A Brilliant Mind

I just ate almost an entire pound of cherries. I would have eaten the entire pound, but as I got to the bottom of the bag (yes I ate them right out of the bag, what about it?) I discovered that a good number of them were fuzzy.

Now I feel ill.

But I must run.

(I'm not very smart.)

This reminds me of the time I thought I was invincible because I was running 7-10 miles per day. I could eat anything I wanted. So one morning in December I decided to eat some frosting. Yes, straight out of the tub, what about it? I thought I'd have one or two spoonfuls to satisfy my sweet tooth. But yeah, I might have eaten the entire tub. And then I might have just moseyed on downstairs to the treadmill to run. 10 miles.

At least that was the plan. I actually got through an entire mile before I turned off the treadmill and ran upstairs to curl up in my husband's lap in the fetal position moaning about how I would just feel so much better if he could reach inside me and pull my intestines out and flush them down the toilet. He was quite sympathetic until he discovered the part about the tub of frosting. Then he got quite mean.

I think his comment went something like "what are you, a moron? Who eats a tub of frosting then goes running?"

I was hurt. If I wasn't feeling so horrible I might have actually responded with something other than guttural sobs.

But I can explain!

I have OCD. And I don't just mean I'm neurotic about things. I really truly have OCD. I've been on and off medication for it, and I've been in and out of therapy to learn to deal with it. And to learn to deal with the side effects of the medications that are supposed to suppress it.

An interesting sidenote (since I'm rattling on about my mental illnesses): I also have been diagnosed with ADD. Or I guess ADHD is the correct term these days. I have trouble understanding this. Wouldn't the ADD interfere with the OCD? Aren't they quite the opposite of each other? That's like saying I'm an anorexic who overeats (but doesn't purge). Or something like that. (Which I am, btw. I'm too skinny for my own good. I never eat... Frosting.....)

So I've dismissed the whole ADD thing and just chalk it up to me having a short attention span. So that just leaves me with OCD.

It's not the OCD you're probably used to hearing about. It's quite mild, actually. I don't have any crazy rituals or anything like that. I have my weird things I do, but it's nothing that interferes tremendously with my life. At least I don't think it does. And no, I'm not going to go into details about what I do specifically because it's my blog so I don't have to.

The only time in my life that the OCD has ever actually been convenient is with working out. It could be mistaken for drive. It gets me going. It's just a feeling of obligation, necessity to accomplish. And not because of how I feel afterwards, or what it does for my body, but just so I can say I did. So I don't go more than 2 days in a row with an empty spot on my calendar where I mark my workouts.

But it takes me too far. It makes me run when I have shin splints, bone spurs, muscle soreness, and tubs of frosting or pounds of rotten cherries in my tummy. It sends excuses out the window, makes me late to work if need be, and makes me neglect social commitments or other obligations just to get that run in. In the past, when it was at its worst, it made me overtrain to the point where I was drinking bottles of Diet Coke nonstop during the day for energy since I was unable to sleep and my muscles were practically numb from overuse.

I've tried several different medications for this, and they do help. But they also turn me into a comatose zombie with no emotion and no desire to even move. I would come home from work exhausted and lay on the couch, not caring about anything. At all. I would turn on the television for SB with the hopes that she would watch for a half hour so I could squeeze in a nap. I gained 30 pounds in a year. I couldn't live like that.

Just to give you an idea, many of the OCD medications, at least the ones I tried, are antidepressants. The dosages are just different- they are given at a much higher dose to treat OCD. I was taking 5 pills of one medication that a male friend who is much bigger than I (dosages go by weight, to an extent) was taking 1 pill of, daily.

So I took myself off the meds. I'm still recovering from them even though it's been almost a year. I went from running 7-10 miles a day to not even being able to complete one without stopping. I'm working my way back up. To me, it's the lesser of 2 evils. Maybe I take certain things too seriously now and go against the advice that I would give someone else in my shoes, and spending too long thinking about or doing certain things, but at least I'm in my own mind again.

And the Morning After

I behaved last night. I really did! I seriously considered taking full advantage of the fact that we had a sitter and getting stupid wasted, making out with anyone who looked me in the eye and had less than 4 legs, buddying up in obscene ways to the pole that is usually in the middle of the dance floor, and spending the ride home flashing cars on the beltway in between puking in the back seat.

But this didn't happen. I only had 1 drink. Partially because I had to work at 8am today, and partially because I was concerned for the reputation of the band, knowing that I am somewhat associated to them since I am married to them. But mostly because I'm a good girl and I've never done anything like that in my life.

That being said, you would think from the way I've been acting this morning, that all that did happen.

I stupidly optimistically set my alarm phone for 6:15am. Usually I get to work at 7am on Saturdays and spend the first hour working out before we officially open. By "usually" I mean that I did it last Saturday. At 6:15 my incoherent mind decided my workout would be more productive if I did it at a more appropriate time. Like later.

I reset the alarm for 7:15 and forced myself out of bed. I had a pile of clothes I had thrown together the night before so I carried that downstairs so I could get ready without waking anyone up. I washed my face and dressed successfully. Then my mind decided it had had enough and went back to sleep while the rest of me tried to function like a normal person.

I got my pile of stuff together before remembering my bag was in the truck. So I took my stuff and piled it into the car. I went to get my bag out of the truck and realized -duh- I had forgotten to bring the truck keys out. So into the house I go, grab the truck keys and head out again. I get my bag out of the truck and put it in the car.

Then I realize that I don't have any cash (to buy water with because I'm a total water snob and can't drink fountain or unfiltered tap water. I know that according to these new studies this means that I'll end up with more wrinkles than a sharpei. Whatever.) or my driver's license because these were stuffed into the jeans that I wore last night. Which were now in my hamper in my bedroom. Knowing that the one day that I go driving without a license will be the one day that I get pulled over for some lame reason, I have to go in and get the license. Plus I really need cash for my water.

So back into the house again I go. I make my way in the dark to the bedroom, where my husband is sleeping (lucky!). I tiptoe to the hamper trying not to wake the dog, who would in turn wake the rest of the neighborhood with her wagging tail hitting the floor at lightning speed. Apparently I'm a bit of a slob because first I tripped over an empty gym bag that I had left out after considering using it again after forgetting to bring clean underwear twice this week. Once I recovered from that, I immediately stepped on a tupperware box full of my winter shoes that never quite made it downstairs for summer storage.

This produced a loud clatter. Out of the corner of my eye I saw my husband leap out of bed, probably fearing intruders like ninjas or Gremlins. I mumbled a quick sorry, dug the jeans out of the hamper and scurried away.

Actually now that I think about it, I'm pretty sure I left the jeans on the couch in the living room. No wonder TB's nickname for me is Stop-and-Drop! I kind of am a slob.

Now for the third time I go outside. I get into the truck, put the keys in the ignition and turn around to start backing out of the driveway. And I see my car parked right behind the truck. In fact, I almost hit it.

