I just try to live like Barbie Doll

Today's topic: Where are you in your life vs where you thought you'd be at this point?

When I was a kid, 30 was old. Like, reeeeeeally old. My mom was 30. And that was old. If you had asked me at 5 years old, where I would be when I was 30, I would have said several things:

1. Married.
2. A teacher.
3. An NBA player like my idol, Clyde the Glide Drexler.
4. Having babies.
5. Having cats and dogs. Like, ten of them.

As a little girl, I played a lot of Barbie (who, by the way, spent a lot of time naked with Ken), and a lot of baby dolls with Stace, Kitty, DeLaina, LaDonna, and Carolyn. And when we were playing baby dolls, we always had a lot of kids and a lot of pets, and of course, a husband...and were *gasp* 25 years old!!

25 was "the age to be" when we were playing. Barbie was always 25, we were always 25 in our mock households with all of our baby dolls. 25 had a nice ring to it for what defined a grown up.

The only thing that 25 year old Barbie and 25 year old fake housewife and 25 year old real life me had in common was that the amount of sex I had at 25 rivaled Barbie and Ken's. I wasn't married or popping out babies, I didn't have ten pets or a house of my own. I was in college, living with my parents, working at Old Chicago, and probably wishing I was still 5 years old.

The same is true for 30 year old me. I am single, living in an apartment (two days from now), just me and my one cat - not ten cats and ten dogs - without a house of my own with my hsuband. I don't wear high heels and dresses every day, but I have learned how to more adequately do my makeup. I still maintain a decent Barbie-and-Ken type sex life, but I have learned a thing or two about the ways they did it wrong way back in 1988 when I was 5 years old...I mean, come on, he just laid on top of her like a dead fish, and she just laid under him like another dead fish. Get it together, Barbie, you deserve better than that!

I have also somehow managed to overcome my dreams of playing in the NBA, after my mom explained to me why little girls at 4 feet tall don't generally get to grow up into 7 foot tall black men, and I realized at some point that I had no desire to be a teacher, what with all the hatred I have towards other people's kids. So you could say my career aspirations have changed since I was little. I have a career I am proud of, where I make decent money, or at least enough to support myself - for the most part. I still think I would have done Clyde the Glide proud, but I suppose life goes on.

The way I viewed adulthood as a child has clearly changed. I am proud of my single, stable, grownup Barbie life. And for the record, Barbie wasn't even as commited to Ken as I liked to think. I caught her in bed with a GI Joe once, and she definitely spent some time in my brother's room with a Power Ranger. So there's that...

Wanna come to a no-pants party?

Today's Topic: Your favorite "weird/funny single behavior." Anything that is uniquely you and that living alone allows you to do.

I don't wear pants. No, for real, I don't wear pants. Ever. I really think the most difficult part about the last 3 months of not having my own place has been that when I get home from work, I have had to put on sweat pants.

I come home from work and tend to shed clothing in a trail from the front door all the way to my bedroom. I leave my purse and keys at the front door, kick my shoes off in the entryway, have usually taken my top off in or around the living room, always leave my bra in the hallway, and shed my pants in my room, practically tripping out of them as I walk to the closet. I pull on a tee shirt or a hoodie (depending on the weather), put on a pair of clean socks, and head back out to the living room to feed Juno, make dinner, and turn the TV on. In a hoodie. And socks. And panties. But never in pants.

On a side note, when I'm drunk, this "making a trail" of clothes extends much further...on a recent birthday, I found my earrings in the freezer several days later, and my necklace in the window sill. It's like I wander around aimlessly shedding everything I'm wearing.

Anyway, back to the story...

My electric bill takes the brunt of this strange behavior, as I am almost always freezing cold. I turn the heat up instead of putting pants on, because that's how much I hate wearing pants. I snuggle up under a big blanket on the couch with Juno, because that's how much I hate wearing pants.

I don't know where or when this started happening. I have never been a big fan of jeans; in high school, I rocked dance pants to school almost daily, and getting me to put on a nice pair of jeans was like a huge triumph. I never put jeans on at home. And I mean, never. I obviously wear jeans out, and wear dress slacks to work, but on the evenings that I have friends over or a family dinner, I always shed them and pull on my comfies. I guess maybe I just like to be cozy. And the most cozy I can be is, in my panties and a shirt, with no pants on.

