting




10. A blog post at ten 'til 5?





yes I think so.


Wednesday, July 20, 2011

It's been a while...

since I have....

blogged.


Here are just a few excuses:


1. By the time I leave work (five or ten minutes before I really should) I don't want to even LOOK at a keyboard...ever again. Remember the good old days when you adored Mavis Beacon for the sweet sweet gift she gave you? And you couldn't even wait to practice your new a,s,d,f, strokes during an IMing sesh...those days are gone. I mean this with everything in me: Due to Office Job 2010 (still going strong, thanks) I despise typing and generally loathe being on a computer for any reason. Despise...and loathe. By the way, I realize most have been office-ing since the early 2000's. Wow.


2. Blogging at work, while a totally respectable habit, is very difficult. Not because I feel guilty (c'mon live a little) but because people are always bugging me for something and this makes it hard to let my writing juices flow. How am I supposed to share nuggets of wisdom (and perhaps sarcasm?)with the world when I'm also receiving a fax, updating a spreadsheet and being asked obvious questions? It's just nearly impossible.


3. During work hours, every now and then, I've sort of been engaging in a different type of non-work-related-online-activity, that takes a little less brain power (like about the amount necessary for napping)...and it's called Amazon. I rue the day...RUE the DAY it came into my life. Then there's Amazon's dirty accomplice Overstock.com (The big O some like to call it), it's like they work together to torment me, sometimes multiple times a day.


Enough excuses...here's what's up...


I'm in a place (that I apparently loooove being in) where habits and hobbies are supported, bills are gettin' paid, my mind and body are being exhausted-It's the land of two jobs. I'm not sure what my deal is but having a second "quick and easy money job" on the side seems to be a gig I'm into. Hearing me complain about it is fun too...for everyone mostly.


While this "quick and easy" was once mixing rum and coke for sailors (and rum and diet coke for the sailors' wives) it is now a little different...but still totally annoying.


I am...a tutor. While I'd love to pretend that I am overjoyed with the progress my pupils are making, the time to connect with young folk blah blah...Tutoring, to me, really means:



a. crazy mothers


b. reading Huckleberry Finn for the 23rd time


c. hanging out in nice houses (and occasionally pools)


Okay they also tend to have delicious kid-friendly beverages like Snapple...and that's a perk that one really can't overlook.


It all works out in the end...when they hand over a wod of cash to the sweet and invested tutor.


So yup...one and half jobs (saying two seems a little exaggerated, now that I've given you the visual of a kiwi strawberry Snap in hand, wading in a pool).


This is what I do.

Tuesday, June 7, 2011

Time's are a changing

This week I realized that times are really changing.


I'm at my absolute whit's end with my neighborhood that I once would've given my right pinkie to live in...


The lack of a designated parking spot often leaves me carrying groceries for a minimum of two blocks-unacceptable, especially if I've already shredded with Jillian Michaels that day, I don't care for extra cardio, thanks.

I have absolutely NO patience for hobos (at one time I respectfully referred to them as "the homeless"). The audacity to not only ask me for my last hard-earned dollar, but to also ask "why not" when I say no? Seriously? That does not sit well with me for the next time...and I know there'll be one!

Not so long ago the sounds of Thursday night ruckus outside my window might have led me to throw on a flannel, take out the trash and see what kind of trouble I may participate in...now, I'm peeved that the noise has interrupted my sleep, since I've been in bed since Grey's Anatomy ended at 10 o'clock. How DARE they have fun on a week night?! And why do I feel the urge to yell, "You kids get off my lawn!"?

I'm looking forward to next Wednesday because the work ladies and I will be going out for a fabulous lunch...at the Souplantation...where we'll use coupons that allow us to eat for the stellar price of six dollars and ninety nine cents.

Also, if I have to hear Adelle on the radio one more time...some disc jockey is goin down!

Wednesday, May 25, 2011

Mmmmm this sure is tasty

As always I find myself being a struggler...

I was feelin' pretty cool. No recent migraines, done PMSing (some are more involved than others in that whole thing, lucky), most body parts are of normal size, good things like this in my world...


Until I woke up Monday morning, with the Shoulder/Back version of Taco-Neck-Syndrome...late 90's reference, you love it. I stumbled around the apartment whimpering until it was time to head to the Doc's. And I'd like to just mention quickly, that if I was using Obama-care (do you see where this might lead?) there is just no frigen way I would've seen my fantastic Doctor the same day, not even within the same day, it was within the same hour! And did I mention he knows how to adjust a back even though he's not a Chiropractor...or maybe he was giving me a hug? It helped regardless.

