Concerning the Running vs. The Cookie Monster battle: I think they've filed for joint custody of me. I find myself living with Running throughout the week. My weekends I spend with Cookie.
Monday through Thursday (the days I work) ProCare consumes my days and nights. I wake up wondering if I should go early & hit the gym before work or just go after work. I go there regardless during my lunch break and shmooze amidst the Old Fogies & Scary Muscle Guy. Girl With Perfect Pony Tail and Matching Workout Ensamble ignores me as I crank up the treadmill and run pitifully for 20 minutes. Old Guys In Shorts With Long Skinny Legs keeps up beside me while I sweat it out on the elliptical. We read the closed captioning on the Fox News Channel and catch up on the Blogojavonovovich scandal. I work out until my mind goes numb. I get in the zone, I love the zone. I lift weights, no longer caring if Scary Muscle Guy is there or not. Male Chauvinist One prattles to Male Chauvinist Two about the rack on some waitress loudly so that I can hear. I ignore him and continue doing my 50 situps on the inclined bench. My work out is zen. If the roof caved in, I'd keep going.
But when Friday rolls around.... well, Friday is my day off. I don't have to drive over the mountain that day so I don't. I stay home. I play on the computer. I talk to Gladys. I eat cookies. Lots of cookies. So many cookies that I have reached a saturation point. If one more person tries to feed me a cookie I'm going to throw up on their shoes. I've eaten so many cookies that I am sick of food altogether. The mere thought makes my nose wrinkle. Saturday I say to myself that I will do some kickboxing in the living room with Gilad. Then Sunday comes and laughs at me because I've not done a thing. This is my day of remorse. I spend most of it stuck to the couch staring at my eyelids. I feel like a slug. (I sort of like it.)
Then Monday rolls around and it's back to ProCare again. A vicious cycle that doesn't quit. If I can just hold out a few more weeks....
Friday, December 26, 2008
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Everything I Touch Turns To Crazy
This is my public disclaimer and warning to stay away from me. I will slowly drive you insane. It will not be my fault, it will not be your fault. It will just happen. It will come upon you so gradually you will not even realize it until it's too late.
My family always was nuts. My husband, however, comes from a very normal un-divorced family. Everyone gets along. Everyone likes each other. Until recently. Things have begun to unravel with the cousins, aunts & uncles. Small potatoes compared to my family, but very shameful for them. They are not used to this sort of upheaval.
I'm thinking of teaching a seminar for people like this. I will call it "Family Scandal 101." In these classes you will learn that crap happens in every family. You will learn how to deal with: Divorce, Seeing your loved one's name in the Police Report, Nasty Old Blue Hair'd Gossips, War Deployment, Cancer, Death, Car Wrecks, Affairs, Internet Porn (ha ha, threw that in there just for fun), Gay Relatives, Unmarried Pregnancy, Teenage Pregnancy, Drug Use, Drug Need (for the people who aren't on drugs but should be), Depression & Anxiety, Horrible Financial Decisions, War Injury, How to Be a POA, What To Do When Your 25 Year Old Sister is Dating A 40 Year Old Man With a Tracheotomy, and How to Survive A Nuclear Family Vacation.
I come highly qualified in each of these areas. Some people wonder why I'm happy all the time. Lord, if I sat around thinking about my crappy life all I'd do is Cry!
I've come to believe that the common denominator in all of these things is Me. How can it be that I have walked through the fire unscathed? How did I turn out to be the normal one amidst all this crisis and drama? Why is everyone else affected but me? I think it IS me. I do nothing and yet the craziness surrounds me. Wherever I walk, wherever I go, abnormal things will happen. Everything I touch turns to Crazy. So Buyer Beware. And now that I have the internet the ripple effect of the chaos gravitating around me will be endless. Not to worry though, it's not the end of the world. It's just a moment and this too shall pass.
My family always was nuts. My husband, however, comes from a very normal un-divorced family. Everyone gets along. Everyone likes each other. Until recently. Things have begun to unravel with the cousins, aunts & uncles. Small potatoes compared to my family, but very shameful for them. They are not used to this sort of upheaval.
I'm thinking of teaching a seminar for people like this. I will call it "Family Scandal 101." In these classes you will learn that crap happens in every family. You will learn how to deal with: Divorce, Seeing your loved one's name in the Police Report, Nasty Old Blue Hair'd Gossips, War Deployment, Cancer, Death, Car Wrecks, Affairs, Internet Porn (ha ha, threw that in there just for fun), Gay Relatives, Unmarried Pregnancy, Teenage Pregnancy, Drug Use, Drug Need (for the people who aren't on drugs but should be), Depression & Anxiety, Horrible Financial Decisions, War Injury, How to Be a POA, What To Do When Your 25 Year Old Sister is Dating A 40 Year Old Man With a Tracheotomy, and How to Survive A Nuclear Family Vacation.