I suppose that when I do finally meet someone who wants to live with me, the no pants thing could do one of two things. Either my guy will take it as a nightly invitation for after-work-but-before-dinner sex, or he'll think I'm a nut and will just laugh at me. Either way, I will have turned the heat up high enough that he'll get hot and have to take his pants off too.

So look at that...no pants. I win.

Being single is awesome, except for when it isn't awesome.

Day 2: Describe a moment or a day when being single really sucked.
Day 3: Describe a moment or a day when being single was really awesome.

I realize that I only need to write on one of these today and the other is supposed to wait until tomorrow, but they just kinda seem to go hand-in-hand...being single can both be super lonely, or incredibly fun, depending on the day. Overall, as I pointed out yesterday, I am single because I haven't met someone worth not being single for, so in general, I don't get too bent out of shape about it. But then again, everybody needs somebody, sometimes.

I have had my fair share of days where I have wished I was part of a couple...specifically when I am out somewhere with all of my couple friends. I am a social butterfly and I love to go out, and when I am in a group of my friends who all have dates to something, I do occassionally think I would prefer to be with someone...especially on couple-y holidays, like New Year's Eve. I am not one to get all hyped about Valentine's Day, so that has never really bothered me, but something about the start of a new year, being dressed up, and maybe something to do with all that champagne...makes kissing someone at midnight a little better if it is not a stranger in a bar. A kiss at midnight on New Year's Eve should mean something, or I guess I think it should.

On the other hand, there are those events where you initially think you wish you had a date, that end up being the most fun because you came solo. A wedding, for example. When I am getting ready to leave the house for a wedding, and I have gone all out to look fab, and I have worked out like a maniac to fit in a specific dress, I usually think, dammit I should have found a date for this thing! But then you get to the wedding, sit through the vows (where I always cry) and get to the reception to find a plethora of single men, single ladies, and even little kids to spend all night dancing with. I have never left a wedding wishing I'd taken a date. Never. Whether I have had a boyfriend or have been single, I have never actually taken a date to a wedding, and I have never regretted it. Being a single lady at a wedding, does not suck. Having groomsmen know you're the single bridesmaid, does not suck. Dancing with the flower girl, does not suck. Drinking with the bride and groom and not having someone to tail around, does not suck. One of the best times to be single, is at a wedding.

The most important thing to take from my post today is that, there will always be days where I wake up in bed and wish someone was next to me. But those days do not run my life, nor do they give me any desire to settle for the next guy to come around. I was chatting with a new friend last night about how it is much easier for women to have her, uh, needs met while single than it is for guys...and I think the may be true, but that's just one benefit of being a woman I guess: access to booty whenever you want it.

Can I add that to my moments when being single is totally awesome?

"A lady does not place her weapon on the table"

I've decided to tackle a new 30 day blog challenge. This one is, "The Single Woman's 30 Day Blog Challege." Let's see what you can all learn about the inner workings of this very awesome, very fun, very single lady...

Day one: Your Response to Everyone's Favorite Question...Why Are You Still Single?!?

My initial reaction is, well, mind your own fucking business. Ass. But then I remember that I decided on this blog, no one asked me to...so then I should probably calm the fuck down about it.

I am single for several reasons. I am single because I am not chasing down my version of Prince Charming, nor am I waiting for a rescue. I am single because I am picky. I am single because until about 6 months ago, I was very emotionally damaged after dating a guy who pushed me around and was mean to me. I am single because I am only 30, and unlike so many women in the world, I don't believe that makes me old, and I don't think we should be getting hitched at 22 (no offense to those of you who got hitched at 22). I am single because I am content in my own skin and don't need to be validated by a relationship. I am single because I like dating and don't need to jump head first into a serious commitment. I am single because I would rather wait for a great guy than waste time on a bad one. And on top of all of those things, I am happy with my life right now, and it happens to be that I am currently single. 