I left. Back adjusted and a prescription in hand...for a muscle relaxer. Yes there may be a pattern here lately that includes me taking drugs (legal ones mostly). BUT, I will have you know that I don't EVER take the entire bottle...I save at least half to sell to adolescents, like any other upstanding entrepreneur. Gotta pay off the taxes I owe somehow right?....did you see what I just did there?

After the work day, I popped one of those little yellow babies (never having taken such things before) and crashed before 7:30...and woke up about 11 hours later. My fave.

I was in SUCH a great mood the next day. Things that just don't happen in the morning for me, happened indeed:

After a swig of my road-coffee on the way to work I said aloud, "Mmmm this sure is tasty." There's almost never a reason to say tasty at 7 in the morning, or any other time during the day.

While doing my make-up in the car, the usual fury for mineral powder dusting over fine cloth upholstery didn't exist at all. "Oh that'll give me an excuse to get this beaut a wash on Saturday!" Okay, I avoid putting gas in my car at all costs (it's a waste of my valuable time). Really? A car wash? I don't think so.

I find myself bewildered, once again, at how meds can just be so...damn good. Until day 4 of them when I turn into an emotional beast. This round, I stopped at day two, uh thank you.


I love experiencing new things.

Monday, May 16, 2011

Just totally wild



It's been a while, but it's happened before...


where I share just how crazy I am. Like when I put my shoes underneath the coffee table instead of in their designated slot in my hanging shoe organizer. Just nutty...or letting an issue of "People" just hang out on the couch, instead of where we all know it belongs- in the magazine holder next to the floor lamp.


Oddly enough I've been told I'm actually a pretty good time (this is where I subtly convince you that I'm just a little crazy, or that it's just in the privacy of my own home, maybe you'll think it's endearing???)...It just comes down to this: At the end of the day, I can't be expected to be content when my throw pillows are in any other position than those in which they live. It's just not going to happen. Have I mentioned I'm really not a fan of germs and large crowds? Judgy wudgy was a bear...


Without (hopefully) sounding really nuts, I will say that being in a relationship (like a REAL one) challenges some of my, I dunno, quirks.


I don't want to go off on how MY stellar man-friend makes me reflect on my soooooooul... (maybe you didn't attend a Christian University and haven't heard this sort of tale before, let's just try to keep up regardless) but the truth of the matter is when you spend the majority of your time with someone (yes the majority, it IS possible without shacking up) one ends up compromising every now and then. I used to think compromise was something to steer clear of, go ahead and try to avoid it forever, see where it gets ya.


Recently I compromised...in a major way. Let's just say that the man is in debt BIG TIME. Let's just also say that I went to "Metal Fest." That's right...an entire festival dedicated to none other than, Heavy Metal. My strategically tattered jean shorts and plain black tee somehow didn't "fit me in" like I'd hoped. Shoulda worn my 18-hole Doc Martins (next time).


Metal Fest provided the following for me:


1. Moments of complete terror...and also confusion (you didn't see some of those piercings okay)

2. Exposure to what is referred to as a Mosh Pit- Mom, look it up

3. Others' bodies and odors in my what I like to keep VERY personal space

4. New ideas about fashion (not really)

5. The title "Coolest girlfriend ever."


I do what I can. Even if it's just totally wild...

Go MegaDeath???

Wednesday, April 20, 2011

Reaction: OUTRAGE

Since I find myself in a fragile state, once again, the only real exercises in which I'm allowed to partake are 1) cycling, which involves going to a gym and 2) "Speed" walking. Too much speed could cause some damage, so careful I am...


Just not careful enough.


While I try to limit my time alone on the streets of the 'Mont, I couldn't help but go for a speedy walk on this past bright Saturday morning.


Before getting to the meat of this tale, I'd like to throw it out there that I don't love dogs like everyone else in the world...go ahead and judge me. Are they cute? Yes, most of them are. Do I think they're cute enough to pick up their fices and hair that sheds all over my tile and pillow cushions? Mmmm not really. (Do I hate it when people ask a series of questions then answer them? Definitely)....