I come highly qualified in each of these areas. Some people wonder why I'm happy all the time. Lord, if I sat around thinking about my crappy life all I'd do is Cry!
I've come to believe that the common denominator in all of these things is Me. How can it be that I have walked through the fire unscathed? How did I turn out to be the normal one amidst all this crisis and drama? Why is everyone else affected but me? I think it IS me. I do nothing and yet the craziness surrounds me. Wherever I walk, wherever I go, abnormal things will happen. Everything I touch turns to Crazy. So Buyer Beware. And now that I have the internet the ripple effect of the chaos gravitating around me will be endless. Not to worry though, it's not the end of the world. It's just a moment and this too shall pass.
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Look-and-See Signs of Aging
I recently found an old newspaper clipping that I had saved. It was in my portfolio that I had amassed during my other life at the Work Place. The heading on it was "Look-And-See Signs of Aging". Here is what it said (more or less as I am not about to re-type the whole thing word for word):
1. Look in the fridge, freezer & drawers. Has food spoiled because mom can't get to the store? Does she have difficulty cleaning tight cluttered places?
2. Look at the grocery list. Has your loved ones declining health prompted them to purchas more convenience and junk food, neglecting proper nutrition?
3. Look up at fans & ceilings? Is there a grime build up from your loved one not being able to put their arms up there to clean?
4. Look down at floors & stairways. Have shaky hands spilled food & drinks soiling vinyl, wood & carpets? Are frayed throw rugs creating tripping hazards?
5. Look under sofas and beds? Is it crammed with newspapers & magazines because your senior is having difficulty organizing?
6. Look through the mail. Is mom's dementia causing her to forget to pay the bills?
7. Look on top of countertops & furniture. Are dust & dirt signs that household tasks are becoming more difficult for your parents?
8.Look at your seniors appearance. is clothing dirty and unkempt, and is your loved one neglecting personal hygiene?
Well Holy Smokes.
1 & 2: Yes, I HAVE been making purchases for convenience & neglecting proper nutrition. The only things IN my fridge are the expired things that used to be nutritious but have lost their redeeming value back in 2006. Most cartons found in my fridge have fuzzy green mold inside that says "Hello" when I open it. I keep them around because they have a better vocabulary than Old Fat Gladys. (the cat)
3. My ceiling fans are atrocious. Once a decade I will climb up, inspect the inches of dust, smile appreciatively and climb back down, leaving the dust & grim undisturbed. Much like a national monument, the dust on my ceiling fans demands quiet respect. I pay my respects and let it rest in peace.
4. My floors & stairways. The pink Pepto stain on the living room carpet refuses to come up. I've tried. The cat hair is permanantly ingrained into the stairs, especially in the hallway where she likes to sleep. Cat hair carpet is going to be the next big thing. You wait.
5. Don't look under my sofa. Especially don't look under my bed. And if you look under my bed don't look in the shoe box. Yes, it could be a fire hazard.
6. My mail. I haven't paid the bills either but it's just because there was no money to pay them with. They are laying there neatly waiting their turn. Someday I will get to them.
7. The dust & dirt on surfaces & countertops. That's just there because I'm lazy.
8. As far as my appearance. Hooo boy. The grubby sweatshirt is just something to wear when I'm not pretending to be June Cleaver. So are the blue flannel sock monkey pj pants. (This is the outfit I'm wearing right now actually, complete with blue slippers that need washed.)
So if you were all worried about me getting too old to take care of myself (31 is ancient) I want you to rest assured. I'm not old, I'm just lazy. And spend way too much time on this computer. But if you'd like to take pity on me & come help me around the house, that would be nice. I'll pay you a nice shiny nickel, if I can remember where in tarnation I put them....
1. Look in the fridge, freezer & drawers. Has food spoiled because mom can't get to the store? Does she have difficulty cleaning tight cluttered places?
2. Look at the grocery list. Has your loved ones declining health prompted them to purchas more convenience and junk food, neglecting proper nutrition?
3. Look up at fans & ceilings? Is there a grime build up from your loved one not being able to put their arms up there to clean?
4. Look down at floors & stairways. Have shaky hands spilled food & drinks soiling vinyl, wood & carpets? Are frayed throw rugs creating tripping hazards?