Why the F was I in the truck? All my stuff was in the car, plus the truck was parked in! I always take the car to work. The truck is the only one of the two that has a car seat, so the rule is whoever has SB gets the truck.

I get out of the truck and into the car. I look around for my sunglasses. No, of course they're not in the car, they are sitting on the ledge in the bathroom, where I took them off last night. Stop-and-Drop strikes again! I elect not to go into the house again, put on TB's sunglasses, which are HUGE bug-eyed monstrosities that pinch my nose, and head to work.

At some point during my drive I had to slam on my brakes. Or maybe I just accelerated really fast. Or maybe I turned hard. I honestly don't remember, but whatever I did caused my badge (which I need to get into my building at work) to fly off its perch in the cubby hole near the radio and land under the seat next to me.

Since everything I do demands instant gratification, I immediately lean over and try to extract it from the recesses of Under the Seat. I'm not going to lie, I was a little worried about what I might touch while blindly groping around down there. Meanwhile, my car is swerving wildly as I try to steer with just my left hand while barely being able to see above the dash, since I'm leaning so far down towards the passenger seat. But I couldn't get it so I had to settle for trying once I arrived at work.

After parking, I walked around to the passenger side and moved the seat all the way forward, got the badge and continued into the building. I was halfway there before I realized that I didn't have any of my stuff with me. All I had were these bug-eyed glasses and my badge.

So back to the car AGAIN to get my bag and my lunch (whew, can't forget that!) then into work and on with my day. Hopefully at some point today my brain function will return and I'll be able to complete a task on the first try!

Drama at the Bay!!

Last night my husband's band played at the Bay Cafe. Once the quick torrential downpour subsided, the weather actually was nice and the band played on outside. I was looking forward to an evening without SB, possibly involving some dancing, maybe some drinking (which is significant because I generally don't drink). I met up with some friends from work and my pal Bucky was there so I was looking forward to a good time. I was also looking forward to getting some shots of the Crazy Dancers to post here, but sadly I was unable to get any. It just would have looked weird. But I did get a shot of this:

These are the shoes that the bass player was wearing. They got a lot of attention, thanks to me and my phone. I asked him what they were intended for. He said that he ran 5 miles in them. They don't look much like running shoes to me.

Anyway, I know you want to hear about the drama so here it is.

The band's playing. The Crazy Dancers are going to town, gyrating and shaking and kicking. They are in good company: a lady somewhere in her 40's had just graduated from nursing school and was celebrating by being dangerously drunk, dancing like no one wanted to watch, and wearing leis in inappropriate places. So between the three of them, my friends and I, along with the rest of the crowd, were highly entertained.

Then the drum solo comes. All three dancers freeze in their spots and they each do their own interpretation of seizure-like convulsing. The Crazy Lady leans back and shakes her unfettered chest like a really bad polariod picture. The Crazy Man dips into a semi-squat, throws his hands up in the air and moves his hips rapidly in a circular motion. The Nurse leans back about 2 feet away from me, facing me, and bangs on her lei-covered breasts like they are bongos. Hard. It hurt me just to watch her.

My friends and I are going nuts. I catch the eye of the bandleader, who is a good friend of mine, and he just rolls his eyes. My cheeks hurt from smiling so much. These three characters were frozen in their dances for just about the entire length of the solo.

The solo ends and all of a sudden I look up to see Crazy Man yelling at my husband. AT MY HUSBAND! My husband is actually yelling back something about "I didn't do it!" Wtf? I had no clue what was going on, but my friends were quick to fill me in.

Apparently Crazy Man looked uncomfortably hot while he was circumvolving his hips. So the bass player felt it was necessary to spray some water on him. I think it came from his own personal water bottle. Crazy Man assumed my husband was the one who did it and immediately went off on him.

Good thing I didn't know all this or Crazy Lady would have had to stop shaking her tatas long enough to pry me off her husband's back so he wouldn't go blind from my pounding my fists into his eye sockets.

But it doesn't end there.

The band takes a set break. Probably a good call. The Bandleader comes up to me and my gaggle of friends to chat. While we are chatting, Crazy Man comes up to try to talk with Bandleader. Bandleader goes off on Crazy Man. Crazy Man argues with Bandleader. There was an email that was not received. There was a lie that was told. There are lots of F bombs being dropped. Apparently, Crazy Dancers were politely asked to tone down their dancing so that others would not be so intimidated to get up onto the dance floor. Perhaps this is why the water was thrown. Who knows? Crazy Man is asked to leave. All of a sudden my friends and I feel very uncomfortable being in such close proximity to this conversation, that is obviously none of our business. But secretly we are also dying to hear the outcome.

Their conversation ends and the band starts playing again. Crazy Lady is nowhere to be found. Crazy Man kind of wanders around the dance floor as if he's not sure whether his Dance Mojo was hurt. Apparently it wasn't because he starts to get down again with some other cougars older women. Meanwhile, Crazy Lady reappears near the bench where the Crazy Dancers store their towels and backpacks, looking PISSED. She stands there with her chin up and her hand on her hip just watching. We weren't sure whether she was mad about the whole water incident or pissed off because Crazy Man is getting down with a gaggle (yes that's twice I've said gaggle now!) of women. I personally think it was the latter, and she just wanted to go home but he put his foot down.

Meanwhile, The Nurse is randomly smacking her boobs and grinding into other drunk people, looking completely possessed and quite scary. Her lei bra eventually becomes her panties and she becomes a butt bongo player. But she's happy in her own little world. And we're all happy for her.

The set ends and the band, as well as the dance crowd, disperses. The Crazy Dancers leave and I later find out that she spoke with the manager at the club. Which meant the Bandleader had to spend 45 minutes fighting for the integrity of his band to the manager. My understanding is that at some point an apology was delivered from the Bass Player to the Crazy Man. Everyone goes home pissed. Except The Nurse, who probably is waking up about now. On some street corner. Wondering why her boobs are so sore.

Going Down to CowTown

Since my life is so chock-full of thrills these days, I wanted to share my excitement with you by chronicling my trip to CowTown yesterday. Fasten your seatbelts!

The drive down there actually isn't too bad. My mom and I practically live off the same road, it's just a really long road. It's a 45-minute drive and about 35 of those minutes are spent on Rte. 26. It goes through one area where it's 2 lanes, but the rest of the time it's only 1 lane. Of course, right away I got stuck behind this.

It's not unusual to get stuck behind a tractor or a truck on 26, but usually there are opportunities to pass them when the double yellow line becomes dotted. Not last night. When this guy wasn't drifting OVER the double yellow line, completely blocking my view of oncoming traffic, there were cars coming. So I was behind him for the entire trip. And he was not going fast. Especially when it came to hills.

There was a long stream of cars behind me and I felt really bad because I'm sure many of them were wondering why I wasn't passing this guy. He was only going 50 in a 55; I've been stuck behind tractors going 20 many times, so this really wasn't horrible. But I didn't like that my view was obstructed. Yeah I might have been following him a little closely, too. But here's the truck in Sykesville- this was taken about 25 minutes after the first one.