With my "Today's hits" station in my ears and a spring in my step, I walked as closely to the street as I could so as to not bother (to ignore really) a small 'montie and his two large dogs that were dominating the sidewalk. My polite efforts were not appreciated and just to prove this, one of the big, dumb dogs came up...and bit the crap out of my exposed white thigh. Pink Nike shorts aren't usually a bad call, on that particular day they were. In complete outrage (along with fear, anger and I dunno, maybe a little physical pain!) I hit the pause button, pulled a bud out of my ear and as rudely as possible asked, "Did SHE just BITE me?!?" Most would perhaps act embarrassed or apologetic, I would think. Instead the owner replied, "They're not very good in public." While I can think of many, many responses today ("come-backs" if we were still in junior high) all that came to my lips was, "Ooooooookaaaaaay" with much 'tude and a fierce stride away.

Then I started crying. Yea, you can feel sorry for me if so inclined. A fricken DOG bit me! Who gets bit by random dogs? I think you now know the answer to that question.

I'm not sure which made me more upset (and ultimately brought to tears, during my speed walk of all things): Being scared, of having rabies? Being bummed out, about what this freakin world has come to? Or being OUTraged that not only was the dog a big jerk, but his owner was too.




Damn dogs.

Thursday, April 7, 2011

The pain meds baby

It seems that the too-good-to-be-true "paid" op back in the Fall...and I don't mean op-portunity, was in fact TOO good to be true.



While my battle against the Insurance company continues, a new what I would consider dramatic, event has occurred. Good 'ol Dr. Del Mar (the only asian I've ever had a slight crush on, that is until he said "cheers" during our hand shake) informed me that we'd need to "go back in."




And so...we went back in. "We" being an anesthesiologist, a surgeon, an OR nurse, someone who poked me with a needle two or three times, and myself. This round was half the original surgery, literally. One pro to this invasive surgery, aside from a week at the boo's for some all time care-taking, has been the ability to keep down...the pain meds baby.




I will never be someone who is enthralled with the idea of going through life hazily or as my mom would say, "like you're under water." I do however see the benefits of numbness where pain once was...and we're talking physical here, not trying to be an E-MO kid today.


For five solid days of pill popping fancy free Sada, I truly felt what I can only articulate as a FLAT LINE. This meant no emotions (unreal, I know), no worries, and no recollection of what happened in the first 30 pages of Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. The perfect entertainment for this state of mind would be the E! channel in case you're ever in the "predicament." The thirty second clips of valuable information and colorful images are perfect for the attention span and interest of the week long pill popper. And that's just a little tid-bit from me to you.




Today came the drop-after the post op. This meant a burst of tears upon leaving the stylish and contemporary office (Reasonable to assume that if one's greeting is "cheers" he is probably pretty hip to the latest office decor and pillow accents...and maybe fedoras. I mentioned there's complimentary Vitamin Water and Dove chocolates there too right? You'd think it'd be near impossible to cry in an environment like this, though you'd be wrong. I had an incling the whole "flat-line" thing wouldn't last a whole week. The boo did too. In fact I believe my consoling included something about the normalcy of "feeling down" after coming off of strong medication, and I was probably called "honey" too, which tends to help. All I've ever wanted is to feel normal!

And so, here I am, off the meds, back at home, and watching American Idol. I believe things are improving as I haven't cried in the past few hours nor am I vomiting... and I don't mean from the Vicodin...I mean from Randy Jackson's comments.


You know it's true.

Tuesday, March 22, 2011

Running...


While this is something I loooooathe, when the word around is attached to it, I seem to be an expert at running. And may I just say that I only use the word looooooooathe for things I really take issue with; running, pumping gas, men who use straighteners...I think I've made my point.


How the constant running around happens without the morning coffee a normal human is allowed to indulge in, I'm not sure. Being a struggler like myself means that coffee (delicious decaf nonfat lattes excluded), too much red wine, and chocolate...bring on migraines. Some sort of sick joke I know. There are females who make entire meals out of these three decadent treats! Gimme a frigen break.


