domingo, janeiro 02, 2011
Moving
After years of filling this blog with my thoughts, I've decided to move the operation over to a new space. I've changed so much over the years and I feel so differently about myself and my life now, it just felt like time for something new. So, despite my utter lack of blogging in such a long time, if you're still on board, you can find me over here.
terça-feira, agosto 24, 2010
sometimes the day-to-day is too much
Today is one of those days where I have a whole new appreciation for people with children who are still able to function on a daily basis. Seriously, how do they do it? The BF has been sick for about a week now. Well, now it's just the production of never ending amounts of mucus resulting in a pretty horrible cough. I was pretty impressed that on day one he took it upon himself to visit the doctor, but all they gave him was cough syrup. Unfortunately I think this is mostly allergy-related and if you live in Austin, TX, there is no relief. Let's just hope it clears up when we land in Germany.
Because coughing prefers to do most of its work at night, I'm not getting much sleep. It's definitely thrown me off and combined with PMS, I'm a total space case. Cue me making a fool of myself in court today. I swear this judge is going to strangle me eventually, but so far she's been pretty patient. I just hate the feeling of knowing my colleagues saw me do and say idiotic things. Yeah, I'm probably magnifying it, but I tend to be pretty hard on myself. Right now I have an overwhelming desire to slink off, curl up in a corner and sleep for 20 hours.
It's just one of those days where I'm imagining doing something a little more joyful for a living. Maybe I'll do adoptions next. You know, bring families together. Or something completely different, like be a pre-kindergarten teacher. I'm sure I'll be able to pay off my student loans on whatever pre-K teachers make, right? You'd think I would get a kick out of making grown men cry. Or feel this satisfaction in helping someone get protection from an abusive partner. And for the most part I do, but sometimes I wish I could see families coming together instead of being ripped apart. Sometimes I wish I didn't always hear about how children have been exposed to truly awful things, things that rip away their innocence and any semblance of a carefree childhood and change them forever. Sometimes I wish I didn't have to hear about the horrible things people do to others, to people they claim to love. How do relationships get to the point where women are raped at knife point in front of their children? Or a young woman is told she's stupid, ugly, worthless, a whore over and over again? It breaks my heart to hear a young woman ask, "Is it okay that married people have friends?" and see that she truly doesn't know that in healthy relationships, both spouses will have friends of both sexes and that's normal.
I know what it's like to be in a relationship where you're so beat down mentally that you lose all perspective and the dysfunction becomes your reality. I know what it's like to feel like you have to make it work because this is all you deserve and if it ends, you've failed and you'll be left all alone. I know what it's like to feel that despair mixed with fear and confusion. I've been on that roller coaster ride of passionate love followed by pain and anger and hurt so overwhelming that it just leaves you stunned, unable to feel anything. When I see that look in an applicant's eye and hear the almost-dead tone in her voice, I know where she is, what she's feeling. She's given up, her heart so scarred from being injured over and over again that it's easier not to feel. I know what she's living.
Although I've been fortunate that I never lived the physical abuse that many of our applicants survive, I can empathize with the emotional toll. And I also know what it's like to come out the other side of all that, to realize that you can leave, that you do deserve better and that being alone forever is a billion times better than spending another day, another minute, another second in that bad relationship. And I'm proud of them for taking that step.
I guess that's why I keep doing this, even on days like today. But I'm starting to realize that I need more balance. I need to stop taking pro bono immigration cases that deal with domestic violence. And I could probably stand to pull back from some of the abortion assistance work, although that will probably be more of a slow process over the next two years or so. But we'll see where I am in two years, where life has taken me. I have a feeling that the more I create intentions to have joy, calm and happiness in my life, the more those things will come. And despite what I do for 40 hours a week, that is my focus.
Because coughing prefers to do most of its work at night, I'm not getting much sleep. It's definitely thrown me off and combined with PMS, I'm a total space case. Cue me making a fool of myself in court today. I swear this judge is going to strangle me eventually, but so far she's been pretty patient. I just hate the feeling of knowing my colleagues saw me do and say idiotic things. Yeah, I'm probably magnifying it, but I tend to be pretty hard on myself. Right now I have an overwhelming desire to slink off, curl up in a corner and sleep for 20 hours.
It's just one of those days where I'm imagining doing something a little more joyful for a living. Maybe I'll do adoptions next. You know, bring families together. Or something completely different, like be a pre-kindergarten teacher. I'm sure I'll be able to pay off my student loans on whatever pre-K teachers make, right? You'd think I would get a kick out of making grown men cry. Or feel this satisfaction in helping someone get protection from an abusive partner. And for the most part I do, but sometimes I wish I could see families coming together instead of being ripped apart. Sometimes I wish I didn't always hear about how children have been exposed to truly awful things, things that rip away their innocence and any semblance of a carefree childhood and change them forever. Sometimes I wish I didn't have to hear about the horrible things people do to others, to people they claim to love. How do relationships get to the point where women are raped at knife point in front of their children? Or a young woman is told she's stupid, ugly, worthless, a whore over and over again? It breaks my heart to hear a young woman ask, "Is it okay that married people have friends?" and see that she truly doesn't know that in healthy relationships, both spouses will have friends of both sexes and that's normal.
I know what it's like to be in a relationship where you're so beat down mentally that you lose all perspective and the dysfunction becomes your reality. I know what it's like to feel like you have to make it work because this is all you deserve and if it ends, you've failed and you'll be left all alone. I know what it's like to feel that despair mixed with fear and confusion. I've been on that roller coaster ride of passionate love followed by pain and anger and hurt so overwhelming that it just leaves you stunned, unable to feel anything. When I see that look in an applicant's eye and hear the almost-dead tone in her voice, I know where she is, what she's feeling. She's given up, her heart so scarred from being injured over and over again that it's easier not to feel. I know what she's living.
Although I've been fortunate that I never lived the physical abuse that many of our applicants survive, I can empathize with the emotional toll. And I also know what it's like to come out the other side of all that, to realize that you can leave, that you do deserve better and that being alone forever is a billion times better than spending another day, another minute, another second in that bad relationship. And I'm proud of them for taking that step.
I guess that's why I keep doing this, even on days like today. But I'm starting to realize that I need more balance. I need to stop taking pro bono immigration cases that deal with domestic violence. And I could probably stand to pull back from some of the abortion assistance work, although that will probably be more of a slow process over the next two years or so. But we'll see where I am in two years, where life has taken me. I have a feeling that the more I create intentions to have joy, calm and happiness in my life, the more those things will come. And despite what I do for 40 hours a week, that is my focus.
quarta-feira, agosto 04, 2010
Oh yes, I'm doing it!
Folks, I'd like to take a little break from my gag-worthy perfect love life to discuss a very important topic, one I haven't been addressing nearly enough lately: pooping. Namely, pooping in public.
My sister thinks I have no shame, but frankly, I'm amazed at those who can hold it long enough to get to the home toilet. If I'm at work 8-10 hours per day and the morning shits come on, how is it even possible to hold it in? I can barely make it down the hall! Sure, I'd prefer the comforts of home, such as toilet paper that doesn't contain chunks of bark. But it's a long commute to my house. And when you gotta go...
There's also the issue of my irritable bowel syndrome. Whenever I get any sort of adrenaline rush, I need to poop. And I still get that combination of nerves and anticipation right before a contested hearing. It used to make me almost sick and I would dread hearings. But after my first few wins, I realized that it's actually pretty easy and kinda fun. And with protective orders, never, ever boring. But yeah, I've torn up a few courthouse bathrooms. My favorite happened recently. I had been a little, uh, clogged and then I had a severe sense of urgency. I left my coworkers to push our cart of files, etc. into the courtroom and rushed to the bathroom. After one of the most satisfyingly large bowel evacuations in history, a woman walked into the bathroom. I heard her say, "Whew! It really stinks!" as I quickly finished up, washed my hands and rushed out, leaving the damage behind.
Speaking of washing hands: OH DEAR GOD, I do not understand people who don't wash up after they use the bathroom, especially #2. In my last office, which was a rather small staff, the non-washers were quickly identified. Believe me, I took note of whose feet I saw under the stall when I didn't hear them hit the sink after their Big Stinky. If my OCD was worse, I would probably just wear gloves all the time. Seriously. Gross.
For the record, I ALWAYS wash my hands. And if you're not doing it, please for the love of the tiny baby Jesus in his swaddling clothes, START.
So, there it is, I'm a self-identified public pooper. What about the rest of you? Who's with me on the pooping? And while we're on the subject, what about the differing pooping habits of men and women? Why do so many men prefer to sit in their stink, hanging out on the toilet for the greater part of an hour reading? What's the about, anyway? I prefer to do my reading with my butt clean. And on a more comfortable chair. Also, I like to get in, get it done, get out. Any female bathroom lingerers out there? I want to understand your mentality. Enlighten me!
My sister thinks I have no shame, but frankly, I'm amazed at those who can hold it long enough to get to the home toilet. If I'm at work 8-10 hours per day and the morning shits come on, how is it even possible to hold it in? I can barely make it down the hall! Sure, I'd prefer the comforts of home, such as toilet paper that doesn't contain chunks of bark. But it's a long commute to my house. And when you gotta go...
There's also the issue of my irritable bowel syndrome. Whenever I get any sort of adrenaline rush, I need to poop. And I still get that combination of nerves and anticipation right before a contested hearing. It used to make me almost sick and I would dread hearings. But after my first few wins, I realized that it's actually pretty easy and kinda fun. And with protective orders, never, ever boring. But yeah, I've torn up a few courthouse bathrooms. My favorite happened recently. I had been a little, uh, clogged and then I had a severe sense of urgency. I left my coworkers to push our cart of files, etc. into the courtroom and rushed to the bathroom. After one of the most satisfyingly large bowel evacuations in history, a woman walked into the bathroom. I heard her say, "Whew! It really stinks!" as I quickly finished up, washed my hands and rushed out, leaving the damage behind.
Speaking of washing hands: OH DEAR GOD, I do not understand people who don't wash up after they use the bathroom, especially #2. In my last office, which was a rather small staff, the non-washers were quickly identified. Believe me, I took note of whose feet I saw under the stall when I didn't hear them hit the sink after their Big Stinky. If my OCD was worse, I would probably just wear gloves all the time. Seriously. Gross.
For the record, I ALWAYS wash my hands. And if you're not doing it, please for the love of the tiny baby Jesus in his swaddling clothes, START.
So, there it is, I'm a self-identified public pooper. What about the rest of you? Who's with me on the pooping? And while we're on the subject, what about the differing pooping habits of men and women? Why do so many men prefer to sit in their stink, hanging out on the toilet for the greater part of an hour reading? What's the about, anyway? I prefer to do my reading with my butt clean. And on a more comfortable chair. Also, I like to get in, get it done, get out. Any female bathroom lingerers out there? I want to understand your mentality. Enlighten me!
quarta-feira, julho 28, 2010
pinch me
I know this is totally disgusting, but I can't help but share with the world how effing fabulous my man is. Since we've made the decision to live together and I started staying there and slowly moving my belongings over to the house, we've instituted a new routine of planning meals for the week and going grocery shopping together. Because I typically work a little later than he does and I have a much longer commute, he will often have dinner ready or in the works when I get home. I know, it's disgusting. And I'm loving it!