According to some people in my life, who shall remain nameless, I am single because my life has no meaning and because my ovaries are drying up...oh and also because I am a snarky bitch (but that part is possibly a little bit right). According to these same people, I am single because I am too independant, I work too hard at my career, and I don't want kids. I am single because I have a job and want to keep it after I get married. I am single because I don't cook and because I pay a house cleaner to do women's work.

Well guess what, people who shall remain nameless, the man for me doesn't want me to quit my job or to stay home popping babies out of my lady biz, because he likes my money and let's be honest, he likes my lady biz the way it is...baby-free. I know what happens to a woman's body during and after pregnancy and childbirth, and I'd say a man should be pretty pleased to know that none of those things have taken place here! The man for me understands that I am independant and is not threatened by that, but rather finds it sexy that I go to work and pay my own bills and take myself on vacations. He appreciates that I would rather spend time with him than clean the house, and respects that I can pay someone to clean for us. And most importantly, he respects who I am as a person and as a woman, and understands that I don't play into the traditional gender roles that require me to stay home and make him babies and dinner while I rub his feet and only have sex when he feels like it. We're gonna have sex when I feel like it too, dammit!

In all seriousness, I never know exactly how to answer the why am I still single question. I just am. I haven't met the right person, and I don't want to be unavailable to him when he does come around. And I don't want to settle for someone who is here and now just because they are here and now. I do find it incredibly offensive when people assume I am a man-hating feminazi when I say I am 30 and single and that I don't wish to have babies of my own. The truth is actually as far from that as it gets. I love men, and I do believe that I will find a good one when the time is right and I am ready. And yes, I am kinda a feminist in that I want to work and be treated equal and wear shoes and have opnions and be allowed to vote and drive and go out after dark. I don't think that makes me a mant-hater, I think that makes me a respectable woman. And my decision to not make babies of my own is my own choice based on the way I wish to live my life. Should I change my mind someday, great, but in the meantime, I am super annoyed by the women who tell me I will regret not reproducing. No, I don't think I will. I read a great quote last night that said, "Will I regret not having kids of my own? Maybe. But I would rather regret not having a child, than have a child I regret." So well-written and so validating - I love children, I really do. I am not even opposed to marrying a man who has a child of his own. But I do not wish to start from scratch, at say, 34 years old (gotta give myself a minute to meet a guy, date him, marry him, and be whisked away on a fabulous honeymoon) with something that is my financial responsibility for the next 20-25 years...that is money and time I could be spending on travel with this sweet, successful, compassionate, intelligent, George Clooney of a man I plan to stumble across one day.

I suppose what it boils down to is, I am single because I am single. There is no rhyme or reason to why I am 30 years old and not married. But the important thing, at least in my opinion, is that I am happy. In my 15 years of dating, since my very first boyfriend in 8th grade, I have learned how to take care of myself, how to ask for what I need, how to demand respect, and how to pick up the pieces and move on when I get my heart broken. I have learned that a good man will validate my feelings, embrace who I am, and never try to change me. Through dating a man guy toddler ass hole who isolated me from my family, controlled my every move, and occassionally threw me around (or threw things at me), I have learned that respect is something I will never sacrifice again, as well as how to walk away from the wrong thing no matter how hard it is. So in the time that I have been single, I have learned a ton of things about dating, and life, and myself, that will someday make me a better wife and partner to someone who will be a wonderful husband and partner to me. Whether that person has a kid, wants a kid, or simply wants to act like a kid, will all work itself out when it needs to. And until then, I will continue to be comfortably single and happy. And I may sleep around from time to time...a single lady's got needs, afterall.

Dear Santa...I Tried!

You know how sometimes you write something on a bad day, and then something can turn it all around and remind you that you're being Scroogy for no reason? Yes, that happened. After my anti-Holiday post yesterday, I got to participate in the magic of a little one's first time Trick-or-Treating, and I think I can safely say, I am now in Holiday Go Mode.

Last night after work I met up with Tyler, Stacey, and Blake to go trick-or-treating. Last year was technically Blake's first time, but I think he only went to Grandma's house and was way too tiny to know what was happening. This year, though, he was READY. And boy did he make us all laugh.