The amount of running around town that goes on in a given week is just too much, especially given how I feel about having to pump gas, I'm confident you see the connection there ;)
Somehow every single day (except the beloved Sabbath which is usually spent in a nap-filled haze, on a very sweet man's couch) is soaked with calendar notifications and a regimen of some sort. Monday means working for 11.5 hours straight (running a Graduate program and contributing to young minds of course), an attempt to work out, then dinner made of whatever is in my fridge, generally something to do with tofu or ground turkey, oh and obviously Gossip Girl-gotta keep up with Blaire and the rest of Manhattan's elite. Tuesday; pretty similar but a morning workout snuck in (sometimes) and later a glorious sesh with my ladies over a sufficient meal...and some wine, c'mon we deserve it we've been at it since Monday already. This portion of the week is definitely a highlight. Did I mention we talk about our feelings almost the entire time?
Wednesday is similar, another dinner, this one with the man, whom I try sometimes harder than others to protect from all the feeling talk...my Google calendar isn't the only thing I'm willing to share...poor soldier.

The rest of the week is downhill, with a Body Pump Group X to keep me motivated. If I can lift this barbell while listening to Pink I just know I can make it to Friday.

When did my days become picking up prescriptions at Walgreens and grocerie shopping?
Living for the weekend these days...

Thursday, March 10, 2011

suckered in

Writing about Brad (and his friends) is one thing. Blogging about American Idol is quite another. However, above and beyond my own will, I have been sucked in, for today. Just today.

Mama had an email waiting for me this morning. It was important I call her as soon as I could.

Reason being, at 4:00 sharp, her votes for the American Idol Office Pool are due. It is vital that she have all the information before submitting her ballot. Who better to help with the analysis of this pop culture phenomenon...than her super hip 20-something? False. Well, false that I'm hip (except for the fact that I do wear an occasional bump-it and skinny jeans) but true that given a task of this nature, I could assist and could NOT resist.

And so my morning in the office consisted of none other than some AI Research. Read some blogs, youtubed it; copiously noting how many "hits" each idol's video received, like any good fact finder would. I even had some intellectual conversation on the topic with third parties.

Like cuz Tom over g-chat...

"Hey do you watch American Idol?"
"I try really hard not to."
"Yea it's pretty much torture."
"That country dude will make it...and the black guy. Watched part of last night's...don't intend on repeating the experience."
"That's true, chicks dig the whole deep country voice thing (ordinary chicks that is). And America really likes voting for black dudes...plus he's from Compton!"

Mom had a strong opinion on one of Tommy's idols.

"I do not like him at all. He doesn't enunciate and the words sound garbled. He's super strong, belts out the songs, but in the process loses the melody. He won't be included in my top six."

Wow. My mom just kicked Judge JLo's a$$. And Tom: so detailed and straight forward. America's panel needs you...dog.


So, it is now 1:45 and with an hour left of this workday I have accomplished two things:
1. Deep, significant research and theorizing

2. Adding American Idol to every Wednesday on my google calendar


...oh and writing this blog.

Monday, March 7, 2011

Gym rat

Yea I've been a gym-goer lately. Thanks for noticing.

My latest and greatest (for now at least) way to work it out, "it" meaning the womanly figure, is to hit up my gym's group exercise classes...otherwise known as Group X, catchy right? Don't you immediately feel compelled to join in and see what exactly their X-factor is?

Being back to two jobs (tutor extraordinaire recently added to my resume) makes it a little difficult to fit in cardio-tastic workouts like I should . I mean sure I could do some bicep reps at home while eating my typical stir fry din and watching Gossip Girl, but is that really gonna burn fat? Unlikely. Notice I didn't question whether or not it would make me sweat...

Group X Classes, so hardcore, keep me coming back for more because of their three vital factors:

1. In-doors and in-PointLoma

2. Located on the top level of the meat mark..., I mean gym

3. Enticing for anti-social behavior

Here's the deal with number one. Once the sun is even thinking about going down, I don't want to be out jogging. The last thing that seems appealing after a long day is the stress of literally racing the clock to avoid getting jumped or thrown in a white hippy van. Even if I was all in on the run-in-the-dark thing, I'd have to have a running buddy (because of the white van) and be forced to wear some sort of reflective, glow in the dark vest. And I don't wear vests. Secondly, we're actually still on vital factor number one, so more like "1b" if you will; The fact that my gym (which is supposedly available to me 24 hours a day) is in Point Loma, makes it about 50x more likely that I'll come be a part of the whole thing. While I consider myself "adventurous," I have no interest in venturing more than five miles to go do...anything on a Tuesday evening...prior to watching Glee. You may call it snobby to insist on staying west and south of the 8 freeway, I prefer to call it particular.