5. Look under sofas and beds? Is it crammed with newspapers & magazines because your senior is having difficulty organizing?
6. Look through the mail. Is mom's dementia causing her to forget to pay the bills?
7. Look on top of countertops & furniture. Are dust & dirt signs that household tasks are becoming more difficult for your parents?
8.Look at your seniors appearance. is clothing dirty and unkempt, and is your loved one neglecting personal hygiene?
Well Holy Smokes.
1 & 2: Yes, I HAVE been making purchases for convenience & neglecting proper nutrition. The only things IN my fridge are the expired things that used to be nutritious but have lost their redeeming value back in 2006. Most cartons found in my fridge have fuzzy green mold inside that says "Hello" when I open it. I keep them around because they have a better vocabulary than Old Fat Gladys. (the cat)
3. My ceiling fans are atrocious. Once a decade I will climb up, inspect the inches of dust, smile appreciatively and climb back down, leaving the dust & grim undisturbed. Much like a national monument, the dust on my ceiling fans demands quiet respect. I pay my respects and let it rest in peace.
4. My floors & stairways. The pink Pepto stain on the living room carpet refuses to come up. I've tried. The cat hair is permanantly ingrained into the stairs, especially in the hallway where she likes to sleep. Cat hair carpet is going to be the next big thing. You wait.
5. Don't look under my sofa. Especially don't look under my bed. And if you look under my bed don't look in the shoe box. Yes, it could be a fire hazard.
6. My mail. I haven't paid the bills either but it's just because there was no money to pay them with. They are laying there neatly waiting their turn. Someday I will get to them.
7. The dust & dirt on surfaces & countertops. That's just there because I'm lazy.
8. As far as my appearance. Hooo boy. The grubby sweatshirt is just something to wear when I'm not pretending to be June Cleaver. So are the blue flannel sock monkey pj pants. (This is the outfit I'm wearing right now actually, complete with blue slippers that need washed.)
So if you were all worried about me getting too old to take care of myself (31 is ancient) I want you to rest assured. I'm not old, I'm just lazy. And spend way too much time on this computer. But if you'd like to take pity on me & come help me around the house, that would be nice. I'll pay you a nice shiny nickel, if I can remember where in tarnation I put them....
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Hockey Players Wanted, Teeth Optional
Yesterday as I was watching my beloved Pittsburgh Penguins get the tar beat out of them by those crummy Flyers an interesting thought occurred to me. I'm attracted to men who are missing some teeth. Before I go further, allow me to clarify. Specifically, I'm attracted to men who have had their teeth knocked out. As opposed to the men who let their teeth rot and fall out although with all the tobacco Henry has chewed, he appears to be heading down that road. But I digress.
When the camera pans over to Matt Cooke, there he is grinning a big tooth missing smile. And I get all warm and fuzzy inside. Last year before Ryan Malone dumped me and sold out to the Tampa Bay Lightening he stopped my heart with his black eye, broken nose and missing teeth. If I were a cat I'd probably be hanging out with the ugliest, most beat up ratty looking tom cat in the neighborhood. Surprising, since my husband is so very attractive and has not a facial flaw. (Seriously, me thinks.)
I also love a good gloves off hockey fight. If they're on the ice pounding the bejezus out of each other, I'm a happy girl. If someone bleeds and needs a towel, I'm even happier. It's a good thing I never get to see a hockey game in person or there is a good chance I'd be a hockey groupie. There I'd be, hanging out by the locker room long after the game is over, waiting for a beat up face to sink my hooks into.
Yes, the more beat up the Penguins look, the more I love them. Hey, hockey is a tough sport. In football, they line up, crash into each other, fall down and take a five minute break lining back up. In hockey, it's constant skating, smashing into each other, falling down, with NO BREAKS for minutes on end. Moving all the time. Now that's a real man. When there's a fight, the refs don't even bother to try breaking it up for a few minutes. Then it's off to the Sin Bin for a penalty. And they don't spend the whole game showing off every time they make one little good play. I mean, holy smokes, Goddard scored a goal yesterday and didn't even smile. Just skated back and kept on going. I'm in awe.
My theory is that this strange attraction is just something built into my primitive DNA. It's apparently there for procreation purposes to help me pick a mate who will pass on strong survival skills and fighting instincts. And I hear that with all the skating, hockey players have limber hips...I would gladly donate myself to research this. (In the name of science of course. )
So if any of you Penguins ever make it to Bedford County look me up...