Things Blake said on Halloween:
- "Come on daddy, I am ready to go!!" (said while in full costume, holding candy bucket, waiting impatiently for Tyler to change out of his work clothes)
- "Oh thank you!!" (to every person he saw with candy)
- "Trick or Treat!!" (to people behind even closed doors)
- "Look daddy, look at my big candy! A biiiiig one!!" (about the full size candy bar at one house)
- "I love you" (to a random woman...apparently she was worthy of more than a thank you)
- "Let's get out of here, this one is scary!" (about a house with creepy decorations)
- "Be brave, mom" (while walking to a porch with scary decor)
- "Neeeeeext house." (coming down every driveway)
- "This too heavy, I dump it" (as he dumped his bucket into the wagon when candy started weighing him down)

It didn't take him long at all to realize that all he had to do was knock...smile...say trick or treat, and he'd get candy in his pumpkin bucket. But he never forgot his manners either and charmed everyone we saw with his big muscles and bigger smile. We came home, had pizza and a piece of candy, and I headed home about bed time.

I guess maybe all I needed to get out of my funk was a little holiday magic. The truth of the matter is, I do love the holiday season, and even though my family has dwindled, the family that I do still see and love, is fun to see and I am happy to celebrate the season with them. I need to remember to focus on the loving family that is still in my life instead of on the unloving part that has given up on us.

Thank you, Blake, for reminding Auntie that holidays are great and that there is always tons of fun to be had.

Bah, Humbug and Happy Halloween

Q: Why can't witches have babies?

A: Because ghosts have Hollow-weenies!

 

Bad joke? I thought it was funny.

 

Today is Halloween, and other than my excitement to join Stacey & Tyler for Blake's first legit Trick-or-Treating, I am just not feeling the holiday spirit this year. I think it has something to do with not having a place of my own to pass out candy at, and not feeling the major party vibe at all, and just feeling blah about the whole thing. I am, however, LOVING all the pictures of everyone's adorable babies in costumes on Facebook today.

Halloween is usually the kick off to the holiday season for me, since next comes Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year's Eve, and I tend to get pretty excited for it all. I love the busy hustle and bustle of the winter holiday season; it helps get me through the winter rainy-day blues by always providing a holiday event or party to look forward to, even when the weather sucks and I want to just hide under the covers at home. I enjoy the extra time spent with my family, the busy days, the loud dinners, and all of the traditions that come with the holiday season.

Probably my favorite fall tradition is going to the pumpkin patch at Sauvie's Island. When we were little, our entire family would go, and it was usually followed up with a BBQ at Grandma Stacey's house. Even when most of us were too old for it, we all still went and had a great day together in the rain and the mud. In the past couple of years, as my cousins have started to have babies of their own, we've been going in smaller batches and not always at the same time or to the same patch, but I was still really glad to get to take Blake this past weekend to pick out his pumpkin. After trying to sneak out with one far too large, we were able to reign him in to one small enough to carry himself, as that is the Stacey Family Pumpkin Patch Rule: carry it your damn self.

In the last few years, my mom's family has stopped having our big Thanksgiving dinner each year and have started a bi-annual dinner instead, as with over 60 people, the dinner tends to be a ton of work and a large expense. I won't complain too much about it, because I am not the one that the work load or expense falls on, but I won't pretend to like it either. I hate it. On the "off" years (this year is an off year), I feel like Thanksgiving isn't really coming. I'm single, I don't have kids or in-laws, so without my big family holidays, I tend to just feel like it won't be much of a holiday. But until I have a house and table that sits 60+ and a budget to cook 10 turkeys, I can't complain. And there is my dad's family as well, but being brutally honest, I hate spending holidays with them anymore. Several years ago, my dad's siblings had a few ridiculous fights leading to my big loud happy family basically splitting apart, and now most of them don't talk to each other. The last couple of Thanksgiving dinners at my aunt's house have just left me feeling sad - we all fit at one table last year; that has NEVER happened at any family dinner I've attended in the 30 years I've been alive. And I hated it. I like my family dinners loud and fun like they used to be. Unfortunately that will never happen, as my dad's family hates each other and is far too proud/stubborn/full of ass holes to ever mend the fences.

This Thanksgiving, I think I will opt to cook dinner with Kattie and some friends who's families are out of town. Watching football and drinking beers with friends over dinner sounds like a relaxing new tradition that could definitely work for me.