While geographic location makes the gym convenient, the Group X room on the top level of the building, makes it tolerable. I don't even want to go down into the first floor's muggy dungeon to use the women's restroom. Consequence: all my coworkers seeing my pale legs and stained "workout" shirts on the way out of the building, I'm not above using the faculty bano for my own personal locker room.
I may be a little hasty in my first floor opinion, it is still NYR (New Year's Resolution) season. Who knows, maybe some gym rats will fall off the wagon (or the treadmill) and the crowds will cease...hence the entire building will be less sticky? Always an optimist.

Third and finally, I prefer to not be friends with other gym enthusiasts. Harsh right? I'm just being truthful. I don't visit 24 Hour Active to yuck it up and get my social interaction fix. If Nobuko keeps us waiting an extra five for TKB (clearly I refer to Turbo Kick Boxing, but you already knew that) I'll sit right there on the floor, criss-cross-apple-sauce and silently ponder the day's happenings. Why stand and mindlessly chat about supplements or pretend to stretch. I don't need that in my life. Besides, if I were here to make friends (or make more than that, eww) don't you think I'd come looking a little better than this? There's a reason the Lululemon Capri's and matching sports tank don't come out for TKB or Body Pump. I prefer to wear that elegant apparel when I'm NOT working out. This makes much more sense, why would I spend sixty bucks on pants I'm going to expose to the filthy Group X floor? duh. Doesn't anyone else realize the pupose of good workout pants is to look like we're so active we have to be outfitted all day just in case...and hold-in our less-than-taught buns, hello???
3 reasons or not, 24 Active has me active, hoping to keep it up with all that living in a beach city entails...especially during the summer months...like looking fit while you drink beer.

Monday, February 21, 2011

Brad and friends

Some call it "The Bachelor." This season it may as well be called Brad and friends*...in my opinion at least. I guess the girls have names and identities too (beyond emotional brunette, insecure blonde and southern bell).
Since I learn so very much from this deep, thought-provoking ABC hit, I thought documenting a few of my findings might be beneficial...
to the world at large.

1. On a home visit (the first parental meeting in real life), a statue and multiple marble pillars in the home...means they are loaded and their daughter will be getting a rose.

2. "See a future" means one could hang out for longer than the length of a "One-on-one date" and wouldn't mind making out with you once the cameras have come and gone.

3. Smart people respond "Si" when asked how they are, in French.

4. "Fair enough" should be said often and in various situations, especially when feeling slightly uncomfortable.

5. "Rock solid," "110%," and "no doubt about it" all mean the same thing.


Thanks Brad and friends, I am yet again, nothing short of enlightened this evening.
Good night ya"ll.

*Note: I really wanted to say Brad and hos...but it just didn't seem right.

Wednesday, February 16, 2011

You done good

While some of my kind may swoon over a day dedicated to Conroy's, See's and scallop-edged hearts, I have just never been a huge fan of the old St. Valentines' Day. Shocker. Perhaps it's due to some past V-days resulting in multiple texts asking if I'd like "join" romantic escapades like getting "McDonald's and a 12-pack." BTW, did anyone else just realize society really should use the word swoon more often?
Anyhoo, I'm not going to pretend to loathe a gift or steak and red wine din thrown my way in mid February, but when that "V hyphen Day" falls on a Monday and I have laundry to put away and significant TV shows to watch, I honestly could do without it altogether.

This year the way the boo made me "celebrate" this love-ly day was just right. Partly because it was carried out the day before (A Sunday-Funday hello?!) and partly because the formula was so very brilliant...

It started with him seeking out my EXPERTise in organization. The only payment I require for my assistance being a tall, nonfat, decaf, iced latte in a grande cup with room for extra ice Obviously. After some spastic organizing (I just get really excited) of his various man things (try not to be pervy, I'm referring to tools and bolts and such), we ran an impromptu "errand" to The Sports Authority. This has become our fave spot as we shop for tents and sleeping bags and other hardcore "gear"...we don't camp, we "backpack" try to keep that straight. This year has brought new activities into my life, okay?!

So, being the go-with-the-flow gal I am (or pretend to be depending on who you ask), I strolled through the inspiring store without a care. We arrived to just the right isle and he bent down on one knee...

to pick up his phone which fell off the right side of his belt (that's where men over 30 holster their Droids-sexy right?), and said the words I've been longing to hear for months...