Do you see what I mean about my view being obstructed? Besides not being able to enjoy the country scenery, I have no idea whatsoever why this guy is braking. (And PS- why are his brake lights so tiny? This is a huge truck, I would expect more significant warning when he's planning on stopping.) There weren't any stop signs or traffic lights ahead (I've been taking this trip many times per month for about 10 years now....I know where the lights are!).

So finally, just after Sykesville, my turn came and I was freed from the selfishness of the truck. And I was able to enjoy the view:

This, my friends, is CowTown at its finest. You can click on the photo for a larger view to get the full effect. I'm considering adding Smell-o-Vision to my site to enhance this. These cows rule the city with their apathetic mooing and fast-moving all-encompassing stench. There are no horses in Wville, no chickens or pigs. Just cows. There is one goat, but he mostly stays to himself.

I brought some of my friends to meet my mom for lunch one day before my wedding. And as we were passing the very farm that is in the photo above, a cow wandered right into the middle of the street. For some odd reason, the fence was gone. (And by fence I mean piece of string tied between two posts. If you look closely at the photo above, you can see the white line from the road in the bottom left corner. Try to find the fence in the photo. Go ahead. Look. Yeah. That's CowTown for ya!) My friends freaked out- they had apparently never seen a cow wander into the road before. City folks......

So you pass the cows, and you pass Cleatis' shack (I wish I had thought to get a photo of this, it's SO stereotypical country redneck shack-dwelling cat-crazed maniacal) and you get to my mom's neighborhood. For the record, my mom doesn't live on a farm and she doesn't have cows.

My mom is a character. Now that her kids are gone, she has turned into a crazy lady. Let's look past the fact that she greeted us at the door in a Nine Inch Nails Closer t-shirt. Yeah, she doesn't have any clue who that is. If I had to guess I would think she doesn't want to F anyone like an animal. I think she excavated the shirt from a pile of stuff I was trying to get rid of from my teenage angst years.

Her house is a really nice house. Or it was before she got hold of it. She wallpapered everything. Shelves, doors, closets, the inside of the garage door (the big one your car passes under). And she never bothers to line up the strips.

She collects things. Most recently, she's been working on Gatorade. This is the stock she keeps in the living room:

Yes, I said living room. If you look behind the bottles, you see bricks on the right and the fireplace on the left. She put this huge wall unit from Ikea in front of her fireplace. It holds the radio that she doesn't know how to use, CDs that she never has used, and various other useless knickknacks she has collected over the years. She's never used the fireplace either, although she didn't put the barricade until a few years ago.

Here's the Gatorade collection I found in the spare bedroom (I shouldn't complain- it could be bottles of vodka):


My mother, like all grandmothers, dotes on my daughter. She's her only grandchild and freakin' adorable so I can't blame her. But in my opinion, this on the back of the front door......just a little creepy.

I guess it's better than having it on the outside of the front door. There's a matching collage on the inside of the garage door and on the fridge. But at least it's normal on the fridge.

I didn't spend very long there yesterday because the truck set us a little behind and I wanted to get in a full 45-60 minutes of swimming. But a quick trip to the bathroom reminded me of another one of my mother's quirks. She hangs calendars everywhere. This is in the downstairs bathroom. The one company would use.


It's practical, really. Just in case you forget what day it is while you're sitting on the crapper. Man, I hate when that happens!

Honestly, mom, who hangs a calendar in a bathroom? And on the window??? At least it was open to the right month. In the kitchen it was March and in the mudroom it was May.

I had to leave. On my way to the pool I passed the other notable part of CowTown. This might actually be part of Frederick, and not Wville.

Ah yes. The Maryland Odd Fellows Home. Screw you politically correct bastards! We're Frederick and we're going to call them what they are! Odd Fellows! Not insane, not mentally handicapped, not socially unacceptable or whatever other mumbo jumbo you come up with to spare the feelings of these guys and their families. No, this home is for the Odd Fellows. Of Maryland.

I passed this quite frequently for years before I realized it didn't say Maryland Old Fellows Home. Not that that would have been much better.

What's even more amusing is that there is a neon sign on the actual building bragging that it's the Maryland Odd Fellows Home. Seriously it looks like something out of One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest. In order to get a shot of that I actually have to go up the driveway. But it might be worth it.

To be fair, it might not be a looney bin, it might have something to do with this. Which would make sense since the building shares a campus with the Banner School. But I like my version much better.

Ok thus ends our trip through CowTown. I hope you enjoyed the ride. Please come back and visit sometime!

I Just Saved a Bunch of Money...

It's a 45-minute trip to my mom's place from my house. Twice per week, I pile SB and myself into our gasguzzler of an SUV and make the trip to my mom's so I can have some "Me-Time" and "swim" my laps.

Entertaining a toddler for 45 minutes, then having to do it again about 2 hours later, is not an easy task. I grew up in Walkersville, MD, which is just north of Frederick. Walkersville is synonymous with Cowtown. Seriously. It's sad, but as soon as I smell the cows, I am taken back to evenings in the fall when I slept with my window open to get some "fresh" air. This might explain so many things. So as we get closer to my mother's house, SB is occupied with commenting on how stinky the cows are. But other than that, we have little to talk about.

SB's birthday is coming up in a few months and we were discussing her party. As we were talking about who would be invited, we passed a sign advertising for Geico car insurance. And of course, on the billboard was a giant gecko. So now SB is completely obsessed with having the gecko at her birthday party.

Apparently he has already accepted the invitation AND has offered to bring some pizza and ice cream, as well. Isn't that thoughtful!?

SB feels the need to tell everyone that the gecko is coming to her birthday party. I guess I don't blame her, he kind of is a celebrity!

On a completely unrelated note, tomorrow night is a gig night! TB's band is playing at the Bay Cafe again. We have a sitter lined up and everything! The bad news is that the dancers from my other post were asked to tone down their skills. Hopefully they disregard this request and hooch it up so I can get some good photos.

More later

SomeWHERE Over the RAINBOW

I wish I could take credit for this shot, but my friend Brian took it, I think on his Blackberry. Or maybe it's an iPhone. One of those gadgets I don't have and probably never will.

Anyway.....very pretty double rainbow from this past Monday night.

I Got Nothing

My life has been fairly uneventful for the past few days! I'm not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing. Drama is bad, but at least it's interesting! And provides for some interesting blog postings. I'm not shining my own shoes, I mean other blogs.

I just finished running. I did 4.3 miles. I know what you're thinking...you're thinking "Why stop at 4.3? Why not just suck it up and run another .2 mile to make it an even 4.5?" Well I'll tell you why: the plan was to do 4. Only 4.