When the camera pans over to Matt Cooke, there he is grinning a big tooth missing smile. And I get all warm and fuzzy inside. Last year before Ryan Malone dumped me and sold out to the Tampa Bay Lightening he stopped my heart with his black eye, broken nose and missing teeth. If I were a cat I'd probably be hanging out with the ugliest, most beat up ratty looking tom cat in the neighborhood. Surprising, since my husband is so very attractive and has not a facial flaw. (Seriously, me thinks.)
I also love a good gloves off hockey fight. If they're on the ice pounding the bejezus out of each other, I'm a happy girl. If someone bleeds and needs a towel, I'm even happier. It's a good thing I never get to see a hockey game in person or there is a good chance I'd be a hockey groupie. There I'd be, hanging out by the locker room long after the game is over, waiting for a beat up face to sink my hooks into.
Yes, the more beat up the Penguins look, the more I love them. Hey, hockey is a tough sport. In football, they line up, crash into each other, fall down and take a five minute break lining back up. In hockey, it's constant skating, smashing into each other, falling down, with NO BREAKS for minutes on end. Moving all the time. Now that's a real man. When there's a fight, the refs don't even bother to try breaking it up for a few minutes. Then it's off to the Sin Bin for a penalty. And they don't spend the whole game showing off every time they make one little good play. I mean, holy smokes, Goddard scored a goal yesterday and didn't even smile. Just skated back and kept on going. I'm in awe.
My theory is that this strange attraction is just something built into my primitive DNA. It's apparently there for procreation purposes to help me pick a mate who will pass on strong survival skills and fighting instincts. And I hear that with all the skating, hockey players have limber hips...I would gladly donate myself to research this. (In the name of science of course. )
So if any of you Penguins ever make it to Bedford County look me up...
Thursday, December 11, 2008
ProCare - Maybe I'll Live There
Monday I joined ProCare. After signing a few papers & giving them my money, they turned me loose to scamper about & explore where I wished. In wide eyed wonder I stepped out into the gym. A small indoor track surrounded dozens of treadmills, stairclimbers, elliptical machines, recumbant bikes, weight machines, and a free weight area. I stopped to stare. An old man walking around the track had to swerve around me. Lesson #1: Look both ways before crossing the track.
There was a group of women on the treadmills and some men on the ellipticals. They all looked official and seemed to know what they were doing. They ignored me. I kept walking. Behind the aerobic machines I found the weight machines. No one was around so I picked a simple looking machine to sit on. The Hip Adductor. This was vaguely familiar so I thought I'd try it out. Alas, my tries were in vain. A young woman in her mid 20's came around the corner & got on the Hip Abductor machine beside me. She looked safe so I asked her how this thing worked. She showed me. The machine worked beautifully & I moved on to the next, where I discovered that each machine has a picture on it of how to work it. Some made sense and others were more like ancient hieroglyphics. I also discovered that I could peek out of the corner of my eye into the mirrors & watch what the people behind me were doing. As soon as they'd leave, I'd run over & try out what I saw.
The Free Weight Area looked intriguing but was dotted with heavily muscled men.
As a general rule, I don't talk to men in the free weight area ever, ever, ever. They are there to make themselves beautiful and my approaching them for the simplest advice would most likely be taken out of context, thus hindering my nice sweaty lunch break.
So I waited until the coast was clear & went sneaking back into the Free Weights. It was a glorious concoction of poles and weights, dumb-bells, racks, and benches. A delight to revel in for sure. I reveled myself right over to the incline bench and helped myself to a few inclined situps. I felt like an intruder. I tried to hurry up before the Muscles all came back. It worked and I escaped unnoticed. I wished for Harry Potter's Invisibility Cloak so I could keep on trying things out without people wondering what I was trying to do. I have to say it was a pretty good experience. So good that I went every day this week, sometimes twice a day. I'm officially addicted to it now and if they had food I'd live there. It's probably best that they don't.
There was a group of women on the treadmills and some men on the ellipticals. They all looked official and seemed to know what they were doing. They ignored me. I kept walking. Behind the aerobic machines I found the weight machines. No one was around so I picked a simple looking machine to sit on. The Hip Adductor. This was vaguely familiar so I thought I'd try it out. Alas, my tries were in vain. A young woman in her mid 20's came around the corner & got on the Hip Abductor machine beside me. She looked safe so I asked her how this thing worked. She showed me. The machine worked beautifully & I moved on to the next, where I discovered that each machine has a picture on it of how to work it. Some made sense and others were more like ancient hieroglyphics. I also discovered that I could peek out of the corner of my eye into the mirrors & watch what the people behind me were doing. As soon as they'd leave, I'd run over & try out what I saw.