Will I stop by at Barbara's to see my grandma and my parents? Probably. But will I stay to hang out and be reminded of why I can't stand being around my dad's siblings? Probably not. I have spent the better part of ten years trying to stay neutral, trying to be supportive of all of my family and to maintain my relationships with everyone, but what I have learned is, that's not what they want. They want to be mad, they want to hate each other, and they want to not give a shit what affect their petty crap has on the rest of us. So unfortunately, it just is what it is: a small dining room table where only 8 of us share a meal instead of 38 of us.

Christmas, on the other hand...I love Christmas. I love taking kids to look at Christmas lights, I love to get my own Christmas tree. I love to get out all of Grandma Stacey's ornaments, her tree topper, some of her lights, and think of her while I listen to Christmas music, drink wine, and decorate my place. Last year, in my little condo, I got my own tree an put up a stocking for me and a little one for Juno, and even though I think Mark was the only person to see the tree, I was just so happy for it. It was mine. I paid for it, I bought the stand, I bought the ornaments. I decorated it, I wrapped presents and spent weeks chasing Juno out from under it. It was perfect. And I am excited to do the same in another new apartment this year. I have a fireplace even for stocking hanging, which is amazing.

2 years ago, my mom and I started a new Christmas morning tradition that involves mimosas for breakfast. That will happen again this year. And every year.

My mom's family doesn't cancel every other Christmas, so even though we're skipping the Thanksgiving feast, we do get to have Christmas together, where we draw names and exchange gifts, where we get to see babies be excited about first Christmastime things. I love it.

My dad's family, or what's left of it, will likely do Christmas as well, and that for some reason doesn't upset me the way Thanksgiving does, so I'll go and I'll have fun with the few people I still call my Whitmore family. It won't be as loud or as crazy as it once was, but I will have a beer and still enjoy myself.

I was just talking with someone last night about how New Year's just isn't the same big thing it was when I was 21, when all that mattered about it was being wasted. I've spent the last couple of years with small groups of family, and it has been fun, mellow, and a great way to ring in another year. Last year was spent playing cards at Kitty and Stu's, and the year prior was spent dancing in Stacey and Tyler's living room. Both fun, neither too wild. I like to make silly resolutions, take a shot or kiss a boy at midnight, and move forward into another year of growing happier and healthier, but there is something about New Year's Eve that also just kinda kicks a single lady in the ass. So there's that.

The best part about the holiday season is staying busy and making memories with the people I love, and regardless of what traditions are started, changed, skipped over, or ended completely, I love having the memories that I do of the holidays with my family. I may be feeling a little Scroogey lately, but I think getting into my apartment next week, where I can decorate, unpack, and settle into a place to call mine, will help immensely to shake that grumpiness. And if nothing else, my fall and Christmas deocrations will force me to cheer up. Afterall, they were Grandma's, and they're beautiful.

I Hate Self Check-Out

Maybe it is because I have worked in customer service since I was 15 years old. Maybe it is because I crave interaction with people, not machines. Maybe it is because I believe people just deserve to have a job option. Whatever the case may be, I hate - no, I loathe - self checkout at stores. Hate it. I would rather wait in line for ten minutes than rush through the self checkout, because I just hate the whole concept so much.

There is nothing quite as annoying as standing in a long line at Safeway on a Friday evening to have my produce rung up by the one cashier in the store who is actually behind a cash register, while simultaneously watching 5 cashiers stand around staring at the four open self checkout lanes. Guess what, Safeway, nobody wants to weigh, scan, and look up the codes to the vegetables in the self checkout lane when you employ all of these people who have the damn things memorized!

This weekend, on our way to the pumpkin patch, Stace and I stopped at Albertons so I could grab a Pepsi and a croissant to share with Blake (I didn't share the soda, don't worry). I ran in, grabbed a fresh croissant from the deli, and headed to the checkout lane. To my surprise (and annoyance), there was not a single register open, just the self checkout lanes. I saw maybe six employees at the front of the store, shooting the shit, none of them helping anyone. Myself, as well as the girl at the lane across from me, who had grabbed a warm bagel at the same time I'd picked up my croissant, rang up our drinks and then kinda looked around, looked at each other, and stood there...how the fuck do I ring up a pastry on the self checkout lane? Fresh croissants don't have a barcode. Looking around, not one of the six available shit-shooting cashiers seemed to give a shit, so I shrugged and said, "eh, fuck it." Both me and the bagel girl paid for a soda and left the store.