So you see, by doing 4.3 I exceeded my own expectations. 4.5 would just be overkill. I didn't want to set the bar too high. Because then next time I hop onto the treadmill I'll be expecting myself to do 4.5 or maybe even 5. But now, since the plan was only to do 4, and that extra .3 mile was extra, I'll be happy settling for my 4 miles next time.

So 4.3. Word.

Since I have nothing better to talk about, I'll provide you with an update on my mad triathlon training. I still don't have a bike. And I haven't used a stationary cycle in years. So no progress there. I've cut my running back to 4 days per week, and I'm actually seeing improvements in my endurance and motivation. And no more shin splints/stress fractures. And no more fake bone spurs on the top of my foot. This is all good stuff.

I'm "swimming" for 45 minutes, 3 days per week. And I use the term "swimming" very loosely. It consists of pushing off the wall of the pool, stroking (is that what it's called?) once with my right hand, then my left, then my right again while trying to come up for air and put my head back in the water without drowning. That's as far as I get. I tend to stay in the shallow end of the aqua jogging lane. I travel a total of about 10 feet. Then I stand up and walk back to do it again.

Don't laugh, but it's taken me about 3 or 4 weeks to get to this point. I can go back and forth from one end of the pool to the other just stroking (?) my arms and kicking and keeping my face under and holding my breath. Then when I run out of breath I break form and doggie paddle until I'm ready to "swim" again. I can doggie paddle like a madwoman. I could totally do that for half a mile. And kick all those freestylers' butts. They'll come up to take their precious breaths and gulp down the water from my speed trail since I'd be way ahead of them. And laughing as I doggie paddle my way to the finish line. Because I could.

But this brings up another point. I have this horrible fear of being in non-chlorinated water. I don't like the idea of the possibility that a fish or some other water creature could come up to me and touch me. I'm getting chills just thinking about it. And I'm terrified I'll step on an eel or a turtle or something.

And I'm not just talking about murky swamp water. I'm talking ANY water that is not enclosed in concrete and smelling like bleach. Or in my bath tub. We went to Aruba for our honeymoon. The water there is GORGEOUS. Clear as day. And we went on this adventure thing where we ended up on the beach (big surprise there!) with snorkels. I put my snorkel on and plunged in. It was really cool to see everything under the water. And the water was so clear I could see everything. And as I'm taking in this beautiful scenery, this huge fish swims by about 2 inches from my face. I freaked out, remembered where I was and ran out. I never went back in.

I don't know where this fear comes from. I was stung 3 times on my arm by a jellyfish once. And instead of feeling sorry for me, my father thought it was appropriate to take countless pictures of me as I had my arm treated in the first aid station. Maybe that scarred me. That was my first beach experience, at least that I can remember.

Wait, I had a point.

Yeah, so once I get the whole 'breathing while swimming without swallowing toxic amounts of water' thing down, I'll have to figure out how I'm going to compete in a triathlon involving immersing myself in yucky non-pool water.
That will be an interesting series of postings, so keep an eye out for that!

Scary

Because I have no one else to share this with right now, on the blog it goes!

It's 7:20pm and I'm at work. My fitness center closes in 10 minutes.

Some deranged crazy-looking lady just came charging in and sat herself down on the leg press and started going to town on it. In her dress and Birkenstocks.

Technically I think this is against the rules.

I'm pretty sure it says somewhere that she's supposed to be wearing sneakers. Or at least closed-toe shoes.

But did I mention she's very scary? I'm fearing for my life right now and am terrified to say something to her.

I think the rules also mention something about working out in workout clothes and not dresses.

And I think they say something about coming in when I'm trying to leave. Or at least they should.

If there's not a post tomorrow, please call the police.

Help.

I Hate Mondays

I hate Mondays. I know a lot of people claim to hate Mondays. But I really hate Mondays.

Mondays are my late day at work. Sometimes that means I work 10am-6pm and sometimes that means I work 11:30am-7:30pm. Today is a 7:30pm day. I hate those.

You would think that waking up at 9am would give me plenty of time to get my act together and put in my mileage on the treadmill and shower and get to work on time at a leisurely pace. Not me. For some reason, I run late every single Monday. And I still never accomplish anything before I go! This morning, for example, all I did was fold some laundry. Just fold it. I didn't even have time to put it away. I didn't have time to run. And I still ran late. I don't get it.

So then I'm driving in to work and I'm sitting there in a line of cars at a red light, waiting to turn right. I look in my rearview mirror and there's this huge blue SUV thing parked in my back seat. I used to work for an insurance company, and I've heard enough claims where people are sitting innocently at a red light and someone plows into one car, which is then pushed into the one in front of it, which is in turn pushed into the car in front of it, and so on and so forth until it's a huge mess and no one knows who started the whole thing.

I inch forward and the guy follows me. Like he couldn't bear to have more than a quarter inch space between us. I'm eyeing him through my mirror to see if I did something to piss him off and this is his method of revenge. I actually have to hunch down to see him, that's how close he is. And no he's not pissed, he's sitting there happily picking his nose. This is not a 5-year old driving the SUV, by the way, it's a grown man. Just in case you were wondering.

I keep inching forward and he keeps his front bumper right on my rear one. I'm getting more and more uncomfortable with this situation. And I'm curious as to where he's going to put his booger. So when I can't possibly go any farther forward without parking myself in the back seat of the car in front of me, I actually turn around in my seat and glare at this guy.

I don't do this very often while driving. In fact, usually I avoid all eye contact because I have this strange fear of getting shot. Call me crazy, but there are some freaky people out there and you never know who might be carrying. I don't like to take any chances.

He gets the message and backs off, I make my turn and it's all good. And now I can continue with hating that today is Monday.

Oh, and he just kind of rubbed his fingers together to get rid of the booger. Because I know you were curious too.

Notes from the Weekend:

-On Saturday I saw a 300+ lb lady at the pool. This in and of itself is not notable. However, this particular 300+ lb lady was wearing. A. Bikini. Enough said.

-I can see how some people may think putting a sweater on a dog is cute. But it's downright cruel when it's 90 degrees and sunny outside and you're bringing the dog for a walk.

-Frozen peas are seldom given the credit they deserve.

-When you're in the grocery store and some old woman passes gas next to you and your toddler yells out "Mommy, she tooted!" at the top of her lungs, yeah, it's as embarrassing as it sounds.

-When a two-year old gets really excited and lifts her skirt up to her chin in a crowded room, it's cute. When she tries to do that to her 29-year old mother...not so cute.

-Despite moments like those, this is just about the cutest thing ever:

The Wedding Party: Recap

Tonight we went to the wedding party. It was a nice sentiment. Basically there were about a million people stuffed into three rooms at the MD Historical Society Something or Other. And in the middle of the three rooms was a huge table with fruit and crab dip. There were several people that we knew- mostly fellow musicians that the man knew better than I did. I was introduced to the bride and I must admit that she didn't do a great job of hiding her lack of enthusiasm for meeting me. No worries, though, the feeling was mutual.