The Free Weight Area looked intriguing but was dotted with heavily muscled men.
As a general rule, I don't talk to men in the free weight area ever, ever, ever. They are there to make themselves beautiful and my approaching them for the simplest advice would most likely be taken out of context, thus hindering my nice sweaty lunch break.
So I waited until the coast was clear & went sneaking back into the Free Weights. It was a glorious concoction of poles and weights, dumb-bells, racks, and benches. A delight to revel in for sure. I reveled myself right over to the incline bench and helped myself to a few inclined situps. I felt like an intruder. I tried to hurry up before the Muscles all came back. It worked and I escaped unnoticed. I wished for Harry Potter's Invisibility Cloak so I could keep on trying things out without people wondering what I was trying to do. I have to say it was a pretty good experience. So good that I went every day this week, sometimes twice a day. I'm officially addicted to it now and if they had food I'd live there. It's probably best that they don't.
Friday, December 5, 2008
Running vs The Cookie Monster
It's that special time of year again. The time when cookies and fudge slowly over power me and I forget what a vegetable looks like. Dreams of Egg Nog fills my days and nights. Sugar climbs it's way to the top of my food pyramid like King Kong overpowering the Empire State Building. I spend December deliriously high on baked goods and cookies. Then Cookie-less January slaps me in the face. I wake up from my stupor only to find ancient crumbs dribbled down the front of my sweat shirt and a stomach that feels soft, doughy and a few inches bigger than I remembered it.
When did this happen? I ask myself. The cookie monster within laughs maniacally.
I poke my finger into the newly grown belly fat and a look of stern resolve comes over my face. I furrow my brow, raise my fist to the heavens and shake it, angrily determined that THIS YEAR I will not break up with Running in December.
Running and I have an on/off relationship. It's love/hate just like the commercials on TV. Running chastises me when I don't do it. It calls my name early in the morning and makes me get out of bed even when I don't want to. It takes up my spare time. It's all I think about. For these reasons I hate it.
The flip side is that running gives me a high. I feel good when I get back to the house. Fat melts off of me. (Unfortunately so do my boobs.) The Muffin Top dissolves. My pulse is stronger and lower. I can eat like a horse & not gain weight. My cottage cheese legs are still cheesy but thinner. My saddle bags go away. I have more energy. No other exercise (and believe me, I've tried them all) can do for me what running does. For this I love Running.
But when Thanksgiving comes to call and the days are short & dark & cold, my inner cookie monster battles it out with Running. I'm sorry to say that in years past Running has lost everytime. The stomach pudge is already gleefully creeping around and it's only the first week of December.
However, this year I remembered my promise to Running. In honor of Running I will be forking out for a ProCare membership for December and January. I firmly and solidly vow that I will wear out their treadmills. They will not want me to come back next year and will ban me from using their cardio machines. And when the longer days of February and March come along I will burst out the front door, fresh & ready to go. And my old friend Running will be waiting for me on the road, ready to greet me with open arms.
When did this happen? I ask myself. The cookie monster within laughs maniacally.
I poke my finger into the newly grown belly fat and a look of stern resolve comes over my face. I furrow my brow, raise my fist to the heavens and shake it, angrily determined that THIS YEAR I will not break up with Running in December.
Running and I have an on/off relationship. It's love/hate just like the commercials on TV. Running chastises me when I don't do it. It calls my name early in the morning and makes me get out of bed even when I don't want to. It takes up my spare time. It's all I think about. For these reasons I hate it.
The flip side is that running gives me a high. I feel good when I get back to the house. Fat melts off of me. (Unfortunately so do my boobs.) The Muffin Top dissolves. My pulse is stronger and lower. I can eat like a horse & not gain weight. My cottage cheese legs are still cheesy but thinner. My saddle bags go away. I have more energy. No other exercise (and believe me, I've tried them all) can do for me what running does. For this I love Running.
But when Thanksgiving comes to call and the days are short & dark & cold, my inner cookie monster battles it out with Running. I'm sorry to say that in years past Running has lost everytime. The stomach pudge is already gleefully creeping around and it's only the first week of December.
However, this year I remembered my promise to Running. In honor of Running I will be forking out for a ProCare membership for December and January. I firmly and solidly vow that I will wear out their treadmills. They will not want me to come back next year and will ban me from using their cardio machines. And when the longer days of February and March come along I will burst out the front door, fresh & ready to go. And my old friend Running will be waiting for me on the road, ready to greet me with open arms.
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