Today we were chatting online about dinner plans. I'm meeting a friend after work and he's going to paint the spare room (the color he insisted I pick out so it will become our house). We decided today we'll have breakfast for dinner, including pancakes with bacon in them. He likes to eat pretty early, so he told me he'd go ahead and eat before I got home. I told him to just leave the batter for my pancake in the fridge and I'd make it when I got home. His reply? Text me when you're on your way and I'll have it ready for you.
Hot.
Fucking.
Damn!
Am I the luckiest woman in the world or what? I also have to share the incredibly adorable and romantic thing he did while we were painting the room on Monday evening. He wrote "I love you" using the white paint we were using to prime the walls. He said they were "our secret words" and once they dried, he painted over them. I think I just melted a little more writing that.
And just to change the subject away from this sappiness, today I overhead someone outside my office ask the person on the other end of the phone, "When they do a sex change operation on a female to male, where do they get the business?" I have to say that was the most awesome thing I've overheard all week. I only hope the person on the other end told her just to google it.
Today we were chatting online about dinner plans. I'm meeting a friend after work and he's going to paint the spare room (the color he insisted I pick out so it will become our house). We decided today we'll have breakfast for dinner, including pancakes with bacon in them. He likes to eat pretty early, so he told me he'd go ahead and eat before I got home. I told him to just leave the batter for my pancake in the fridge and I'd make it when I got home. His reply? Text me when you're on your way and I'll have it ready for you.
Hot.
Fucking.
Damn!
Am I the luckiest woman in the world or what? I also have to share the incredibly adorable and romantic thing he did while we were painting the room on Monday evening. He wrote "I love you" using the white paint we were using to prime the walls. He said they were "our secret words" and once they dried, he painted over them. I think I just melted a little more writing that.
And just to change the subject away from this sappiness, today I overhead someone outside my office ask the person on the other end of the phone, "When they do a sex change operation on a female to male, where do they get the business?" I have to say that was the most awesome thing I've overheard all week. I only hope the person on the other end told her just to google it.
segunda-feira, julho 19, 2010
And the car saga ends!
So, the lessons I've learned are:
1. Don't panic.
2. Don't make rash decisions to buy 20 year old cars to "hold you over" until you can figure things out.
3. When you learn of a major mechanical problem with your car that you can't afford to fix, head straight to the dealer and trade that bitch in!
This past Saturday was the day, the day I'd designated to end my car woes for good (or at least for awhile, pending future car woes). I'd stopped driving the Probe due to the gut-wrenching clunk of the bad CV joints every time I turned a corner and the slosh of standing water in the leaky trunk. Five towels later, the water was gone, but the spare is irreparably damaged.
The BF and I drove the Mini, screaming with transmission pains, to the Mazda dealer and I was soon signing the paperwork on a new Mazda3. I could have gone to different dealers, tried out different cars. I could have looked at my used options, but I'm done with used for now. I didn't spend hours going from dealer to dealer in 105 degree heat because I'd already spent lots of time online, comparing vehicles. And my heart was with Mazda and fond memories of 8 years of driving my Protege with no major mechanical problems ever. The last few months I owned it I had to have a hose replaced and replaced the battery once or twice. It even withstood the intense abuse and neglect of my ex, who bought it when I got the Mini. Okay, to be fair it did need some work on the suspension system (shocks & struts), but that's normal wear-and-tear after 8 years. And my sister's Protocrap is still running. I have good feelings about Mazdas.
The BF was ready to negotiate the deal, salivating at the chance to haggle on a car like men do. He wanted to drag out the process, walking away the first day and making them sweat a little bit. I let him know that I didn't have time to mess around with a protracted negotiation to knock another $1000 or so off the price. Besides, when they offered $6500 for a car with a bad transmission, I was suddenly in a HUGE hurry to close the deal. (FYI, $7200 was the Kelley Blue Book trade-in value on that car. The negative equity equaled almost exactly what it would have cost to replace the transmission. I broke even there.) If I felt like I was getting away with something, I was. After the deal was done and we were waiting for them to bring my car up from the south location, the salesman said, "So, what's that noise the Mini makes?"
"Uh, yeah, uh, I'm not sure? Maybe the transmission?"
"Yeah, that's what I thought. Oh well. Done deal now."
He told me the guy who makes the trade-in offers doesn't bother driving the cars. Should I have tried to trade in the car earlier? Perhaps. Would I have been that lucky? Who knows.
Unfortunately they only offered $200 for the Probe, so that lovely car went back home with me. I'm trying to sell it now and the BF may have found me a buyer, so that will be over soon. The family issues may linger though. My grandparents appear to be under the impression that my bad driving lead to an alternator belt going out, a battery dying, a trunk leaking and CV joints clunking. I tried to explain wear-and-tear on an ancient car, but they weren't having it. Those things weren't an issue when I took it, so must be my driving and negligence (except for the leaky trunk). And the conversation ended with, "And PLEASE take care of this car!" I'm just going to let them think what they want to think and not let those comments bother me. Not worth the drama.
I love my new car! It's so quiet! And it runs so well! New car smell! It's a manual and I really missed driving a stick. I had a fun time playing with the Bluetooth, making phone calls using only my voice. I'm still going to take the bus as much as possible to save gas and take my morning and afternoon cat naps during the commute, but I'm no longer under the stress of not knowing if I'm going to make it from point A to point B anymore. I feel so lucky that I got a good deal on the trade in; that I just got paid & sold some camera equipment and a bike so I had a down payment; and that my credit was better than I thought and I got a decent interest rate. I really am counting my blessings right now!
It's still surreal though. I'm now driving a nice car. My bills are paid. My home life is freakin' awesome right now. The BF and I are working on cleaning out the spare room. This week we're going to repaint and clear out the closets. I just got a dresser to put in there and soon I'll start moving my stuff over. Last week he said, "This is no longer my house, it's our house."
I'm in a haze from all this good fortune. I keep having these moments of, "It's really happening." I'm in a relationship that's good, that doesn't have drama and has real potential to be it. Despite past long-term relationships, I've never felt like this before. It's bizarre. You think you know until you find out that you really know. And then if you're me, you keep questioning how this could be. What? No angst? What's wrong with this picture? Quick! Stir up some drama! All this healthiness and happiness just doesn't feel right.
Unfortunately it also doesn't make for very appealing blogging. I'll work on that. I'm trying to revive my interest in photography with a new and improved camera. Maybe I can start jazzing this mutha up with some photos. Or maybe I'll take up some hobbies that are more blog-worthy than watching Deadliest Catch (how sad is Phil's death? SO SAD!) and going to the pub. Or maybe not yet. Maybe I'll just keep reveling in my disgusting happiness for a little while longer. I hope you'll forgive me that.
1. Don't panic.
2. Don't make rash decisions to buy 20 year old cars to "hold you over" until you can figure things out.
3. When you learn of a major mechanical problem with your car that you can't afford to fix, head straight to the dealer and trade that bitch in!
This past Saturday was the day, the day I'd designated to end my car woes for good (or at least for awhile, pending future car woes). I'd stopped driving the Probe due to the gut-wrenching clunk of the bad CV joints every time I turned a corner and the slosh of standing water in the leaky trunk. Five towels later, the water was gone, but the spare is irreparably damaged.
The BF and I drove the Mini, screaming with transmission pains, to the Mazda dealer and I was soon signing the paperwork on a new Mazda3. I could have gone to different dealers, tried out different cars. I could have looked at my used options, but I'm done with used for now. I didn't spend hours going from dealer to dealer in 105 degree heat because I'd already spent lots of time online, comparing vehicles. And my heart was with Mazda and fond memories of 8 years of driving my Protege with no major mechanical problems ever. The last few months I owned it I had to have a hose replaced and replaced the battery once or twice. It even withstood the intense abuse and neglect of my ex, who bought it when I got the Mini. Okay, to be fair it did need some work on the suspension system (shocks & struts), but that's normal wear-and-tear after 8 years. And my sister's Protocrap is still running. I have good feelings about Mazdas.
The BF was ready to negotiate the deal, salivating at the chance to haggle on a car like men do. He wanted to drag out the process, walking away the first day and making them sweat a little bit. I let him know that I didn't have time to mess around with a protracted negotiation to knock another $1000 or so off the price. Besides, when they offered $6500 for a car with a bad transmission, I was suddenly in a HUGE hurry to close the deal. (FYI, $7200 was the Kelley Blue Book trade-in value on that car. The negative equity equaled almost exactly what it would have cost to replace the transmission. I broke even there.) If I felt like I was getting away with something, I was. After the deal was done and we were waiting for them to bring my car up from the south location, the salesman said, "So, what's that noise the Mini makes?"
"Uh, yeah, uh, I'm not sure? Maybe the transmission?"
"Yeah, that's what I thought. Oh well. Done deal now."
He told me the guy who makes the trade-in offers doesn't bother driving the cars. Should I have tried to trade in the car earlier? Perhaps. Would I have been that lucky? Who knows.
Unfortunately they only offered $200 for the Probe, so that lovely car went back home with me. I'm trying to sell it now and the BF may have found me a buyer, so that will be over soon. The family issues may linger though. My grandparents appear to be under the impression that my bad driving lead to an alternator belt going out, a battery dying, a trunk leaking and CV joints clunking. I tried to explain wear-and-tear on an ancient car, but they weren't having it. Those things weren't an issue when I took it, so must be my driving and negligence (except for the leaky trunk). And the conversation ended with, "And PLEASE take care of this car!" I'm just going to let them think what they want to think and not let those comments bother me. Not worth the drama.
I love my new car! It's so quiet! And it runs so well! New car smell! It's a manual and I really missed driving a stick. I had a fun time playing with the Bluetooth, making phone calls using only my voice. I'm still going to take the bus as much as possible to save gas and take my morning and afternoon cat naps during the commute, but I'm no longer under the stress of not knowing if I'm going to make it from point A to point B anymore. I feel so lucky that I got a good deal on the trade in; that I just got paid & sold some camera equipment and a bike so I had a down payment; and that my credit was better than I thought and I got a decent interest rate. I really am counting my blessings right now!
It's still surreal though. I'm now driving a nice car. My bills are paid. My home life is freakin' awesome right now. The BF and I are working on cleaning out the spare room. This week we're going to repaint and clear out the closets. I just got a dresser to put in there and soon I'll start moving my stuff over. Last week he said, "This is no longer my house, it's our house."
I'm in a haze from all this good fortune. I keep having these moments of, "It's really happening." I'm in a relationship that's good, that doesn't have drama and has real potential to be it. Despite past long-term relationships, I've never felt like this before. It's bizarre. You think you know until you find out that you really know. And then if you're me, you keep questioning how this could be. What? No angst? What's wrong with this picture? Quick! Stir up some drama! All this healthiness and happiness just doesn't feel right.