All modesty aside, I must say that I looked pretty good tonight. I don't say that very often about myself, mind you. The funny thing was that I was a complete disaster. But for some reason it worked.

I never dress up anymore. I'm a total T-shirt and jeans kind of girl who now, because of my line of work, is more of a T-shirt and sweats kind of girl. I never blow dry my hair, wear makeup, accessorize or primp. I don't even own a pair of real high heels- I only own a few heeled boots and some wedge sandals. So when the day before this wedding party I realized I had no clue what to wear, I panicked ever so slightly.

But a trip to Kohl's (my bff) produced this:

It fit beautifully. I'm not very tall, and this dress came down to just below my knee, which is usually not very flattering for me because I have big calves. But something about this dress worked. It wasn't too tight anywhere, and it wasn't too big anywhere. I couldn't find any flaws in it...and I'm very hard on myself!

So what people couldn't tell about me and this dress: First, I couldn't figure out how the tie worked. I've had dresses that tie in the back before but something was different about this one. It looked like it tied in the front so that's how I wore it. The tie was really long and it kept getting all caught up in my legs when I sat down. Then when I just looked up the dress to get the photo for this post, I saw that it should have been in the back. Oh well. Secondly, this is what I was wearing underneath it:

Didn't quite go with the look I was going for but boy were they comfortable!

With a quick glance, one might not have been able to tell that my earrings were little butterflies. Not really my first choice but they were the only pair that I could find both earrings to.

You couldn't tell unless you put your face right up into mine (which thankfully no one did) that there was an angry red hash mark over each eye- the result of an overzealous aesthetician ripping my eyebrows out of my head just a little too harshly on Friday. Or that, around my hairline in the front, there was what looked like a snowstorm of dandruff, but in reality was dried up gel that I didn't work in enough. When I got home, I found some dried up gel or shampoo in on of my ears, as well.

But I swear I looked good! I don't know how it happens, but I actually clean up ok!

SB the Bully.....I Mean Coward

We used to take SB to Gymboree. We stopped taking her because she would tard-fit all the time and bully the other kids. She can get very bossy and possessive at times (she takes after her father). And she's always loud. Some little kid would be trying to climb a ladder and she would say "No that's MY turn" and push the kid aside. Of course we would do everything in our power to make her apologize to the kid and understand the concept of sharing blah blah blah. Because we are good parents.

But yesterday at the playground something hilarious happened that showed us she's not as much a bully as we thought.

She saw a vacant steering wheel and ran to it. There was a little boy around her age standing at another steering wheel right next to the one SB claimed. SB started steering her wheel and the little boy saw her, and, apparently not wanting her to participate, grunted out something that sounded like "Naaaaaaawwwwww".

To which SB promptly replied "OK" and walked away.

WTF?!?!?!?! I didn't raise no pansy! I immediately turned her around and told her they can both steer their wheels. Then I hid around the corner and laughed my head off.

Wedding Party

Tonight we are going to a wedding party. It's not a wedding; the bride and groom will have already been married. And it's not just a party because it's in honor of their marriage.

I always find it interesting when people do this. It's almost like saying, "you weren't important enough for us to invite you to our actual ceremony, which is the most significant part of a wedding, but we still want gifts from you and we still want you to acknowledge our marriage so we're inviting you to this party." Nice.

In all fairness to this couple, I don't know the situation surrounding their actual wedding. I don't know if it's only open to family or if they're tying the knot in a courtroom with just the justice of the peace present or what. But my opinion is that if I'm not important enough to be at your actual wedding (meaning the ceremony) then I don't really want to be part of anything wedding-related. Is that snobby?

My husband has a lot of friends. He came to Baltimore about 20 years ago to go to school for music, and has been here ever since, accumulating many contacts, friends and acquaintances along the way. And he is in touch fairly regularly with most of them. That's a lot of people. It was very difficult for us to decide where to draw the line with who to invite to our wedding, and we had about 200-250 guests I think. There are a lot of politics involved. If we invite one person from a certain clique, then will the other people in that clique be offended? Do we care if they are offended? And it doesn't help that weddings can be very expensive, and the more people you invite, the more expensive they are. But we were very careful to not rub our wedding in the faces of those who didn't make the cut. And we certainly didn't expect gifts from those who weren't invited!

So I know nothing about this wedding party tonight. I don't really know the place where it's being held, I don't know how to dress, I don't know what to expect at all. I have a dress that I'm planning to wear- if I'm overdressed somewhat I guess it won't be the end of the world. Better than being underdressed I guess. In terms of a gift, we're giving them money since we don't know where they're registered- or if they were at all. And we're giving them half of what we usually give at weddings. Since we weren't invited to the ceremony.

And did I mention that I've known the groom for about 10 years now but I've never met the bride? The groom is a musician who plays with the man quite frequently. I've never seen the bride at any of the gigs. This guy also plays with other bands, so I'm not saying she never attends any of his jobs. Just not the ones I've been on. I actually make fun of the groom whenever I see him, asking him if he's sure he's not just making her up. If I don't see her tonight.......

The Proof is In the Chili

I don't cook, I defrost. That was my motto for many years. Going from being a college student living on her own to being in a relationship with a musician, I've never really had to cook. TB and I rarely sit down together for meals during the week. In fact, we never do. I'm at work for breakfast and lunch, and he's at work for dinner. So we just fend for ourselves.

I thought having a child would change this, but she has absolutely no interest in what we're eating, she lives in her own little food world. She eats great for a toddler- she likes fruit, yogurt, potatoes, cottage cheese, cereal, spaghetti- all sorts of stuff other than the usual pizza, macaroni and cheese, and fries they're supposed to like at this age. So I'm still just cooking for one.

I don't eat poorly, necessarily. Sure there are the days when I have cookies for breakfast, a South Beach Bar for lunch and a pickle sandwich for dinner. But those aren't the norm. I get my breakfasts at work, my lunches usually don't require any cooking, and dinners are usually frozen chicken, frozen veggies, and sometimes a baked sweet potato if I'm feeling adventurous. Now, one would think that with this diet I'd be completely emaciated. Don't let me fool you, there are plenty of snacks in between that also don't require cooking. And I take full advantage of those. So I get my calories in. I just don't cook.

BUT I decided I needed to start eating more wholesomely. I've been getting a lot of headaches lately, been very lethargic, my workouts have been suffering for the past year or so, and I've just had this all-around feeling of poo-ness. So I vowed to cook more, which would allow me to choose less-processed, healthier foods.

I told some people of my plan and I won't lie, I was laughed at. Apparently people don't think I can cook. Sure I might have a reputation of dropping a can of soup into a batch of brownies that were cooling in the pan. Yeah, I might have substituted peanut oil for vegetable oil once when making carrot cake. It seemed totally reasonable, how was I supposed to know it would make the carrot cake stink? I've frosted my share of cakes prematurely, burnt my share of muffins and produced banana bread that was burnt on the edges yet completely liquid in the center. SO WHAT? That was all baking. OK I'll admit, I have a bad history with baking. But I'm talking about cooking now. HUGE difference.