Yes, I stole a croissant.

And I don't even feel bad about it. Fuck you, Albertson's, for your shitty customer service and for not having one single damn lane open so I could pay a human for my breakfast. And fuck you for taunting me with six employees and 15 checkout lanes, all of which are doing nothing but sitting there. I'll take this croissant just to prove a point: self checkout fucking sucks.

Recently at Fred Meyer, a clerk told me that I had to use the self checkout because he was stocking a shelf nearby. He was too busy to stop. Umm, ok, keep up the great customer service, Freddy's. So here I was, at the self checkout, getting a repeated error message for not bagging my shit properly. Fuck you, Fred Meyer, I scanned my shit and I put it in the bag...your machine is not working. So I wait for the guy who was too busy to stop to come over and assist the machine. He tells me that my item doesn't weigh enough for the bag to be able to tell that I had put anything in it.

Me: Well, its in there, its just eye liner.
Guy who was too busy to stop: Well it doesn't weigh enough.
Me: Well, I don't know what to tell you then.
Guy who was too busy to stop: The machine can't tell you bagged it, you need something heavier.
Me: I am only buying makeup, none of it is heavy.
Guy who was too busy to stop: long awkward stare.
Me: This is why I hate self checkout. You could have rang up my eyeliner ten times by now.
Guy who was too busy to stop: I can just override it I guess.
Guy who was too busy to stop: More awkward staring.

Seriously, fuck off. Your machine can't tell my shit is in the bag, because it is a machine. Stop trying to cut payroll wages by making me use a bull shit machine to ring up my fucking eyeliner.

It is not my job to go to the store and fight with a machine to pay for what I am buying. Fred Meyer can certainly pay a few people a measly ten bucks an hour to say hi, make conversation, I dunno, provide some customer service, to the people who are spending our money here. They're lucky I didn't just walk out of the damn store with my makeup.

I fucking hate self fucking checkout. I am not a grocery clerk. I don't want to be a grocery clerk. I want to go to the store and chat with someone while they punch in codes, weigh my veggies, scan my tampons, and ask how my day was. I want to stand at the register and be annoyed by the person standing in my bubble behind me. I want to have some human interaction when I drop $100 on produce, for crying out loud.

And if some giant conglomerate cannot provide me with some satisfactory service when I shop, I will just continue to steal my fucking croissant when I go to Albertson's, because apparently my 75 cents isn't that big of a deal - take it out of someone's wage and have them stock shelves instead of ringing up my eyeliner.

I Know My Body!

^^Watch this starting at 5 minutes, 36 seconds in^^

The big "thing" to do right now seems to be a primal or caveman type diet. And that's great. It seems ideal - I mean really, who doesn't want to be dieting and still get to eat bacon every day? The idea behind these primal diets is basically to eat what people ate when they were hunting their own food - veggies and meats. A diet where you're not tracking fat calories, but you've essentially cut out carbs from grains and pastas.And most importantly, you get to eat bacon.

Win.

I have tried several dietary lifestyle changes in the past year to two years, and I have learned a ton about my body and what it needs and wants. I have also learned a lot about bio-individuality, which essentially means, we are all different, and what works for you may not work for me.

I will use my cousin Karen as an example because I know she has a thick skin, and I know she always means well when she tells me what to do. It annoys me more than anything when I mention that I am doing a cleanse, or switching to organic meats, or eliminating certain food items from my diet...and someone tells me I am wrong. I have a lot of friends who like to jump all over me for removing bread from my diet. Well guess what, bread is my body's enemy, not its friend. Karen mostly likes to harp on me about my caloric intake. She thinks I don't eat enough. And she may be right, I don't really know. I don't count calories, and when I used to, I was usually under my reccomended intake for the day. But here's the thing...I don't necessarily agree with the reccomendations about what I should eat or weigh. For example, my BMI calculator thing suggested that I was significantly overweight, at Thor and Danielle's wedding, when I was the thinnest I'd been since high school. The "reccomendation" was that I weigh no more than 104 pounds. At the wedding, I weighed about 118, and looking back at photos, I should probably have not lost those last 5 pounds...I looked the healthiest at Stacey's wedding, when I was at about 125. But on my BMI test, 125 was considered just shy of obese...so needless to say, I don't tend to trust whatever mad scientist came up with that one.