Unfortunately it also doesn't make for very appealing blogging. I'll work on that. I'm trying to revive my interest in photography with a new and improved camera. Maybe I can start jazzing this mutha up with some photos. Or maybe I'll take up some hobbies that are more blog-worthy than watching Deadliest Catch (how sad is Phil's death? SO SAD!) and going to the pub. Or maybe not yet. Maybe I'll just keep reveling in my disgusting happiness for a little while longer. I hope you'll forgive me that.
quinta-feira, julho 08, 2010
Spoke too soon
When did I write that post about the Probe running again? Not so much. Tonight I was driving it down the roads, slick from a day of rain, and the lights got dim. Suddenly it started sputtering and I gave it all the gas I could, willing it to just get me up a hill past some railroad tracks, hopefully to a place where I could park it, away from speeding traffic. Nope. I called the BF, who jumped in his car to come to my rescue. Then I called my dad, frantic and in tears. Nothing is as nerve-wracking as owning two broken-down cars and still making payments on both. Wait, that's not nerve-wracking. It's super sucktacular. My dad told me to try the ignition again, which I'd already done about 20 times, but not in the last 5 minutes. It started. I got up the hill and almost to a hotel parking lot and it started sputtering and died again. Fortunately I was able to roll it into the parking lot.
The amazing, patient BF got there and he tried the ignition to see what kind of noise it was making (clicking noises) but that time it started right up. He gave me his keys and told me to follow him. It died before he made it out of the lot. He pushed. I steered. I got out and promptly locked the keys in the car. ARG! But I had a spare key, right? So we drive to my house. Can't find spare key. I realize where it most likely is. We go back and I pay Pop-a-lock $47 to open the car. Get keys out of ignition. Find spare key in the ashtray, where I'd stuck it when I got the car, intending to put it in my house, but promptly forgetting to do so. Have I mentioned how incredibly patient and kind the BF is? He didn't give me any shit for this, was simply helpful.
And that's where I am. Two broken-down cars. Tomorrow I retrieve the bad Mini and will take it to CarMax to get an idea of what I might be able to get for it. Then I'm going to get the Probe running again and trade them both in for something more reliable. With a warranty.
I hate cars.
The amazing, patient BF got there and he tried the ignition to see what kind of noise it was making (clicking noises) but that time it started right up. He gave me his keys and told me to follow him. It died before he made it out of the lot. He pushed. I steered. I got out and promptly locked the keys in the car. ARG! But I had a spare key, right? So we drive to my house. Can't find spare key. I realize where it most likely is. We go back and I pay Pop-a-lock $47 to open the car. Get keys out of ignition. Find spare key in the ashtray, where I'd stuck it when I got the car, intending to put it in my house, but promptly forgetting to do so. Have I mentioned how incredibly patient and kind the BF is? He didn't give me any shit for this, was simply helpful.
And that's where I am. Two broken-down cars. Tomorrow I retrieve the bad Mini and will take it to CarMax to get an idea of what I might be able to get for it. Then I'm going to get the Probe running again and trade them both in for something more reliable. With a warranty.
I hate cars.
quarta-feira, julho 07, 2010
And another one just because...
...I feel bad about seeing my archives. Four posts this year, 58 last year (compared to 319 the year before). This is pathetic. I apologize. I'll try to do better. And now I'm up to five posts! Progress!
Car woes and moving boxes
Internet, remember when you were in high school and there were those hot cars, the ones you wanted, preferably in red? Remember what it was like driving the hand-me-down early 80's Oldsmobile? That giant red tank of a car with the transmission leak that required you keep a case of fluid in your trunk for daily refills? It had an 8-track player? No? That was just me? Or maybe you drove your older sister's filthy Mitsubishi for a year or so while she was off "discovering herself" and taking time off from undergrad? Does that ring a bell?
Well, internet, your high school car dreams are coming true! I present to you my latest ride:
A 1991 Ford Probe.
How did I end up with such a beauty? Well, it was just a matter of all the pieces falling into place. First my Mini started making this nice roaring noise when I drove it. It drove okay, but the noise got louder and louder until I could no longer dismiss it as "this car has muscle" and had to recognize that "this car is sick." First I took it into the shop I've been frequenting for an oil change and a little look-see. They changed out some filters and whatnot in addition to the oil, thinking maybe that would help. No. I was waiting and they didn't want to keep me too long, so they suggested I drop it off another time to allow the mechanic to check out the transmission, the most likely culprit.
Shit.
I'd heard rumors about Mini Coopers having transmission problems, particularly in models prior to 2006 (mine's a 2005). But I put my fingers in my ear and said, "LALALALA! I love my car!" Boy, I wish I hadn't done that.
Eventually I took the car to the newly-opened Mini of Austin, mostly so I might have the possibility of a loaner car. They took their time checking it out while I sped around town in a 2010 Cooper S, 6-speed manual (fun!). They called me at 5pm on a Friday to tell me we were looking at a worst-case scenario. Transmission dying. $7000 to replace. I kept that loaner car over the weekend and drove the shit out of it.
Meanwhile, I did some extensive googling. The CVT transmissions (don't ask me what that means) in earlier model US Minis apparently are prone to early death. No disease for these little cars, no possibility of repairing or rebuilding the transmission. No, those fuckers have to be completely replaced and the guy at the dealership said they cost more than the engine. Quite the little money-making venture Mini's got going on, eh? Fuck them. I calmly yet sternly let them know exactly what I thought of this. It went along the lines of "This is bullshit and you know it's bullshit. Don't even try to argue with me because the look on your face says it all. Mini should have recalled this clearly defective part instead of continually screwing over their customers with these outrageous repair bills. I will never buy a Mini again nor will I ever recommend that anyone ever buy a Mini." And so on. He didn't put up much of a fight, telling me, "Well, if it says anything, they totally changed the type of transmission they put in these cars." YEAH, NO SHIT. Now cut me a break on the damn repair!
But over the weekend while I had the nice loaner car and was trying to decide how I would unload a 5-year-old car with 86,000 miles and a bum transmission (and another $9000 to pay on the note), the BF and I drove out to Fredericksburg to have lunch with my parents. As I was recounting my car woes, my dad said, "Hey, your grandfather is selling the Probe." I called him up and fortunately when he went to sell it to some shifty used car lot, no one was around, so he still had it. The next day I hitched a ride down to Victoria and drove back in a car that has seen two decades but little more than the occasional trip to Wal-Mart. The Probe may not have power windows or locks. The glove box may be held shut by a twist tie. It may not have a cup holder. But it's got working a/c and a whopping 43,000 miles on it. And it runs. I'll take it.
Well, it ran until yesterday.
Okay, it was only the battery. That hadn't been changed since 2002. I bought a new one and the Probe was off and running. But there's sometimes a slight clunking noise when I turn, which indicates a potential CV joint issue perhaps. And it's going to need a few other maintenance things done to it, like new tires. It could also use a good, deep cleaning to mitigate the smell of Old. Cloth seats + time = funky smell. But hey, I'm grateful I even had the option. At least I'm not 100% dependent on Capitol Metro while I work out the Mini situation. (It's currently back at the first shop, who suggested I get a second opinion and see if there are less expensive options, or at least options that will make the car look good enough for a decent trade-in.)
I'm glad I have something to drive because the public transport to where I'm about to move isn't all that great. Yes, move. Move! In with the BF! Wait, let me add a few more exclamation marks to that last statement!!!!!!!! Yes, a few nights ago I got a little drunk and the combo of beer + red wine led to a "where is this going" discussion, whereupon he confessed that he was waiting for our trip to pick a romantic spot to ask me to move in with him. But hey, in the living room with Deadliest Catch on in the background will do. Have I ever mentioned that I'm impatient? I could sense this coming up and I had a sneaking suspicion that maybe it would happen on or after the trip, but could I wait for that? Of course not.
I woke up early the next morning for water and Advil and wanted to shout. "Holy shit! This is happening!" Then I slept for a few more hours and woke up feeling like "Holy shit, is this happening?" Followed by another day of holy shit. And now I'm back to HOLY SHIT! Shout it from the rooftops! This is happening and I'm really freaking happy about it! So, yeah, real commitment, a future. It. is. EXCITING! I can truly say that for once I'm not making some big, stupid mistake. We've been dating almost a year, which isn't really the longest time, yet I've known for awhile that this is right. And perhaps that's what is the scariest. I'm actually in a relationship I don't want to fuck up. I'm in a relationship that isn't a struggle. I'm in a healthy relationship with someone I adore more and more everyday and who loves me back. And this one could really last. After so many years of relationship failures, I'm not quite sure how to handle a relationship win. But I'm certainly not complaining! Just, uncharted waters here. Any advice would be welcomed.
Now I'm going to go back to work and counting all the blessings I have right now. Even if I am driving around in an early 90's Ford Probe.
Well, internet, your high school car dreams are coming true! I present to you my latest ride:
A 1991 Ford Probe.
How did I end up with such a beauty? Well, it was just a matter of all the pieces falling into place. First my Mini started making this nice roaring noise when I drove it. It drove okay, but the noise got louder and louder until I could no longer dismiss it as "this car has muscle" and had to recognize that "this car is sick." First I took it into the shop I've been frequenting for an oil change and a little look-see. They changed out some filters and whatnot in addition to the oil, thinking maybe that would help. No. I was waiting and they didn't want to keep me too long, so they suggested I drop it off another time to allow the mechanic to check out the transmission, the most likely culprit.
Shit.
I'd heard rumors about Mini Coopers having transmission problems, particularly in models prior to 2006 (mine's a 2005). But I put my fingers in my ear and said, "LALALALA! I love my car!" Boy, I wish I hadn't done that.
Eventually I took the car to the newly-opened Mini of Austin, mostly so I might have the possibility of a loaner car. They took their time checking it out while I sped around town in a 2010 Cooper S, 6-speed manual (fun!). They called me at 5pm on a Friday to tell me we were looking at a worst-case scenario. Transmission dying. $7000 to replace. I kept that loaner car over the weekend and drove the shit out of it.
Meanwhile, I did some extensive googling. The CVT transmissions (don't ask me what that means) in earlier model US Minis apparently are prone to early death. No disease for these little cars, no possibility of repairing or rebuilding the transmission. No, those fuckers have to be completely replaced and the guy at the dealership said they cost more than the engine. Quite the little money-making venture Mini's got going on, eh? Fuck them. I calmly yet sternly let them know exactly what I thought of this. It went along the lines of "This is bullshit and you know it's bullshit. Don't even try to argue with me because the look on your face says it all. Mini should have recalled this clearly defective part instead of continually screwing over their customers with these outrageous repair bills. I will never buy a Mini again nor will I ever recommend that anyone ever buy a Mini." And so on. He didn't put up much of a fight, telling me, "Well, if it says anything, they totally changed the type of transmission they put in these cars." YEAH, NO SHIT. Now cut me a break on the damn repair!