And just to prove that I can cook, here's what I produced last night:

Chili. With beans and onions and sauce and beef and everything. OK I'll admit this photo does not do it justice. I didn't have it for dinner last night so I just dumped it into the Tupperware container. I'm not a huge chili fan but I got the beef and I didn't really know what else to do with it, but mmmmmm, it was GOOD!

And then I made this:

Baked Italian chicken with boiled zucchini and a baked sweet potato with just a leeeetle pat of butter. Yummy. That was dinner. Yes I know the chicken looks kind of raw, but it was actually perfect. I tend to overcook my chicken so it ends up a little on the dry side, but this....this was perfect.

Tonight I have plans to go out to dinner with a friend but before that I'm going to cook up some more chicken and make some healthy chicken salad for lunches over the weekend.

See? I can cook!

Where Did the Money Go?

I just finished running a few minutes ago. While I was running, a thought occurred to me. I took a paycut when I accepted my current job. The highest salary I ever earned was while I was working at a hospital, just before I had SB. I worked there for a year, almost to the day. If I hadn't quit, and I received a modest salary increase every year (I calculated 5% per year to be safe), then I would be making nearly $20,000 per year more than I make now. I spent the last 10 minutes just staring at the calculator. $20,000 is almost an entire salary in and of itself. It's almost like we would have a little high school grad in an entry-level job working and forking over the majority of his paycheck to us.

$20,000.

I try not to live in the past but WHAT THE HELL WAS I THINKING?????? Why did I leave that job? What was I smoking and why didn't someone intervene??? I left that job 3 years ago. That's almost $60,000 that I would have that I don't. That's SB's college education right there. Thanks to me, she's not going to college now. Is that how much college costs these days? Probably more. Who knows.

$20,000.

I once had a goal to make more than the decade of my age. So, when I was in my 20's, my goal was to make in the $30,000's. Then when I was in my 30's, I was supposed to be making more than $40,000 and so on. I far exceeded that in my early 20's (what can I say, it was an easy goal). Now I fear that with my salary regression, I'll be making something in the teens by the time I reach my 30's!

$20,000!

Despite this cut in pay, I was feeling pretty good about my salary. Who in life seriously feels that they earn what they deserve? Very few, I'm sure. But I felt I was doing ok. My job has a lot of perks, like proximity to my house, flexible hours, etc., which was my justification for taking it in the first place. But now I'm not feeling so good about it anymore. I feel my salary is more than adequate for what I do. I am basically an administrative professional who wears sweats and teaches an aerobics class here and there. My job is cake. But I have the capacity and the desire to do more. And earn more. And feel better.

$20,000.

Nothing depresses me as much as money and politics. And cruelty to animals. And people. (Cruelty to people, that is; although people in general sometimes depress me too.) So on that note I'm off to complete the rest of my to-do list.

$20,000.....

Quite Alarming!

Today is going to become a very busy day very soon. It's 2:30pm now and I'm waiting for SB to wake up from her nap. Then I have to get the following accomplished before bedtime: fold and put away laundry, run, lift some weights (I overslept this morning- but that's a post in and of itself!), cook all the raw chicken and raw beef I have sitting in my fridge since I vowed I'd start cooking more, teach a 12-year old how to play piano, pick up the pool passes from my brother so my mother gets off my back about getting them, make a Pro/Con list about my current job, make a Pro/Con list about my current field, pick up a birthday card for a co-worker, and feed myself and SB.

When did my life get so complicated? I never needed to do lists before! So yeah, I'm not looking forward to this piano lesson. I've been teaching the kid for a little over 3 years now, and he's a really nice kid and really smart, but he practices maybe one week in 10. So for 90% of the lessons I basically get paid to sit through a practice session with him. Boring, and frustrating! Plus they cancel all the time, and when the weather's nice like it's been lately, I hate being stuck around the house waiting for them. I've told them that he's getting to the point where he might benefit from another teacher who is more advanced, and who has more teaching experience than I do. But I think the mother just likes playing with SB while the kid's in the lesson so they just keep coming back! Personally I think it's a waste of their money.

So funny story about this morning. I set my alarm for 4:30am. I decided to ease up on the cardio and focus on strength training this week. So the plan was to get up at 4:30, get to work at 5 and lift weights for the hour or so before the gym officially opens. At 4:30am, I hear the alarm. I sit up and hit the snooze button on the alarm clock but nothing happens. I hit it again....and again....and again and the noise is still going on. So I'm sitting up at this point, frantically hitting every single button on my alarm clock repeatedly, wondering why it's not shutting off. My husband sits up and asks me what I'm doing. I tell him I'm trying to turn off the alarm but it doesn't seem to be working. He turns around and goes back to sleep. I keep hitting every button and switching every switch until finally the noise stops. I lay back down, only to hear it go off again in 5 minutes.

This time, when I get up, I realize that it's my cell phone buzzing away on my nightstand. About two inches away from the alarm clock I had just been beating up. I switched the cell phone off and got up, and went on with my day.

Here's why this is a funny story: I never set my alarm clock. I don't even think it has the correct time on it. I always set my cell phone alarm to wake me up since the buzz doesn't wake anyone else up. I don't know why this morning I thought I set it. And I didn't even give the whole frantic alarm clock beating a second thought until later in the day.

So later on my husband calls me at work and asks me if I ever figured out that my phone was going off and not the alarm. He said he woke up and saw me hacking away at the clock and thought, what is she doing, she never sets her alarm clock but WENT BACK TO SLEEP while I sat there pounding away at the clock! I asked him why he didn't say anything, and he answered that I tend to be very cranky in the mornings. Nice.

Korotkoff Crap

I don't have much to say today. I spent most of the day at a focus group hosted by Towson University. They are hoping to revamp their exercise science curriculum and wanted the advice of professionals in the various fields that the exercise science majors go on into. Officially I was representing the company I work for. Unofficially, I was there to put in my two cents, based on my experiences working in the many "fitness/exercise" jobs I have held. I'm kind of a job whore I guess. In the few years since I earned my degree in exercise science, I've been a personal trainer for a private studio, personal trainer for a large chain, fitness instructor at a hospital fitness center, clinical exercise physiologist working primarily in all phases of cardiac rehab but also contributing to medical fitness, weight management, bariatric surgery candidates, senior center fitness center director, group exercise instructor to seniors, conductor of maximal and submaximal graded exercise tests for a local college, and finally assistant program director in corporate fitness center with high importance placed on group exercise instruction and internet surfing.

Yeah. I get around. Anyway, the reason that I went into all that is to back up my declaration that I have something to say. A lot of the discussion at this focus group was based around the internship that the students must do before earning their degree. I have been in their shoes and really hoped to use my (horrible) internship experience to help the interns that I work with throughout my career. Don't get me wrong- the discussion was very interesting. But there were a few people who I felt took over the entire discussion and made it their own.