And the same goes for calories...I eat every day, usually all 3 meals, I snack, and I don't go to bed hungry. And yet, some chart somewhere says I am eating about 300 too few calories. Well, I don't necessarily agree with that. I eat until I am full, and that's enough for me. I am not going to force feed myself extra to meet a suggestion made by someone, somewhere, who doesn't know me.

While I do agree that the basic key point to any weight loss or weight maintenance program is, calories in versus calories out, I have learned that there is more to it. It does matter where your calories "in" are coming from. Myself for example? My body cannot handle red meat in the amount that these primal diets suggest. If I eat a burger patty - without a bun, mind you - I gain, like, 3 pounds. Red meat also makes me sick to my stomach. So while I enjoy some bacon as a treat on Christmas morning with my parents, I cannot commit to that much meat. Both because I don't like it, and because I don't want to get fat.

In the past 12 months, I have learned that success for me looks like a smoothie for breakfast and a smoothie for lunch, with salad and chicken for dinner, and some healthy fat snacks in between, such as an avocado or some nuts. That's just what works for me. Just like I don't appreciate being told that I'm wrong, I am not suggesting that those of you on primal, caveman, paleo diets are wrong. If it works for your body, keep going with it! But I want people to understand that not everyone's body is the same. It is extremely disheartening to post a photo of a delicious, green, organic plate of veggies that you cooked for dinner and have six people comment about how you need a steak or chicken thigh to make it a meal. No I don't. Plenty of people don't eat meat at all, and before you jump all over me about it, perhaps you should ask if I am getting my protein and iron in other forms...to which I could tell you yes, I am.

I recently had a physical at my doctor's office, and surprise, surprise, she said all of my tests came back great, my blood pressure, cholesterol, and blood sugars were all normal and at no risk of anything. Everything was fine. And from my genetic history, the fact that there was nothing wrong means I am doing something very right. She asked about my diet and workout routine, we talked about it, and she said I was doing things right. So for all of you (not just you, Karen, lol) who can't seem to get off my case about how I eat like a bird or don't get enough protein or don't eat enough bacon or bread or fat or sugar...please stop it, and let me do my thing. Afterall, I know my body. You don't live in it, I do.

Could be worse, you know...I could be striving for a thigh gap.

Fresh Ink

When I was 19, totally on a whim, I drove up to Vancouver to Dark Star Tattoo and got a tattoo. It was my second, and I picked it out of a wall of flash minutes before I had it inked on my body for life.

Stupid.

First, no tattoo should be picked off of a wall. A tattoo should be - at least in my opinion - more of an internal expression than that.

Second, you should never get a tattoo without checking out someone's work from someone else.

As you may have guessed, the tattoo I ended up with was, while drawn decently, not all that great. It was a crescent moon, with 2 small stars, on the side of my calf, with initials under the stars for 2 good friends I'd lost in high school. At first, I did like this tattoo, but as it healed, it was just sorta, blah. No shading, heavy lines...and the moon was backwards! I have always wanted to cover it, but didn't really know what I would want to replace it with. Cover ups can be spendy, plus they have to be quite large, and so I went for what, 10 years, with this blah tattoo on my leg that I didn't really like.

After my property sold last month, I have had a bit of extra money and decided it was time for a cover up. I reached out to friends for tattoo artist referrals and talked to a few before actually deciding on Travis from Tron City over on Canyon Road. I went in for my consulation with almost no solid ideas, just a bunch of "would this work" type scenarios, for him to sort through. Tattoo artists amaze me, seriously. He asked me a series of questions about colors I like, shapes I prefer, my personality, etc...and then came up with an idea I absolutely loved in about 15 minutes. He traced the existing design and promised to work his magic before my appointment the following week, and I left. Since I was there on a good referral from a regular client of his, he didn't take a deposit or anything.