But over the weekend while I had the nice loaner car and was trying to decide how I would unload a 5-year-old car with 86,000 miles and a bum transmission (and another $9000 to pay on the note), the BF and I drove out to Fredericksburg to have lunch with my parents. As I was recounting my car woes, my dad said, "Hey, your grandfather is selling the Probe." I called him up and fortunately when he went to sell it to some shifty used car lot, no one was around, so he still had it. The next day I hitched a ride down to Victoria and drove back in a car that has seen two decades but little more than the occasional trip to Wal-Mart. The Probe may not have power windows or locks. The glove box may be held shut by a twist tie. It may not have a cup holder. But it's got working a/c and a whopping 43,000 miles on it. And it runs. I'll take it.
Well, it ran until yesterday.
Okay, it was only the battery. That hadn't been changed since 2002. I bought a new one and the Probe was off and running. But there's sometimes a slight clunking noise when I turn, which indicates a potential CV joint issue perhaps. And it's going to need a few other maintenance things done to it, like new tires. It could also use a good, deep cleaning to mitigate the smell of Old. Cloth seats + time = funky smell. But hey, I'm grateful I even had the option. At least I'm not 100% dependent on Capitol Metro while I work out the Mini situation. (It's currently back at the first shop, who suggested I get a second opinion and see if there are less expensive options, or at least options that will make the car look good enough for a decent trade-in.)
I'm glad I have something to drive because the public transport to where I'm about to move isn't all that great. Yes, move. Move! In with the BF! Wait, let me add a few more exclamation marks to that last statement!!!!!!!! Yes, a few nights ago I got a little drunk and the combo of beer + red wine led to a "where is this going" discussion, whereupon he confessed that he was waiting for our trip to pick a romantic spot to ask me to move in with him. But hey, in the living room with Deadliest Catch on in the background will do. Have I ever mentioned that I'm impatient? I could sense this coming up and I had a sneaking suspicion that maybe it would happen on or after the trip, but could I wait for that? Of course not.
I woke up early the next morning for water and Advil and wanted to shout. "Holy shit! This is happening!" Then I slept for a few more hours and woke up feeling like "Holy shit, is this happening?" Followed by another day of holy shit. And now I'm back to HOLY SHIT! Shout it from the rooftops! This is happening and I'm really freaking happy about it! So, yeah, real commitment, a future. It. is. EXCITING! I can truly say that for once I'm not making some big, stupid mistake. We've been dating almost a year, which isn't really the longest time, yet I've known for awhile that this is right. And perhaps that's what is the scariest. I'm actually in a relationship I don't want to fuck up. I'm in a relationship that isn't a struggle. I'm in a healthy relationship with someone I adore more and more everyday and who loves me back. And this one could really last. After so many years of relationship failures, I'm not quite sure how to handle a relationship win. But I'm certainly not complaining! Just, uncharted waters here. Any advice would be welcomed.
Now I'm going to go back to work and counting all the blessings I have right now. Even if I am driving around in an early 90's Ford Probe.
segunda-feira, junho 28, 2010
First tri
Okay, so posting hasn't gotten much better, but at least it hasn't been months, right? But since my last post, I've accomplished a major feat - I'm finally a triathlete! Okay, so a sprint triathlete, but it's pretty impressive for me. On June 6th I made it through the Danskin triathlon: 1/2 mile swim, 12 mile bike ride and 5K run.
I'm not athletic at all, never have been. In elementary school I dreaded the time of year when we'd have the President's Physical Fitness tests. Chin ups? Forget it. I couldn't even last a second. Shuttle run? Not for this uncoordinated girl. Endurance run? Pure misery. Until my rebellious years in high school, I was an A student until I got my first bad grade...in PE. In 8th grade I thought tennis would be fun, until I realized how much running around the court was involved. I've joined gyms here and there over the years. I'll lift weights, maybe do some aerobics or something, but nothing very consistent. When I was young and had the metabolism of a squirrel, it was no big deal, but all those years of not being athletic have caught up to me.\
Then I start dating someone who wants to get physical, and not just in a naughty way. Suddenly I'm waking up at 8:30 on a Saturday morning to go to spin class. Most weeks we hit the gym at least twice, if not several times. Then I say I want to achieve a goal I've been yakking about for several years and he's all about it. And suddenly I've got a coach, someone to encourage me to get moving and tells me to get out the door when I really just want to watch bad reality TV and eat pizza.
It took me a good solid month of training - working out 5-7 days per week training - to feel like I could take on a triathlon. I tried to combine events as much as I could, going running after spin class or going for a swim then biking 10 miles. The week before I even did my own mini-sprint, swimming 14 laps in the pool, biking 12 miles and then running almost 2 miles. (Keep in mind that I am exaggerating when I say "run." What I really mean is I run as long as I can stand it - usually about half a mile - then walk for awhile, then run some more, repeat.) The practice went well and I tried to take it easy and avoid injury the week before so I'd be ready to rock it out on that Sunday.
The day before the Danskin it all became a reality at packet pick-up. By bedtime it became a terror and I kept saying, "I don't think I want to do this." I'm not sure what I found so scary, but I was kind of a wreck. I barely slept the night before and when I woke up totally groggy, all I wanted was to oversleep the damn thing. If it hadn't been for the BF, I might have just done that. But he got me up and to the park and then there was no turning back.
I made the mistake of signing up in the mixed age group, so my start time was almost an hour after the first waves began. I'd had delusions of recruiting someone to do it with me and I didn't want to risk being in a different age category if that actually happened. Well, because I was already slightly iffy, I didn't try very hard to get someone to do it with me, so there I was, waiting to start the swim, alone in a pack of women doing the race with their friends and family. Ironically, I discovered the day before the race that a childhood friend was also doing it for the first time, so I could have at least started with someone I knew. Oh well. I needed to be in my own head anyway.
The swim was pretty terrifying. I grew up swimming, taking lessons for years and spending summer after summer at the pool. As an adult, I have horrible technique and I am certainly not fast or particularly strong, but I've never had much anxiety with swimming. I focused on this quite a bit while training because I wanted to improve and have some form of technique. I didn't think I would drown, but I knew I'd get tired and I'd be slow. I signed up for an open water swim clinic where we swam the half mile in the same lake and practiced the big group start (albeit with only 30 instead of 100 women). I thought I was prepared, but no. I hadn't even made it out to the first buoy before I was freaking out. I couldn't catch my breath and every muscle in my body was completely exhausted. Not only could I not handle the crawl stroke, but any sort of movement resembling a stroke at all was out of the question. I wasn't even far enough out that I was anywhere near a kayak or swim angel with a noodle, so I forced myself to at least get to that point. I remembered what the swim clinic instructor said about how when she needed to focus or calm down during the swim, she'd do a back stroke and stare at the sky. And it worked! After awhile I was able to breathe and didn't feel totally fatigued. I kept going with small goals - get to the next buoy or kayak, pass that tree, swim X more strokes. I kept telling myself that when I got to the next swim angel with a noodle, I'd let myself stop and rest, but then I'd keep on swimming by. I never really got a good rhythm down and eventually gave up on any delusion of doing a crawl stroke. There were just too many people and no matter how I tried to "make my own space," I never got over the alarm of swimming into someone. I mostly did the breath stroke with a little side stroke thrown in here and there and I got through it. I came out of the water and walked up the hill to the transition point and wasn't even super tired at the end of it. I finished the swim in 23 minutes and 20 seconds. Could I have gone faster? Certainly, but in comparing my results to some of the top finishers, I wasn't that much slower.
My overall time was 2 hours, 15 minutes. I really should have finished closer to 2 hours, but I never really read up on any transition tips. Between the swim and the biking, I took almost 10 minutes. I walked up to the transition area. I dried off, put on my shoes and shorts, ate a snack, drank some water, went to the port-o-potty. The top finishers spend less than 2 minutes on the first transition. I have no idea how they do that, but clearly that's an area in which I can improve!
The bike ride was great. It was a fairly hilly course, but not too bad. I think I could also make up some time in biking, maybe get those shoe clip thingies to improve my pedal efficiency. Twelve miles isn't bad at all and I rather enjoyed the course. I was fairly quiet and rural, with rolling hills, farms, ponds, wildflowers. It took me about 53 minutes, averaging 13.5 mph. I can go faster than that if I train longer and try harder.
My second transition was 4 minutes, thirty seconds. The gold standard there is less than a minute. I could have run, not walked my bike in, ripped off the helmet and ran out, but there was more drinking of coconut juice and water and general lollygagging. The 5K took me 45 minutes, which is about what I average with my run/walk method. And I walked quite a bit more than usual, too. I tried several times to make myself run but OWWWWWW!!! My legs just don't like running and I've been struggling with pulled hamstrings for the past few months. I am not a runner. Never have been and don't know if I ever will be. But I would like to get to the point where I can run a 5K. Seriously, it's only 3 miles! It didn't help matters that the cloud cover had dissipated by this point and it was blazing hot. That's another reason never to sign up in mixed age - later start time = higher temps. About halfway through the course, I passed a woman who was cheering on the bikers and I asked her what time she had. All day I had no idea what time it was or how long things were taking me (wear a watch!) and after finally finding out, I estimated that I was going on two hours. My goal was to finish under 2.5 hours, so I felt inspired to get my ass in gear and started running. Fortunately, I was also on a downhill stretch at that point, so I had some good momentum. I burned out a little before the final water stop, but put in a good solid effort for the final stretch. As I came over the final hill and could see the finish line, it hit me that I had done it! I was a triathlete! I ran a little harder and faster and it didn't hurt at all. Hey, maybe I can be a runner after all! Maybe it's all in my head because I was rocking it! I couldn't help but smile as I ran past the bf and my roommate.
I crossed the finish line! I expected to get one of those little finisher medals so I could wear it the rest of the day, proud of my accomplishment. But the guy at the finish line apologized to me; they'd run out of medals. Yet another reason to sign up in my age group - so I'm not so late in finishing that they run out of medals! I eventually got it in the mail, but nothing makes you feel more like a slow loser than not getting a stupid finisher medal. I know it's petty, but it was disappointing. However, I wasn't going to let it ruin my day. I did it, dammit! I finished that triathlon and it really wasn't bad at all.
Afterwards, I located my mother, who was there at the finish line but neither one of us saw each other. I felt bad that she drove 2 hours in the early morning and missed me crossing the finish line. I guess it took me so long that her attentions were directed elsewhere. Then there was teh brutal mile-long walk to the parking lot, mostly uphill and in the heat. I really should have waited for the shuttle bus, but perhaps my lack of sore muscles the next day was due to working out all the lactic acid on that walk.
Then we all went out to eat, but I really should have planned that better. We ended up waiting for almost an hour and in the meantime, I hit a pretty intense wall. I thought I was going to pass out (or murder a restaurant host) and I developed a massive headache that kept going the rest of the day. Lesson learned: eat right after you finish! No Trudy's waiting lists. The rest of the day was spent snoozing on the couch.