I wanted very badly to say this the entire time, but couldn't justify it as more than mere bitching. So I decided to bring it here. I mentioned in an earlier post the games I like to play while at work. I have another. It's called "Let's see if this student/intern/fitness professional knows what he/she is listening to when taking a blood pressure." I used to work for Towson University by staffing a Baltimore County Senior Center fitness center. Every semester, students from the TU Exercise Science Practicum class would rotate through the different centers to get hands on experience. I asked each and every student while taking a blood pressure to describe to me what they were listening to. I don't think a single one could explain it. More often than not, they would guess they were listening to the heart beat. My response to that is, your heart is in your arm?

Why why why why why would they learn how to take blood pressure, and knowing that it's such an important measure for fitness professionals, not even bother to understand what they're listening to? What do those numbers mean? Yeah, we all know 115/75 is great, anything below that to a certain point is better, and the higher it gets, the more alarming. Some of these students didn't even know that the sounds they're listening to are called Korotkoff sounds. They are NOT the beating of the heart, but the sound of the blood bouncing off the walls of the vessels as the constriction caused by the inflated cuff is lifted.

You better believe that each student that passed through my center was able to explain this, as well as other basic occurrences common in the fitness industry.

So the best part of the focus group was that I kind of got called out for being there. My director knew about it, but one of the partners in my company heard I was there and asked about what hours I worked today. I'm not sure if she thought I was trying to get paid for going to this even though I was representing her company? Even though it was a work-related function I still made up the hours that I missed at the center so I'm not sure why it was a big deal.

Well, after a day of discussion and an evening of driving and pretending I know how to swim, I have a headache and I'm beat. I'm going to bed.

The Power of the Mind

Well, the trip to the MIL's went ok! It's amazing what a little positive thinking (and a lot of vodka) can do for perspective! The trip started off rocky. I got horrible carsickness. I actually snapped at SB a couple of times because she got really loud and I felt like the world was coming to an end. Usually when I get carsick I blame it on the man's driving. But this time, I think it was actually me. So we stopped and got some Dramamine. I hate taking medications, so you know if I gave in to the pill, it was serious. TB was very nice and tried to open the little package for me. It was the kind that has the little notch in the side, and by tearing at the notch you rip both the foil and the plastic. After about 5 minutes of waiting nicely and asking him to let me try, I grew impatient and took another one out of the packet and opened it. He got mad that now there was one all by itself- they were expensive so I better not lose it. My perception? He was mad it took me less time to open than him. So I didn't get mad at his frustration. Besides, I used the single on on the way back home the next day.

The meds made me drowsy. But pretty soon we were driving in this, and that kept me up. It was crazy, cars were pulled over to the side of the road for miles. This shot was taken (brilliantly) while the wipers were on full blast. We plunged through. My husband happens to be a weathergeek and knew that the band was going in the same direction that we were. So if we pulled over, then we'd just be following the storm. Or something like that. I wasn't really listening.

So we got to the MIL's around 7pm. This was good since there's nothing to do there and she doesn't have air conditioning. The rest of the weekend was actually fun. We went to the park in the morning and met up with my brother-in-law and his kids. Then we all went back to the MIL's where she put out the little pool and the kids splashed around while the adults watched and ate pizza and cake. Then we headed home where we napped before I mowed the lawn. Thrilling, eh?

The other interesting thing about this weekend is that I didn't work out at all. Yes, I took the weekend off. And I feel miserable. But my runs were regressing and my body was revolting so I decided I needed to hit the reset button. I don't really feel energized and refreshed today. In fact, I'm kind of tired and burnt out from the weekend. But this weekend taught me a lot about the power of positive thinking.

(insert feeble attempt at introspection and achieving new depth...HERE)

It's interesting how, when I see the MIL in my mind as an irritating control freak who thinks she knows better than I do about everything, that's how she acts. Yet when I see her as a loving grandmother who adores her granddaughter and wants to be part of the family, OMG- that's what she is. And when I see my husband as an irritating nerd who wants to bear Tiger Woods' children and nag me until I break, that's what he is. But when I look at him as a wonderful smart caring husband who unselfishly puts his family first and always does the right thing...lo and behold! That's what he is!

So then I think about my friends. And how much how I see them in my mind can alter my opinion of them. I have been disappointed by so many friends throughout my life. I'm sure that some of the times, they have been bad friends. But I think that some of the times, I just built them so high up in my mind that they failed to meet my expectations and that disappointed me. So now I'm going through life trying to look at my relationships very objectively so I'm not misled by high hopes.

Dead Bugs and Ninjas

I play many games to help pass the time and make things more interesting at work. One of my favorites is "Guess How Many Minutes Late Kyle Will Be Today." Usually you're safe if you stay within the 5-7 range.

I have a new game. I'm calling it "Let's See How Long it Takes for the Cleaning Crew to Vacuum up this Dead Bug That's Been Here for About 3 Weeks Now." Here's the bug:

On Thursday it was still in one piece. I guess someone stepped on it between then and now. My guess is that now it's even less likely to get vacuumed up. I'll keep you posted. Since I know you'll be wondering. You know you will.

I get a lot of complaints about the cleaning crew here. Apparently the mirrors are always nasty, the floor in the group exercise room is always filthy, and the showers are hellacious. I'm not sure what this cleaning crew actually cleans, since they're not supposed to touch the equipment. I came in one morning and found a walkie talkie on one of the treadmills. I called security, figuring it was one of theirs. The security guy (I don't know his official title) came in and got a piece of paper and actually started interviewing me about this Walkie Talkie.

Security Guy: What time did you come in this morning?

Me: A few minutes before 6.

Security Guy: Where was the walkie talkie?

Me: On that treadmill over there.

Security Guy: Was anything else out of place?

Me: No.

Security Guy: Where on the treadmill was it?

Me: (Seriously??) On the bottom next to the belt.

Security Guy: Was the treadmill on or off?

Me: I think it was off.

That's it. He was acting like a serious federal offense had just been committed. I kept asking if it was a security guard's walkie talkie. I was picturing someone in here making the rounds when all of a sudden a masked ninja jumps out from behind the rowing machine and tackles the security guard to the ground. The security guard attempts to call for help but the ninja rips the walkie talkie from his hand and throws it out of reach. The ninja swiftly kills the guard with a sword hand to the jugular, devours his remains then leaps out of the fitness center to report success to the mack daddy ninja and celebrate with a milkshake, stupidly leaving behind the forgotten walkie talkie as evidence of his existence. Security Guy eventually told me it's more likely someone on the cleaning crew left it. BORING! I was kind of disappointed in the lack of excitement his scenario offered. I liked my version much better.