"Babe, I wanna buy you a good pair of blades. Pick out whatever ones you want."

Clearly I went for the turquoise K2's. I mean, If you're going to Rollerblade, you might as well do it right.
He maaay have had me pick out some new Nike (perfect for tanning legs while blading) shorts to wear as well. When you give a mouse a cookie...

After the obvious next several hours of the day (boardwalk blading) we finished up our adventure with the best hamburger and cold beer (Bud Light of course, I have a figure to maintain, hello?) in town. This is where you get a plug: Rocky's in PB=pure glory. If you don't agree I'll...disagree with you.

It was a perfect day.

With the sentiments behind us, the actual day that belongs to Valentine included an out of the ordinary Monday night rendezvous with a fantastic spread of chili dogs and tots...and chocolate chip cookies for dessert. Which I baked, uh thank you...and placed in a heart shaped dish. I'm coming around. Proud?

While I would NEVER use my blog to write a love note (who does that?) I will say just this...

Boo, you done good.

Thursday, February 10, 2011

Don't make fun of Brad

I'm going to admit something (this confession theme keeps reoccurring, I think I may be reacquainting myself with my Catholic roots) Anyway....
I have a boo. And to be honest, after reviewing some older posts, it's hard to believe I met a man I actually want to spend considerable amounts of time with. I'm sorta but not really, kidding. Regardless, I believe the reason I've allowed this Quarter-Latin-Prize to make himself comfortable in my little world is because (and I'll say this one and ONE time only): My boo is The Best. Like the Best of the Best. No I'm not going to make that my status update. Calm down. What I'm not admitting right now is that I've been tricked into falling in love, but rather that the man I've fallen in love WITH...makes fun of Brad.


Brad who? Join me in 2011...Brad is this season's Bachelor. Let's explore together...
Brad is a sweet, southern gentleman, whose body is clearly the worst.
B-Rad is the first of the Baches, remember we're in season 15 (episode 6) here, who isn't a complete tool. The poor, except actually quite rich, guy is just trying to keep everyone happy; in other words preventing ELEVEN women from crying once they've started pouring their "heart" out all over his obviously hideous face. The boo (back to mine, not ABC's) finds it an absolute riot when his radio show pal Stern calls Brad a "retard" and pokes at his habit of saying, "Gurls....please" soaked in southern draw. *Please note that my opinion on the whole Howard Stern thing is...well let's just say I'm coming around to it. A wise woman once said 'tis better to have a man laugh at chauvinism, than act like a pig.
I'm gonna go with that.

While the opinion on Brad is something I'm willing to negotiate, I still feel I need to make a very strong "suggestion:"

DON'T MAKE FUN OF BRAD.

Tuesday, February 8, 2011

RED

I'm just going to share what I think will be helpful for some...from a group of us that prefer to be called "Rosy."

When us pale kids become really, really "Rosy"...like not in a cute "blushed" way, but in an almost purple way, you can rest assure from this day forward, that we KNOW about it before YOU tell us. You don't have to tell us. I mean, you can't possibly think we don't notice we have turned from white to crimson in a matter of seconds.

I personally have the following harsh rebuttal prepared for just the right day when my beat red Ora gets me so riled up I respond to such obvious information with: "Are ya kidding me?! Of COURSE I know I'm red. I could fry an egg on these cheeks! Now stop drawing more damn attention to them!!" It's good right?

This prepped work of art would've been super appropriate last week. Appropriate if I wanted to be fired of course, no pun intended. After the most frustrating and circular phone conversation with a dense (for lack of better post-appropriate word) student, my beastly glow took over my (and everyone Else's) Friday afternoon.
In a conversation like this one, where the point of statements like, "Like I explained THIRTY minutes ago..." have been reached, I am WELL AWARE that my face...and neck...and ears are all extremely red, and hot, and maybe even a little itchy. I maaaay have snootily whispered into the phone, "You might want to write this down as I say it for the last time..." but I can't recall. Hm.

Long story short, please don't tell us we're red, I promise you it's all we're thinking about already and we surprisingly don't care to explore the possibilities of its source, diagnosis etc. After 20 "some" years, we've been there, done that. We learned reeaal quick that drinking wine, chasing a soccer ball down a field and getting embarrassed ALL have the same outcome for us. Which is why we try our hardest to only involve ourselves in one of those ;)

There, now you've learned something new.
Any time.