Overall it was a great experience and I will definitely do it again. It was an incredible motivating factor in getting me to work out, evidenced by my serious lack of regular work outs since then. I loved the all-female aspect of the event and I can't wait to push myself to do better next year. New goals: finish in under 2 hours and run the whole 5K. Who wants to join me?
I'm not athletic at all, never have been. In elementary school I dreaded the time of year when we'd have the President's Physical Fitness tests. Chin ups? Forget it. I couldn't even last a second. Shuttle run? Not for this uncoordinated girl. Endurance run? Pure misery. Until my rebellious years in high school, I was an A student until I got my first bad grade...in PE. In 8th grade I thought tennis would be fun, until I realized how much running around the court was involved. I've joined gyms here and there over the years. I'll lift weights, maybe do some aerobics or something, but nothing very consistent. When I was young and had the metabolism of a squirrel, it was no big deal, but all those years of not being athletic have caught up to me.\
Then I start dating someone who wants to get physical, and not just in a naughty way. Suddenly I'm waking up at 8:30 on a Saturday morning to go to spin class. Most weeks we hit the gym at least twice, if not several times. Then I say I want to achieve a goal I've been yakking about for several years and he's all about it. And suddenly I've got a coach, someone to encourage me to get moving and tells me to get out the door when I really just want to watch bad reality TV and eat pizza.
It took me a good solid month of training - working out 5-7 days per week training - to feel like I could take on a triathlon. I tried to combine events as much as I could, going running after spin class or going for a swim then biking 10 miles. The week before I even did my own mini-sprint, swimming 14 laps in the pool, biking 12 miles and then running almost 2 miles. (Keep in mind that I am exaggerating when I say "run." What I really mean is I run as long as I can stand it - usually about half a mile - then walk for awhile, then run some more, repeat.) The practice went well and I tried to take it easy and avoid injury the week before so I'd be ready to rock it out on that Sunday.
The day before the Danskin it all became a reality at packet pick-up. By bedtime it became a terror and I kept saying, "I don't think I want to do this." I'm not sure what I found so scary, but I was kind of a wreck. I barely slept the night before and when I woke up totally groggy, all I wanted was to oversleep the damn thing. If it hadn't been for the BF, I might have just done that. But he got me up and to the park and then there was no turning back.
I made the mistake of signing up in the mixed age group, so my start time was almost an hour after the first waves began. I'd had delusions of recruiting someone to do it with me and I didn't want to risk being in a different age category if that actually happened. Well, because I was already slightly iffy, I didn't try very hard to get someone to do it with me, so there I was, waiting to start the swim, alone in a pack of women doing the race with their friends and family. Ironically, I discovered the day before the race that a childhood friend was also doing it for the first time, so I could have at least started with someone I knew. Oh well. I needed to be in my own head anyway.
The swim was pretty terrifying. I grew up swimming, taking lessons for years and spending summer after summer at the pool. As an adult, I have horrible technique and I am certainly not fast or particularly strong, but I've never had much anxiety with swimming. I focused on this quite a bit while training because I wanted to improve and have some form of technique. I didn't think I would drown, but I knew I'd get tired and I'd be slow. I signed up for an open water swim clinic where we swam the half mile in the same lake and practiced the big group start (albeit with only 30 instead of 100 women). I thought I was prepared, but no. I hadn't even made it out to the first buoy before I was freaking out. I couldn't catch my breath and every muscle in my body was completely exhausted. Not only could I not handle the crawl stroke, but any sort of movement resembling a stroke at all was out of the question. I wasn't even far enough out that I was anywhere near a kayak or swim angel with a noodle, so I forced myself to at least get to that point. I remembered what the swim clinic instructor said about how when she needed to focus or calm down during the swim, she'd do a back stroke and stare at the sky. And it worked! After awhile I was able to breathe and didn't feel totally fatigued. I kept going with small goals - get to the next buoy or kayak, pass that tree, swim X more strokes. I kept telling myself that when I got to the next swim angel with a noodle, I'd let myself stop and rest, but then I'd keep on swimming by. I never really got a good rhythm down and eventually gave up on any delusion of doing a crawl stroke. There were just too many people and no matter how I tried to "make my own space," I never got over the alarm of swimming into someone. I mostly did the breath stroke with a little side stroke thrown in here and there and I got through it. I came out of the water and walked up the hill to the transition point and wasn't even super tired at the end of it. I finished the swim in 23 minutes and 20 seconds. Could I have gone faster? Certainly, but in comparing my results to some of the top finishers, I wasn't that much slower.
My overall time was 2 hours, 15 minutes. I really should have finished closer to 2 hours, but I never really read up on any transition tips. Between the swim and the biking, I took almost 10 minutes. I walked up to the transition area. I dried off, put on my shoes and shorts, ate a snack, drank some water, went to the port-o-potty. The top finishers spend less than 2 minutes on the first transition. I have no idea how they do that, but clearly that's an area in which I can improve!
The bike ride was great. It was a fairly hilly course, but not too bad. I think I could also make up some time in biking, maybe get those shoe clip thingies to improve my pedal efficiency. Twelve miles isn't bad at all and I rather enjoyed the course. I was fairly quiet and rural, with rolling hills, farms, ponds, wildflowers. It took me about 53 minutes, averaging 13.5 mph. I can go faster than that if I train longer and try harder.
My second transition was 4 minutes, thirty seconds. The gold standard there is less than a minute. I could have run, not walked my bike in, ripped off the helmet and ran out, but there was more drinking of coconut juice and water and general lollygagging. The 5K took me 45 minutes, which is about what I average with my run/walk method. And I walked quite a bit more than usual, too. I tried several times to make myself run but OWWWWWW!!! My legs just don't like running and I've been struggling with pulled hamstrings for the past few months. I am not a runner. Never have been and don't know if I ever will be. But I would like to get to the point where I can run a 5K. Seriously, it's only 3 miles! It didn't help matters that the cloud cover had dissipated by this point and it was blazing hot. That's another reason never to sign up in mixed age - later start time = higher temps. About halfway through the course, I passed a woman who was cheering on the bikers and I asked her what time she had. All day I had no idea what time it was or how long things were taking me (wear a watch!) and after finally finding out, I estimated that I was going on two hours. My goal was to finish under 2.5 hours, so I felt inspired to get my ass in gear and started running. Fortunately, I was also on a downhill stretch at that point, so I had some good momentum. I burned out a little before the final water stop, but put in a good solid effort for the final stretch. As I came over the final hill and could see the finish line, it hit me that I had done it! I was a triathlete! I ran a little harder and faster and it didn't hurt at all. Hey, maybe I can be a runner after all! Maybe it's all in my head because I was rocking it! I couldn't help but smile as I ran past the bf and my roommate.
I crossed the finish line! I expected to get one of those little finisher medals so I could wear it the rest of the day, proud of my accomplishment. But the guy at the finish line apologized to me; they'd run out of medals. Yet another reason to sign up in my age group - so I'm not so late in finishing that they run out of medals! I eventually got it in the mail, but nothing makes you feel more like a slow loser than not getting a stupid finisher medal. I know it's petty, but it was disappointing. However, I wasn't going to let it ruin my day. I did it, dammit! I finished that triathlon and it really wasn't bad at all.
Afterwards, I located my mother, who was there at the finish line but neither one of us saw each other. I felt bad that she drove 2 hours in the early morning and missed me crossing the finish line. I guess it took me so long that her attentions were directed elsewhere. Then there was teh brutal mile-long walk to the parking lot, mostly uphill and in the heat. I really should have waited for the shuttle bus, but perhaps my lack of sore muscles the next day was due to working out all the lactic acid on that walk.
Then we all went out to eat, but I really should have planned that better. We ended up waiting for almost an hour and in the meantime, I hit a pretty intense wall. I thought I was going to pass out (or murder a restaurant host) and I developed a massive headache that kept going the rest of the day. Lesson learned: eat right after you finish! No Trudy's waiting lists. The rest of the day was spent snoozing on the couch.
Overall it was a great experience and I will definitely do it again. It was an incredible motivating factor in getting me to work out, evidenced by my serious lack of regular work outs since then. I loved the all-female aspect of the event and I can't wait to push myself to do better next year. New goals: finish in under 2 hours and run the whole 5K. Who wants to join me?
quinta-feira, junho 03, 2010
My naked pussy
Let's talk about pubic hair, shall we?
What, too personal? You're at the wrong blog.
I've always found body hair and its removal to be somewhat controversial. As a feminist, I felt I was making a statement by refusing to conform to the beauty norm and allowed my leg, arm pit and pubic hair to grow free. Unfortunately, having a big ol' 70's bush doesn't go so well with swimsuit season, but I usually got around that by wearing little swim shorts or bottoms with some sort of skirt-like attachment. These also served the dual purpose of hiding my bum and upper thigh area as well as a little of the FUPA and muffin top zones. Let's just say I'm not much of a bikini girl.
But aside from swimming, I could get away with being hairy. My leg hair is pretty light and doesn't grow too terribly long. I remember in high school there was a girl in my class who didn't shave her legs and she had long, curly, dark hair. I didn't really know her so I have no idea why she chose not to shave, but it was definitely noticeable. And even my armpit hair, while darker, is still thinner and shorter than some of the other gloriously full pits I've seen on other women. Eventually, my unkempt body hair moved from political statement to just plain lazy. I'd go through periods of shaving, primarily during the summer months and then slack off as the weather got colder. I could care less and I never had a guy complain about it. I've found that most guys really don't mind a little extra hair if it means they're getting in your pants.
So, eventually I evolved into someone who would shave her pits and legs and would even do a little home waxing or depilatory to clean up the bikini area. However, my skin is super sensitive, so I would still opt for more coverage in that area than shaving or other irritating methods. Which is less sexy: big red bumps or a little hair? There was one area where I held firm though, I absolutely would not devolve into the kind of woman who had a totally bare mons pubis, or even one with all but a "landing strip" removed. I was firmly of the belief that it was some sick, twisted ploy by the beauty industry/men to make women feel insecure about their bodies and the naturally-resulting hair caused by puberty and to keep women down by infantalizing us, pushing us toward a pre-pubescent ideal. When you see celebrities today, most of them are forced to be dangerously thin, with almost zero curves save the enormous fake breasts. A naked pussy only goes along with this boyish figure ideal. Is this just some sick way for men to get to fuck little girls legally? Whatever the reason, I wasn't having any of it.
Until I did. Partly by accident. It started with the BF mentioning that would be kinda sexy, like in a special occasion sort of way, and would facilitate certain acts that benefit me, if ya know what I mean. I was strongly opposed and he of course went with whatever I wanted. Because he knows where his bread is buttered. Then I got a Groupon for a great deal on a wax, either bikini or Brazilian. His birthday was coming up, so I thought, "Oh, what the hell?" and I bought it.