Monday rolled around and I was still not quite sure what I was going to end up with. I just don't picture a piece of art the way an artist does...he'd said, blah blah blah, bird, rose, blah blah...and that's all I had in my head. When I got to the shop, though, he had a beautiful stencil ready, and I just loved it. We talked about how it was going to cover the moon and the stars, what colors he'd use, and positioning, and he got started.

I tell you, this was the fastest tattoo, ever. It takes up my whole calf and still only took 90 minutes, I couldn't believe it.

Long story short, I am in love with the work he did. It is big, bold, colorful, and best of all, it is exactly what I was after!

My Blinks Are Taking Too Long

 

I could learn to love football... :)

I may not know much about sports (okay, well I basically know nothing about sports), but I seriously enjoy sports when they are live. I don't have the interest - or the attention span - to sit in front of a TV all day long on Sunday watching football, nor do I care to watch baseball or basketball on TV all evening, but when a game is happening live in front of you, it really is different. It is somehow more exciting when it is so noisy and with so many people...

I have been to several NFL games in the past - My brother and I flew to Dallas for the Cowboys/Giants game a couple years ago, I saw a Broncos/Vikings game while on a trip to Denver with some of the Old Chicago trainers, and I saw the Seahawks/Giants play like 2 years ago with Kalib and one of his friends. I enjoy live football. I need the person I'm with to keep me in the game as far as what exactly is happening, because I really don't know the game all that well, but I enjoy the noise, the fresh air, the crowd, and seeing the game play out live instead of in my living room. I've also been to Blazer games and a few Seattle Mariners games, and I find those fun as well. I recently went to my first Timbers game, and that was like the most fun sporting event, EVER.

Maybe its the beer...I do love spending $10 on a Coors Light, afterall.

Anyways, so I went to my first college football game this weekend, and I had such a great time. Not only had I never been to a college game, but I had never tailgated either. I had so. much. fun! I went with Jeremy to the Ducks game; it was a late game, so I drug my ass out of bed in Beaverton at like 10am, got my shit ready, and picked him up at about noon (an hour before he actually wanted to leave, because apparently women are always making him late). We met up with his coworker and some friends of theirs and headed down to Eugene; we made it there by about 3:00, despite Jeremy bitching about my slow ass driving the entire way...by the time we took the Eugene exit, I was ready to drop him off and go home (no, not really). We parked, cracked beers, and hung out...met up with a few more of his friends throughout the day, had more beers, a yellow Jello shot (dee-lish), and headed into the stadium just in time for the game to start.

The weather was amazing, super warm and sunny, and I think it was almost halftime before I was cold enough for my jacket...awesome! Of course, once I was cold enough for my jacket, I also needed my hat, gloves, and in reality also needed Jeremy's jacket. BUT I stayed strong and did not make him be cold so I could wear two coats. I'm far too strong for that nonsense.

The game was seriously so loud. It was crazy. I loved it. It is hard for me to get into the yelling and chanting since I struggle to follow the game and don't want to yell the wrong thing, but eventually I figured it out and had a great time trying to be loud enough to fuck up the Cougars...apparently I can help do that by screaming loud, did you know that?

Anyway, as was expected, the Ducks took a huge lead in the 4th quarter, at which point I learned the definition of garbage ball, and we headed out from the staudium with just over 5 minutes left of the game. Not that it made any difference getting out of the parking lot...I think we waited an hour just to get to a road. We picked up some tacos, ate, gassed up my car, and headed up a loooooong, late, dark, foggy I-5 north towards Portland. Thank God Jeremy was awake, because I was getting pretty dangerously tired by the time we hit Wilsonville. At one point, I was talking just to hear a voice, and I do recall telling him my "blinks are taking a really long time," at which moment he sat up and turned on the air conditioning so I would be "less comfy." We made it back to his house and thankfully I was able to crash there instead of trying to drive myself from Clackamas to Beaverton, or I would be writing this blog from the Other Side.

Needless to say, after a really fun, really warm, really sunny day of drinking and meeting new people, followed by an evening of laughing, dancing (yes, I was dancing...isn't that always the case), and watching the Ducks, I am addicted. Can I go again next weekend please??