Thursday, February 3, 2011

Oh wow

Sometimes people, other people not me, have a certain opinion about things (now you know this isn't about me, I never have opinions). This opinion blossoms when these people are in a certain situation in life and then...

these people are suddenly in a different situation and well, their opinion(s) might kind of change, without them knowing it. Maybe it even sneaks up on them like a thief in the night. Who knows.

What the hell am I talking about you ask. Don't act naive! You know what kind of behavior I am referring to.
Here it goes...try not to judge.

It was a long week. The kinda week where you have so little time you get your grocery shopping done on your thirty minute lunch break. Awesome. With yet another friend leaving the good 'ol Red, White and Blue to teach abroad, maybe even a lot of broads ;) I had the privilege of making her one last American meal...clearly meat, cheese and cheap beer had to be a part of it. Post work, with Food de America in hand, I rushed home, got in a swift walk (to balance out my habit of eating the previously mentioned cuisine) and started the "gourmet" meal I had planned. Did I mention I had to shower for my guests as well...obviously a lot to accomplish in a mere few hours...for a struggling child like myself.

When the boo arrived (white girls can say boo if they want) with two dozen long-stem roses in one hand (why does writing out the words "long-stem" make it sound SO corny? I'm just being descriptive GOSH) and a six pack of delicious ales in the other, I have to admit I defaulted to that of a gushing/blushing (whatever they do) freakin' girl. So how did I respond to this (aside from a brief victory dance in the comfort of my own apron), I took a photo of them...doesn't end there...then I posted it...as a status update...on The Book of Faces.
Oh Wow.

I mean sure my married girlfriends "liked" the photo and maybe even giggled at my bragadocious tag line, something about making dinner and getting flowers, neither here nor there. Now that my mind is clear and I'm not starving and stressed (okay maybe I'm always just a little of both) I see the error of my ways. Honestly, what respectable cynical writer gives into the Look how great my boyfriend is CRAZE?
This one.


Please forgive

Tuesday, January 25, 2011

No way!

While I often reference the "excel spreadsheet" portion of my job, my responsibilities are actually quite vast. Like right now, I am in charge of yelling at people. Why does that sound so appealing?

My "yelling" is generally through email unless you refuse to cooperate...then I get you on the horn. I tell you (in a friendly Christian University sorta way) you are missing paperwork that will consequently keep you from getting what you want...your units (not that kinda unit calm yourself), your clinical hours and thus your degree.

I won't go into details, but will just say that most of my paper world is health related. We gotta know you aren't gonna be giving others in the community the Swine Flu and things of that nature.

While yelling is fun, I find connecting and relating to people much more exhilarating...I know, you totally wish we were besties, or maybe friendly neighbors. With the confidential information I see daily, I could find ways to get my connection on with these students real good...

"No way! You get hives from Penicillin? ME TOO!!!"
"Man, isn't having Tuberculosis the absolute worst?! I hated that."

If I had it my way, we'd be talkin' migraines and rashes all day long...maybe some day.

Wednesday, January 19, 2011

The Bar Method

Oh The Bar Method.
I'm not referring to my old "method" of trying to be cool. While some have already misunderstood...
"The girls and I went to Bar Method tonight. Probably won't even be able to walk tomorrow."
Paraphrase: Wow Baby, what a Tuesday. Ya never know what swank you girls will end up in. (See how quotes are not permitted on BSS if it isn't indeed a quote...we're better than that)

Before I explain that The Bar Method is a hip new workout class (my friends and I try to stay on the pulse, no biggy) I feel the need to explain that just because we celebrate birthdays at venues with exotic one-syllable-word names (that some deem "swanky") does not mean we do it on weeknights...unless of course one of our births lands on a weeknight...neither here nor there.

So The Bar Method, in my uncool exerciser opinion, is a cross between Pilates (which I loooooathe) and a ballet class. Bar as in ballet bar, are you learning new things? While I love that I am sore today, and almost "not able to walk," I hate, with everything inside me that the class forces me to manipulate my body into folded, unnatural positions, under florescent lighting, half a foot away from a floor (to ceiling) length mirror, next to a Bar Method Addict named Alison. Look, Al-Pal, we all get it. You have socks with the studio's logo on them and look fit enough to rock capri's and ankle socks without looking like a circus midget, excuse me circus little person...who's most likely pigeon-toed. Did I mention that my friend Ally also happens to be twice my size vertically!? Shocker I know. There is only one tall gal that doesn't intimidate me, I think you know who you are.
I do feel that every time I attempt the hopefully slimming and toning routine, I get just a teeny tiny bit stronger. Instead of giving up after 2 reps, I wait until 4. It's kind of a big deal.