I called to make the appointment with the salon. The woman on the other end of the line asked me if I wanted bikini, "bikini plus" or Brazilian. Bikini plus seemed like a reasonable middle ground, so I went with that option. This was going to be a good way for me to try it out and get over my fear of getting waxed at a salon. I'd dabbled with home waxings, which never ended well, and I'd wanted to get a bikini wax before. I could just never get used to the thought of actually doing it. But for better or worse, I was going for it!
Appointment day came. I was lead to the little room and given a drape to put over my bare lady bits while I waited for the aesthetician to arrive. She was a very cheerful young woman, really easy to talk to. I have a pretty good pain tolerance, so I was fine just lying there, chatting with her, thinking I was getting my "bikini plus" when YANK. Oh, that was way more than just a "plus," that was full-on labial!
She nonchalantly asked if I wanted to "leave a little," aka the landing strip. That's when I realized there had been a serious miscommunication, but there was no turning back. I could either say something and end up with a Brazilian anyway or just pretend I wanted a Brazilian in the first place. I often go toward the non-confrontational, so I played it off. And I sure as shit didn't want some ridiculous patch of hair left to memorialize its fallen comrades. I believe pubic hair exists for a purpose and a landing strip no longer serves that purpose. So, I casually said, "Nah, just take it all off."
It was a shock. It just felt so weird. And it looked so weird. That wasn't my hoo-ha! Whose hoo-ha was that? And damn was it ever enflamed. I had to coat the whole thing in Desitin for about 2 days to get the redness to subside. And a couple weeks later the ingrown hairs started. I am just too damn sensitive for this! And it felt wrong. I couldn't believe I'd gone against something I felt really strongly about and was now sporting a little girl vagina. What had become of me? Who was I? Why did I have this naked pussy? And even worse, why did I kinda like it?
Then a couple months go by and I got used to it. The hair grew back, but grew in more sparse and fine for the post part Unfortunately, my bikini line grew back as thick as ever, because nature likes to screw with me. Meanwhile, everyday I was riding the bus past a waxing salon that offered Brazilians for $49. And after while, the thought of doing it again crept in. I thought, "Well, what's one more?" The BF was out of town on business, so I decided to surprise him when he got back. Besides, he'd been really good about not having an opinion either way.
The second time around wasn't too bad. I had less irritation, fewer ingrown hairs. But it's expensive, so I knew I wasn't going to keep up with it. Summer is now in full swing and things are pretty much back to their natural state. I'm not exactly hitting the pool except to swim laps, so I'm not too concerned about hair. And I'm open to the idea of hair removal in the future, just not on my current budget.
Then I saw another Groupon. Or maybe this one was Living Social. Whatever the online discount provider, it was a coupon for waxing. And I bought it. Now I've got an appointment for next Monday, on my lunch hour. At a place where I'm getting a discount. Because when seeking to have a stranger apply hot wax to your labia, the one thing you should be concerned with is getting that service at bargain basement prices!
I told the BF that I'd decided to go hairless again for our European vacation. He knows he's treading in tricky waters with this one, so all he said was, "Ok, well, that will be less cumbersome for you." And what could I do but laugh? Yes, it will be less cumbersome not carting around all that pubic hair.
Meanwhile, I've gone from being hairy and proud to being yet another woman who has fallen prey to the beauty industry. Please don't tell the other feminists. I still won't change my name if I get married again. I will continue to put myself and my professional satisfaction above conforming to rigid gender norms, such as marriage and child-rearing. This doesn't change who I am fundamentally. But I've still be struggling to justify it. Recently I read an interview with some female porn star, Jenna Jameson maybe, about her take on Brazilians. She stated that she thinks the female anatomy is beautiful and without all that bulky hair covering it up, you can truly see and appreciate it. This sounds empowered enough for me to buy it for now. So, yeah, that's what it's all about, showing off my junk. My pussy is naked and I'm proud of it!
What, too personal? You're at the wrong blog.
I've always found body hair and its removal to be somewhat controversial. As a feminist, I felt I was making a statement by refusing to conform to the beauty norm and allowed my leg, arm pit and pubic hair to grow free. Unfortunately, having a big ol' 70's bush doesn't go so well with swimsuit season, but I usually got around that by wearing little swim shorts or bottoms with some sort of skirt-like attachment. These also served the dual purpose of hiding my bum and upper thigh area as well as a little of the FUPA and muffin top zones. Let's just say I'm not much of a bikini girl.
But aside from swimming, I could get away with being hairy. My leg hair is pretty light and doesn't grow too terribly long. I remember in high school there was a girl in my class who didn't shave her legs and she had long, curly, dark hair. I didn't really know her so I have no idea why she chose not to shave, but it was definitely noticeable. And even my armpit hair, while darker, is still thinner and shorter than some of the other gloriously full pits I've seen on other women. Eventually, my unkempt body hair moved from political statement to just plain lazy. I'd go through periods of shaving, primarily during the summer months and then slack off as the weather got colder. I could care less and I never had a guy complain about it. I've found that most guys really don't mind a little extra hair if it means they're getting in your pants.
So, eventually I evolved into someone who would shave her pits and legs and would even do a little home waxing or depilatory to clean up the bikini area. However, my skin is super sensitive, so I would still opt for more coverage in that area than shaving or other irritating methods. Which is less sexy: big red bumps or a little hair? There was one area where I held firm though, I absolutely would not devolve into the kind of woman who had a totally bare mons pubis, or even one with all but a "landing strip" removed. I was firmly of the belief that it was some sick, twisted ploy by the beauty industry/men to make women feel insecure about their bodies and the naturally-resulting hair caused by puberty and to keep women down by infantalizing us, pushing us toward a pre-pubescent ideal. When you see celebrities today, most of them are forced to be dangerously thin, with almost zero curves save the enormous fake breasts. A naked pussy only goes along with this boyish figure ideal. Is this just some sick way for men to get to fuck little girls legally? Whatever the reason, I wasn't having any of it.
Until I did. Partly by accident. It started with the BF mentioning that would be kinda sexy, like in a special occasion sort of way, and would facilitate certain acts that benefit me, if ya know what I mean. I was strongly opposed and he of course went with whatever I wanted. Because he knows where his bread is buttered. Then I got a Groupon for a great deal on a wax, either bikini or Brazilian. His birthday was coming up, so I thought, "Oh, what the hell?" and I bought it.
I called to make the appointment with the salon. The woman on the other end of the line asked me if I wanted bikini, "bikini plus" or Brazilian. Bikini plus seemed like a reasonable middle ground, so I went with that option. This was going to be a good way for me to try it out and get over my fear of getting waxed at a salon. I'd dabbled with home waxings, which never ended well, and I'd wanted to get a bikini wax before. I could just never get used to the thought of actually doing it. But for better or worse, I was going for it!
Appointment day came. I was lead to the little room and given a drape to put over my bare lady bits while I waited for the aesthetician to arrive. She was a very cheerful young woman, really easy to talk to. I have a pretty good pain tolerance, so I was fine just lying there, chatting with her, thinking I was getting my "bikini plus" when YANK. Oh, that was way more than just a "plus," that was full-on labial!
She nonchalantly asked if I wanted to "leave a little," aka the landing strip. That's when I realized there had been a serious miscommunication, but there was no turning back. I could either say something and end up with a Brazilian anyway or just pretend I wanted a Brazilian in the first place. I often go toward the non-confrontational, so I played it off. And I sure as shit didn't want some ridiculous patch of hair left to memorialize its fallen comrades. I believe pubic hair exists for a purpose and a landing strip no longer serves that purpose. So, I casually said, "Nah, just take it all off."
It was a shock. It just felt so weird. And it looked so weird. That wasn't my hoo-ha! Whose hoo-ha was that? And damn was it ever enflamed. I had to coat the whole thing in Desitin for about 2 days to get the redness to subside. And a couple weeks later the ingrown hairs started. I am just too damn sensitive for this! And it felt wrong. I couldn't believe I'd gone against something I felt really strongly about and was now sporting a little girl vagina. What had become of me? Who was I? Why did I have this naked pussy? And even worse, why did I kinda like it?
Then a couple months go by and I got used to it. The hair grew back, but grew in more sparse and fine for the post part Unfortunately, my bikini line grew back as thick as ever, because nature likes to screw with me. Meanwhile, everyday I was riding the bus past a waxing salon that offered Brazilians for $49. And after while, the thought of doing it again crept in. I thought, "Well, what's one more?" The BF was out of town on business, so I decided to surprise him when he got back. Besides, he'd been really good about not having an opinion either way.
The second time around wasn't too bad. I had less irritation, fewer ingrown hairs. But it's expensive, so I knew I wasn't going to keep up with it. Summer is now in full swing and things are pretty much back to their natural state. I'm not exactly hitting the pool except to swim laps, so I'm not too concerned about hair. And I'm open to the idea of hair removal in the future, just not on my current budget.
Then I saw another Groupon. Or maybe this one was Living Social. Whatever the online discount provider, it was a coupon for waxing. And I bought it. Now I've got an appointment for next Monday, on my lunch hour. At a place where I'm getting a discount. Because when seeking to have a stranger apply hot wax to your labia, the one thing you should be concerned with is getting that service at bargain basement prices!
I told the BF that I'd decided to go hairless again for our European vacation. He knows he's treading in tricky waters with this one, so all he said was, "Ok, well, that will be less cumbersome for you." And what could I do but laugh? Yes, it will be less cumbersome not carting around all that pubic hair.
Meanwhile, I've gone from being hairy and proud to being yet another woman who has fallen prey to the beauty industry. Please don't tell the other feminists. I still won't change my name if I get married again. I will continue to put myself and my professional satisfaction above conforming to rigid gender norms, such as marriage and child-rearing. This doesn't change who I am fundamentally. But I've still be struggling to justify it. Recently I read an interview with some female porn star, Jenna Jameson maybe, about her take on Brazilians. She stated that she thinks the female anatomy is beautiful and without all that bulky hair covering it up, you can truly see and appreciate it. This sounds empowered enough for me to buy it for now. So, yeah, that's what it's all about, showing off my junk. My pussy is naked and I'm proud of it!
terça-feira, maio 25, 2010
Oh, hey, you still here?
I didn't think anyone was around anymore. Except my sister, who recently gave me crap for never updating. The truth is, I've lost some interest in the blog and I've even cut back on the number of blogs I read. With my new job(!) and busy schedule, I think the ol' blog is going to fall even more by the wayside. Like going out of business. But we'll see.
So, since I last posted, life has been pretty crazy. The BF and I went to Vegas back in January. We had a good time, but I learned that I'm definitely not a Vegas person and he is. But that's okay. We had three fundraisers in one month for the Lilith Fund, which was N.U.T.S. I've never been so sleep deprived. If I'd had time to make a doctor's appointment, I'm pretty sure they would have put me on Xanax right away!
I also had TONS of work stress going on. In a nutshell, it was workplace gone horribly, horribly wrong. I totally took my former boss for granted and when she finally escaped and moved on to greener pastures, her absence was immediately and acutely felt. I never appreciated the extent to which she shielded us from the craziness and incompetency from above and when she was gone, it all went downhill fast. I became deeply unhappy and applied for another job. I interviewed right away, but had to wait a full month. It was pure hell. Since I didn't bother to hide my dissatisfaction or desire to leave, the director decided that it meant I had resigned. Granted, there was no resignation letter or final day of work given or any of the technicalities involved in a resignation, such as "I resign" or "I quit." "I'm starting to look at other options," and "I've gotten all I can out of this job and there's no room for any professional development for me," are not the same as "I resign." They also do not mean that suddenly my character had changed and I would abandon my clients and coworkers and do something extreme and unprofessional. It was truly awful and when I finally got a job offer and could give them a real resignation, I was more jubilant than I can even express. I felt so free that I didn't even give them the tongue-lashing I felt they deserved. I was just ready to move on after I'd wrapped up my cases or passed them on. I even took on a significant expense (for which I have yet to be reimbursed) in order to attend one of my client's hearings four hours away, which also meant that I gave more than two weeks' notice and put off starting the new job (which pays more) to do it.
But move on I have. Today is my second day of work as an assistant county attorney. I'm in the same line of work - domestic violence - but I have all these new challenges in front of me and I can't wait to get to the point where I know what I'm doing. And the people I work with are awesome. I'm just so, so, soooo glad to be able to work for someone I truly like and respect again. It makes such a difference.
What else? The BF and I went to San Francisco back in March. I'm used to going out there & seeing friends, so he got dragged along on much of that. I tried to make sure we did some fun stuff, too. We biked across the Golden Gate to Sausalito, went up to the top of Coit Tower, went to the beach a couple of times and had delicious paella and sangria in the Mission. I'm glad he got to meet some of the most important and special people in my life, but it was definitely a whirlwind trip. We're planning the next one already. Well, I should say, we've planned the next one. Bought tickets to Berlin in early September and already book flights and lodging there and in Krakow, Prague, Salzburg and Munich. Munich for Oktoberfest! Woo! I have my usual "can I really afford this?" anxiety and saving for the trip has made for some lean times. But he keeps telling me not to worry, that he'll have plenty of money. And I'm learning to be okay with that. I'm just not used to dating someone I don't have to support. It's really fucking awesome, actually. What have I been doing all these years?
Then there's the really big news! I'm actually doing the Danskin this year! I'm signed up and everything. Training has had its ups and downs. Swimming was giving me major anxiety and I was about to back out, but then I did an open water swim clinic and realized that I can swim a half mile in open water. And I really wasn't all that exhausted either. Sure, I spent most of it doing the breath stroke, but that's not too bad. I'll get through it. The biking isn't going to be too bad either. I can do 12 miles no problem, even with the hills. I had a minor setback this week when I finally dusted off my bike and realized that all the modifications the ex had done made it completely unsuitable. Not to mention the bad mojo. But the BF pulled through again and I'm going to use his bike. This week I started struggling with running, so the BF is now my coach/motivator and he rides the bike alongside me to keep me motivated while I run. He also goes to the pool with me and while I'm training, he waits for me outside and has water and a towel ready when I return. He's also going to be there doing a victory dance when I cross the finish line. I mean, damn! What have I been doing all these years? I could have been dating considerate, supportive, non-losers! Or maybe if I hadn't been with all those losers, life would have never brought this guy into my life. Maybe this is my reward for all the losers. But really I think it has more to do with my intentions and my more careful choice this time around. I took the time to think about the mistakes I'd made and realize what I wanted and deserved. And then I was lucky enough to meet someone that meet all the criteria and it's worked out splendidly.
So, that's where I am. Pretty much in shock that things can be going this well. Still worried that that other shoe will drop. But you know, when it does, I'll handle it. Life deals blows and the important thing is to keep moving forward, even when it sucks super hard. I've worked really hard to get to a good place in my life and I deserve this. And I'll keep working, keep chipping away at my debts, keep on moving toward an even better place in my life.
End sappy inspirational pep talk.
Aren't you glad I finally updated?
So, since I last posted, life has been pretty crazy. The BF and I went to Vegas back in January. We had a good time, but I learned that I'm definitely not a Vegas person and he is. But that's okay. We had three fundraisers in one month for the Lilith Fund, which was N.U.T.S. I've never been so sleep deprived. If I'd had time to make a doctor's appointment, I'm pretty sure they would have put me on Xanax right away!
I also had TONS of work stress going on. In a nutshell, it was workplace gone horribly, horribly wrong. I totally took my former boss for granted and when she finally escaped and moved on to greener pastures, her absence was immediately and acutely felt. I never appreciated the extent to which she shielded us from the craziness and incompetency from above and when she was gone, it all went downhill fast. I became deeply unhappy and applied for another job. I interviewed right away, but had to wait a full month. It was pure hell. Since I didn't bother to hide my dissatisfaction or desire to leave, the director decided that it meant I had resigned. Granted, there was no resignation letter or final day of work given or any of the technicalities involved in a resignation, such as "I resign" or "I quit." "I'm starting to look at other options," and "I've gotten all I can out of this job and there's no room for any professional development for me," are not the same as "I resign." They also do not mean that suddenly my character had changed and I would abandon my clients and coworkers and do something extreme and unprofessional. It was truly awful and when I finally got a job offer and could give them a real resignation, I was more jubilant than I can even express. I felt so free that I didn't even give them the tongue-lashing I felt they deserved. I was just ready to move on after I'd wrapped up my cases or passed them on. I even took on a significant expense (for which I have yet to be reimbursed) in order to attend one of my client's hearings four hours away, which also meant that I gave more than two weeks' notice and put off starting the new job (which pays more) to do it.
But move on I have. Today is my second day of work as an assistant county attorney. I'm in the same line of work - domestic violence - but I have all these new challenges in front of me and I can't wait to get to the point where I know what I'm doing. And the people I work with are awesome. I'm just so, so, soooo glad to be able to work for someone I truly like and respect again. It makes such a difference.
What else? The BF and I went to San Francisco back in March. I'm used to going out there & seeing friends, so he got dragged along on much of that. I tried to make sure we did some fun stuff, too. We biked across the Golden Gate to Sausalito, went up to the top of Coit Tower, went to the beach a couple of times and had delicious paella and sangria in the Mission. I'm glad he got to meet some of the most important and special people in my life, but it was definitely a whirlwind trip. We're planning the next one already. Well, I should say, we've planned the next one. Bought tickets to Berlin in early September and already book flights and lodging there and in Krakow, Prague, Salzburg and Munich. Munich for Oktoberfest! Woo! I have my usual "can I really afford this?" anxiety and saving for the trip has made for some lean times. But he keeps telling me not to worry, that he'll have plenty of money. And I'm learning to be okay with that. I'm just not used to dating someone I don't have to support. It's really fucking awesome, actually. What have I been doing all these years?
Then there's the really big news! I'm actually doing the Danskin this year! I'm signed up and everything. Training has had its ups and downs. Swimming was giving me major anxiety and I was about to back out, but then I did an open water swim clinic and realized that I can swim a half mile in open water. And I really wasn't all that exhausted either. Sure, I spent most of it doing the breath stroke, but that's not too bad. I'll get through it. The biking isn't going to be too bad either. I can do 12 miles no problem, even with the hills. I had a minor setback this week when I finally dusted off my bike and realized that all the modifications the ex had done made it completely unsuitable. Not to mention the bad mojo. But the BF pulled through again and I'm going to use his bike. This week I started struggling with running, so the BF is now my coach/motivator and he rides the bike alongside me to keep me motivated while I run. He also goes to the pool with me and while I'm training, he waits for me outside and has water and a towel ready when I return. He's also going to be there doing a victory dance when I cross the finish line. I mean, damn! What have I been doing all these years? I could have been dating considerate, supportive, non-losers! Or maybe if I hadn't been with all those losers, life would have never brought this guy into my life. Maybe this is my reward for all the losers. But really I think it has more to do with my intentions and my more careful choice this time around. I took the time to think about the mistakes I'd made and realize what I wanted and deserved. And then I was lucky enough to meet someone that meet all the criteria and it's worked out splendidly.
So, that's where I am. Pretty much in shock that things can be going this well. Still worried that that other shoe will drop. But you know, when it does, I'll handle it. Life deals blows and the important thing is to keep moving forward, even when it sucks super hard. I've worked really hard to get to a good place in my life and I deserve this. And I'll keep working, keep chipping away at my debts, keep on moving toward an even better place in my life.
End sappy inspirational pep talk.
Aren't you glad I finally updated?
sexta-feira, janeiro 01, 2010
Into the next
The big thing on Twitter the past couple days has been #10yearsago. Where was I at the beginning of the past decade? In Austin (as I am now), having recently moved back after thinking maybe I'd left it for good (as is the case now), working for a nonprofit (yep, still doing that) and not making as much money as I know I'm worth (check). My sister was in town but my brother wasn't. Now it's the opposite. My best friend was living with her now ex-husband and they had a Y2K NYE party at their apartment that was pretty mellow, but a place where our close group of friends could be together. This NYE Y2K10 I didn't see any of the people I celebrated with when I was (not) partying like it was 1999. I was married then. Not now. I was running an abortion fund. The fund has changed but I'm still doing that. I had considerably less debt than I do now.
So much has happened since this day 10 years ago. Our country has been at war - with 2 nations and a vague concept - for almost the entire decade and the news became so depressing for me for the greater part of the past 10 years that a part of my spirit died. I got divorced. I helped start the Lilith Fund. I went to law school. After my divorce in 2001, I had a very frustrating relationship for a little less than 2 years followed by a very tumultuous relationship for a little over 6 years. I'm now in an incredibly satisfying relationship with someone who gives me a great amount of peace and contentment, despite my occasional freakout brought on by my own self-doubts. I'm not sure what the next 1o years will bring or even exactly what I want them to bring. But I do feel optimistic about the possibilities.
#1yearago: I was on a bus to San Miguel de Allende with Amanda. We'd celebrated the new year in Mexico DF with a Jorge, Miguel and a bunch of ballerinas. I've never felt more overweight and underdressed as I did that night. Fortunately there was enough liquor to get me through it. I was ready to get out of my shitty relationship, especially since I'd already been feeling that I was alone in it anyway. This year I started off the new year feeling very much a part of something good. I didn't take any big trips this year, but the coming year promises some travel. I'm going to Las Vegas for the first time in a couple of weeks. I admit that I'm a little apprehensive about it. I've never had much desire to go there, but I'm sure it'll be interesting and fun anyway, even if I don't have big plans to gamble at all. If I can figure out a way to swing it financially, there may be some international travel in my near future. Perhaps Kenya and/or somewhere in Europe. I'm still figuring that one out.