Oh 2011, see what new things I'm trying for you.
-The Wannabe

Friday, January 7, 2011

Offensive

I guess...at times...I can be a little offensive.
Whodathought.

In the lounge at the end of the hallway, in my "place of employment" is a very loud (and African American; normally I'd say black, I'm trying here) man yucking it up all over the place. He has the entire room (of other African Americans) just bustin a gut. When I casually referred to him as Tyler Perry...I may have been offensive.

In a conversation with my coworker about the Chinese plates her mother-in-law gave her for Christmas, I commented on how she must be "REALLY Chinese." I dunno.

The racial theme ends here.

I got my Broccoli on right before the roomie's D-to the-ate came over to pick her up. There may have been some comments about the offensive odor. Just trying to get in some zero-point foods that's all. Leafy greens are totally where it's at.

The boo's very sweet madre really did it up with the Navidad gifts for Sarita. In addition to my freakishly soft Lands End fleece (that I've pretty much lived in since December 25th) I opened up a Nordstrom box o' slippers. Any shopper in their right mind would have thought the same thing, "What will I exchange these for...?" If you're the logical (and frugal) gal that I am, you know Nordi's is the BOMB when it comes to return policies...and the answer to that question is a pair of tights and thirty extra bucks in my wallet. Being oblivious, as I may or may not have been called before, I openly shared this joyous event. Oops. Offensive. I attempted a rebuttal after my stern talking to: When is your mom EVER gonna see me in (or not in, in this case) slippers?! Camon!

I might have attempted some neighbor-bonding with a rant or two:
"Man, who's Oldsmobile is taking up one of our parking spaces?! That thing never leaves. They need to tow the P.O.S!"
"Oh. That's my husband's. He gets really sensitive when I bring up getting it fixed...and it's a Buick."
Welp see ya later.

We try our best. That's all anyone can ask of us.

Peace.

Monday, January 3, 2011

Resolutions

2011 Resolutions:
More food, TV and debt. Less exercise and reading. What?
Okay really...2011 means quite the opposite (except the TV and reading thing, those may prove to be true, how am I to predict how many Spring series are going to rock my world)

The 10 pound boyfriend rule is infuriatingly true and not okay. Losing 4 pounds upstairs barely made a dent on my 5'3" frame. Lame. Although I didn't consider January as actually beginning until the first Monday in January (two extra days of grazing on red and green Hershey's kisses from the festive basket on my coffee table and drinking beer) today I have successfully grocery shopped based on a conglomeration of various diets; points, south beach; lemon vinegar cleanse...things of that nature.

We're all the same aren't we? Who really comes up with something that unique on the first of the year? No one. I take that back...I've got some pretty big plans for honing my scrap booking skills resoluting, watch out.

Here's to a healthy and happy OT eleven kids.

Sunday, January 2, 2011

I'm just not ready for this

This is a big step for us.
Am I ready for all that this entails? I'm just not sure.
When approached with the idea, it sounded exciting.
"Let's just try this..."
"I really think it's best."

So I decided I'd give it a shot.

It does seem like a good deal. Obviously this moment is what we've been preparing for over the last year. Now it's just figuring out if this particular one fits me.
I've finally arrived at the place I've been anticipating for months...
Victoria Secret.

Salesgirl Stephanie's enthusiasm was enough to reel me in. She even handed me an entire box of the luxurious undergarments that would fit my new size. Best sellers in fact. I was like a kid in a candy store...or like myself in a candy store even, it was overwhelming. Trying on ones with lace and cups smaller than my head was exhilarating. I turned sideways, put my cotton tee back on and checked out the perif view. Glory.

Go time. Make a decision. I'm already invested (enough of an investment that Steph has seen the new goods) and I should be ready to embark on this phase, according to experts.

Except that we're not ready-yes, we. Sure the current wireless and seamless isn't all that attractive, but we've got a bond going on. We've spent two months together, proceeding the month of my ex-surgical sports bra of course.

And so, I hung my head, and slowly exited the velvet dressing (more like undressing) room.
"I'm sorry. I'm just not ready for this. Good bye."