I'm already starting off the year with a healthier outlook. I've been going to the gym regularly and my eating habits have improved. I'm not setting any weight loss goals, but I feel more comfortable in my own skin already and that's what really counts. I'm more organized than I've been in awhile, probably because I'm not having as many periods of depression that lead to my letting things go. I'm hoping to move into a new job, if I can figure out what I want that to be. I'm starting to feel like I'm ready to let go of some of my idealism and find something that's not soul-sucking, yet pays significantly more than what I'm making now. I can do that for a couple of years if it means getting out of more debt. As it is, I feel like I'm being crushed by debt and constantly struggling. I'm not enjoying what I do. And to try and find more fulfillment, I've taken on too many volunteer projects and now I just feel stressed out all the time from all the work I've put on myself. My creativity has suffered. I want to have time to read books, to improve my photography skills, to learn another language, and just to have more fun. That's my resolution: to cut back on all the martyr shit so I can just have more fun!
And so here I am, moving forward into this next decade of my life, feeling better about life than I have in awhile, yet still working to improve my station in life. Isn't that always the case?
So much has happened since this day 10 years ago. Our country has been at war - with 2 nations and a vague concept - for almost the entire decade and the news became so depressing for me for the greater part of the past 10 years that a part of my spirit died. I got divorced. I helped start the Lilith Fund. I went to law school. After my divorce in 2001, I had a very frustrating relationship for a little less than 2 years followed by a very tumultuous relationship for a little over 6 years. I'm now in an incredibly satisfying relationship with someone who gives me a great amount of peace and contentment, despite my occasional freakout brought on by my own self-doubts. I'm not sure what the next 1o years will bring or even exactly what I want them to bring. But I do feel optimistic about the possibilities.
#1yearago: I was on a bus to San Miguel de Allende with Amanda. We'd celebrated the new year in Mexico DF with a Jorge, Miguel and a bunch of ballerinas. I've never felt more overweight and underdressed as I did that night. Fortunately there was enough liquor to get me through it. I was ready to get out of my shitty relationship, especially since I'd already been feeling that I was alone in it anyway. This year I started off the new year feeling very much a part of something good. I didn't take any big trips this year, but the coming year promises some travel. I'm going to Las Vegas for the first time in a couple of weeks. I admit that I'm a little apprehensive about it. I've never had much desire to go there, but I'm sure it'll be interesting and fun anyway, even if I don't have big plans to gamble at all. If I can figure out a way to swing it financially, there may be some international travel in my near future. Perhaps Kenya and/or somewhere in Europe. I'm still figuring that one out.
I'm already starting off the year with a healthier outlook. I've been going to the gym regularly and my eating habits have improved. I'm not setting any weight loss goals, but I feel more comfortable in my own skin already and that's what really counts. I'm more organized than I've been in awhile, probably because I'm not having as many periods of depression that lead to my letting things go. I'm hoping to move into a new job, if I can figure out what I want that to be. I'm starting to feel like I'm ready to let go of some of my idealism and find something that's not soul-sucking, yet pays significantly more than what I'm making now. I can do that for a couple of years if it means getting out of more debt. As it is, I feel like I'm being crushed by debt and constantly struggling. I'm not enjoying what I do. And to try and find more fulfillment, I've taken on too many volunteer projects and now I just feel stressed out all the time from all the work I've put on myself. My creativity has suffered. I want to have time to read books, to improve my photography skills, to learn another language, and just to have more fun. That's my resolution: to cut back on all the martyr shit so I can just have more fun!
And so here I am, moving forward into this next decade of my life, feeling better about life than I have in awhile, yet still working to improve my station in life. Isn't that always the case?
domingo, novembro 29, 2009
And so it begins...
I totally want to fly off to a tropical island and wait out the holidays. What is UP with me and the holiday doldrums? I try to stay away from the holidays as much as possible - I really only shop online, avoid xmas decorations, just generally lay low - but it's unavoidable.
First there are the multiple parties at work. Seriously, we only have something like 15 staff, so why do we need a potluck, then an office open house, then an office party at night, then a gift exchange? After that comes my birthday and I don't want to talk about it. I hate my birthday.
Then there's the gift pressure. I'm fine with getting gifts for other people, even though I almost always end up broke and scrambling to pay bills as a result, but receiving gifts makes me uncomfortable for some reason. I mean, I like it okay, but I'm just one of those weirdos that feels all awkward getting presents. Yeah, I know. On the way back from Dallas today, the BF asked me what I want. Hell if I know. I feel for the guy because it's probably hard to shop for me in general and definitely after only a few months of dating, right? But I'm already scrambling to come up with a couple things to tell my parents and grandparents and no one will just go for the "no gifts" policy I'd prefer to institute. And then I realize that I don't know what I'm going to get him. It's been awhile since any of this was even an issue because my last boyfriend was totally lame and usually broke, so there wasn't much in the way of gifts.*
Actually, while I'm going there, let's recount them, shall we?
So, yeah, it happens. I'm pretty forgiving. But there are ways you handle this major fuck up, right? You show up the next day with flowers. You cook me a spectacular meal. You perform amazing feats of sexual trickery. You give me the back rub to end all back rubs. You do something, right? Not that guy. He did nothing. In fact, he couldn't even be bothered to drive the 2o miles from his house to mine for at least another five days. And then he showed up with a present, a Sopranos book.
You know, the TV series. That had been off the air for several years. Oh sure, I watched the Sopranos and thought it was quality TV programming. But I didn't even care to own the DVDs or anything, much less own a paperback with pictures and whatnot from the show. I don't actually know what was in that book because I never even opened it before I threw it in a yard sale. So yeah, beginning of the bitter end there. Although I suppose you could argue that the beginning of the end started long before then. I mean, someone forgets your birthday and then gets you a Sopranos book, it was over long ago, right?
So now it's a year later and I'm dealing with holiday anxiety and the pressure of gift giving a year later. I've definitely upgraded in the boyfriend department. But it doesn't totally take away the desire to hibernate until January 1st. Anyone want to offer some advice on how to get through the next month? Happy holidays!
*This is not counting the first Valentine's Day after we'd been dating for about two months, when he got me several nice gifts, which were also kind of strange but thoughtful in their own way. I kinda feel like those gifts were the biggest decoys ever, meant to trick me into thinking I was dating someone I really wasn't.
First there are the multiple parties at work. Seriously, we only have something like 15 staff, so why do we need a potluck, then an office open house, then an office party at night, then a gift exchange? After that comes my birthday and I don't want to talk about it. I hate my birthday.
Then there's the gift pressure. I'm fine with getting gifts for other people, even though I almost always end up broke and scrambling to pay bills as a result, but receiving gifts makes me uncomfortable for some reason. I mean, I like it okay, but I'm just one of those weirdos that feels all awkward getting presents. Yeah, I know. On the way back from Dallas today, the BF asked me what I want. Hell if I know. I feel for the guy because it's probably hard to shop for me in general and definitely after only a few months of dating, right? But I'm already scrambling to come up with a couple things to tell my parents and grandparents and no one will just go for the "no gifts" policy I'd prefer to institute. And then I realize that I don't know what I'm going to get him. It's been awhile since any of this was even an issue because my last boyfriend was totally lame and usually broke, so there wasn't much in the way of gifts.*
Actually, while I'm going there, let's recount them, shall we?
- The card promising a trip to La Pesca, a little fishing village in Mexico on the Gulf. No, not tickets to La Pesca or reservations or anything that would indicate us actually ever going there, but a card with a "promise" to take me there whenever he got a steady job. You guessed it. There was never a trip to La Pesca. Or anywhere that I didn't plan and pay for.
- Multiple CDs that I would maybe get to listen to for about a week before he would "borrow" (i.e. hoard) and I would never see again. And usually they were CDs that he wanted for himself more than CDs I'd indicated I wanted, which I never did anyway. Because I use more modern technology most of the time for my music purchases and listening. Fortunately for him we had similar tastes in music, but unfortunately that also meant it would piss me off that much more when the CDs disappeared.
- A silver bracelet from the import shop that unfortunately bent easily. It was pretty and I have to give him credit for trying to get me some jewelry, which is kinda what guys think women want, right? I really don't wear jewelry. But I'm not going to complain too much about it because it was probably the best thing I ever got during those six years.
- I'm sure he gave me other stuff, right? That I'm just not remembering? I don't want to sound too bitchy because I know he tried. One Christmas he spent a bunch of money he didn't really have on gifts for my family (mostly CDs) and they were all kind of mean to him that year and I felt really horrible. They were much less tolerant of his, uh, shortcomings than I was. But yeah, if he ever gave me other stuff, I don't even remember what I might have been. I think most years I just said, "Yeah, let's not do gifts this year." And he was more than happy to oblige.
So, yeah, it happens. I'm pretty forgiving. But there are ways you handle this major fuck up, right? You show up the next day with flowers. You cook me a spectacular meal. You perform amazing feats of sexual trickery. You give me the back rub to end all back rubs. You do something, right? Not that guy. He did nothing. In fact, he couldn't even be bothered to drive the 2o miles from his house to mine for at least another five days. And then he showed up with a present, a Sopranos book.
You know, the TV series. That had been off the air for several years. Oh sure, I watched the Sopranos and thought it was quality TV programming. But I didn't even care to own the DVDs or anything, much less own a paperback with pictures and whatnot from the show. I don't actually know what was in that book because I never even opened it before I threw it in a yard sale. So yeah, beginning of the bitter end there. Although I suppose you could argue that the beginning of the end started long before then. I mean, someone forgets your birthday and then gets you a Sopranos book, it was over long ago, right?
So now it's a year later and I'm dealing with holiday anxiety and the pressure of gift giving a year later. I've definitely upgraded in the boyfriend department. But it doesn't totally take away the desire to hibernate until January 1st. Anyone want to offer some advice on how to get through the next month? Happy holidays!
*This is not counting the first Valentine's Day after we'd been dating for about two months, when he got me several nice gifts, which were also kind of strange but thoughtful in their own way. I kinda feel like those gifts were the biggest decoys ever, meant to trick me into thinking I was dating someone I really wasn't.
sábado, novembro 21, 2009
Lady Time
The BF: So, is "lady time" almost over?
Me: Alas, no. Still a couple more days of it.
The BF: Gosh, lady time lasts sooo long!
Don't I know it, dude. It may only be a little less than a week, but it does seem to last so long.
Me: Alas, no. Still a couple more days of it.
The BF: Gosh, lady time lasts sooo long!
Don't I know it, dude. It may only be a little less than a week, but it does seem to last so long.
sexta-feira, outubro 23, 2009
More chat fun
K: I just read an article on the dangers of drinking....
Scared the shit out of me.
So that's it!
After today, no more reading...
Scared the shit out of me.
So that's it!
After today, no more reading...
quinta-feira, outubro 22, 2009
Sexually Liberated
K: So, I went to see my...personal doctor today. She asked me how many sexual partners I'd had, like over my lifetime.
H: I don't even think I could make that list anymore. I'm too old to remember drunken encounters from my 20's.
H: I don't even think I could make that list anymore. I'm too old to remember drunken encounters from my 20's.
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