Yet Another Saturday at Work

Today was my company's 5k race here on the campus. I didn't run it. Partially because I was working and partially because I didn't want to embarass myself since my runs have been pathetic at best lately. But I did go out and watch the start of the race. And I even got a photo:

I think the winner ran it in around 17 minutes. I didn't bother going out to see the runners cross the finish line...it's too hot and I'm hungry.

I just reviewed my husband's playing schedule and there's only one more gig in June that I can attend. Fortunately, things pick up somewhat in July and August so hopefully I'll have tons of stuff to write about. Until then you're just going to have to suffer through the other things going on in my life.

Hopefully you've noticed that my blog is getting prettier. You can thank these endless Saturdays at work, because I am waaaay too lazy to do this any other time. It's about noon now, and there is NOBODY in here. I'm giving the latecomers about 15 more minutes before I peace out. Then we head to good old PA for the weekend.

A Little Advice

I'm in the unique position at work where, of the three people that staff my fitness center, I'm the only girl. Usually I love this. Personally, I think I get along better with guys anyway, and I like being the only one who can offer classes like step, and so on. I'm a very competitive (read: catty?) person, and being the only girl there takes away a lot of that edge. So usually it's a good thing.

Being the only girl there comes with its advantages and disadvantages. I feel both of my male co-workers are pretty knowledgeable when it comes to general fitness, and I feel they are both pretty approachable, nice guys. Regardless, some girls find that they are more comfortable approaching me with their issues. Just because I'm a girl. I am completely ok with this, don't get me wrong. I think that if I had to have an assessment where my girth measurements are taken, and the person has to pinch the skin above my hip bone in order to get my body fat percentage, there's a very good chance I would prefer a female do that as well.

There's one lady in my gym who always singles me out to ask me questions. And that's fine with me. My beef with her is that she argues my advice. Here's an example. She approached me one day after a step class and asked if step works your calves. Uh...yeah?! My calves were sore for almost an entire week after my first step class...and I'm a runner! She didn't like this. She told me she doesn't want her calves to get bulky. I told her she's probably not genetically engineered to get "bulky" calves and that step's not going to build them up to the point where they're freakishly large, but yes step works pretty much the entire leg.

So then she says again she doesn't want to make her calves big. I wasn't really sure what to say to this, I was feeling like we had just gone through that. I suggested she use only one riser on each side instead of two. She responds that she's not going to get a cardio workout that way. I suggest she discontinue taking step. She said she likes taking it. At this point there was an awkward silence. Am I missing something? Is she expecting me to make it so that step DOESN'T work your calf muscles? Because they didn't teach me that in school. I must have been skipping that day. We had almost the exact same conversation regarding running. Yes, running works your calves. No, there's nothing I can do to help that.

I love helping people out. I feel I can be a good teacher. I'm actually quite patient, and I want my message to get through. If you are willing to learn then I will spend all the time in the world with you so you understand every little iota of information I'm giving out. I will never make you feel stupid for asking and I will never lose my patience with you. But I have no time for the people who ask for my advice then either don't listen or think they know better.

I've had several friends over the years ask me for advice on how to "tone up" or lose weight, or to put an exercise program together for them. I have no problem with this, I like to help my friends out. Some have responded favorably with a sincere thank you and an earnest effort to follow through. Others responded by questioning why I did what I did (which is ok in the right context- I don't blame them for wanting to understand, but the tone of voice that accompanied it didn't really scream desire to learn). Why would you ask me for advice if you don't think I'm qualified enough to know what I'm doing? Were they expecting me to respond by saying "Oh since you're my friend I'll let you in on a little secret- there IS a magic pill! All you have to do is take this twice a day and in a week you'll have 0% body fat and a six-pack and a great healthy tan and good teeth and a full head of hair too! You don't have to work for any of it!"? There are a select few who never even thanked me for the time it took to put their program together, despite several subtle reminders over the course of the 2 days it took me to do it. What the hell? Do they understand that I'm a professional in the field, and that other professionals like myself can charge a significant amount of money for what I just did for them for FREE?

I've worked with doctors, nurses, and physical therapists in the past. The few times I've asked for advice, I listened attentively and followed it. These are people who know what they're doing. I don't have a degree in nursing or PT, or a MD behind my name. Why would I ask them for advice if I wasn't going to believe what they told me? When I was pregnant, I worked in a hospital doing cardiac rehab. During the course of the day I had to visit several units to see my patients. I got plenty of advice that I didn't even ask for! Even then I just listened politely and simply didn't follow it if I didn't agree with it. I never argued with the person giving it to me. What good would that do anyway?

Keep in mind I'm not talking about any type of advice that is life-altering. It's not like I'm telling people to go outside and run 17 miles every day in 100+ degree heat wearing a sweat suit without drinking any water for 2 hours before or after. The advice I'm talking about is related to exercise routines, and there is much variation from trainer to trainer in what a person would get if they asked around. If I heard someone give anyone advice that could potentially hurt them, then I'm the first person who would speak up!

So my advice to you? Keep your mouth shut. If you really want to know what I have to say, then ask me. If you aren't going to like what I tell you, then don't ask me or just thank me for my time and walk away and talk about my ignorance on your own blog.

Super-Productive Day

I realized that many of these posts are not necessarily following the theme of the blog, as one might see it from the title. This summer is actually turning out to be a very slow summer, gig-wise for my husband. Which means less band wife action and more My Life as a Mom, Wife and Fitness Center Person. Perhaps I should change the title again to something like Fitness Diva Extraordinaire....?

Well, unfortunately, this post doesn't really have much to do with anything. This guy was parked next to my front door this morning.

I checked on him just a few minutes ago as I came in from getting the mail and he was still there, only he had moved a few inches to the left and was now upside down.

Today's been one of those days that really could have the potential of being a super-productive day, but I don't really feel like doing anything. There's a mountain of clean laundry that needs to be put away, all of SB's toys are on the floor in the living room right now and all the bathrooms are due for a scrubbing. I could go on forever. But so far today I've accomplished going to the dermatologist, sitting outside while SB frolicked around in her pool, eating inhuman amounts of Froot Loops, taking a nap, researching the mating habits of the praying mantis, and making some cookie dough before deciding I didn't need to be eating all those calories and pouring it down the sink. And I've gotten up from writing this twice to get a bottle of water from the fridge downstairs but I keep getting distracted by useless things (like getting the mail) and I still don't have my water. So I'm parched as I type.

Oh, did I mention that the man is out golfing today? That's his Friday thing. Since I'm off work on Fridays (since I work Saturdays), I stay home with SB and he goes golfing, almost every week. Yeah. Originally, the reason that I'm off every Friday was because the man taught at a local college Friday mornings. But he doesn't do that anymore. So my schedule stayed the same and his now includes a day of golf every week. That's all I'm going to say about that.

I Scream

I spent much of today feeling sorry for myself. I got about a half hour of sleep last night (I think somewhere in the ballpark of 3:30am is when I fell asleep and my alarm clock went off at 4 am). I wanted to go to Frederick to swim laps today since I won't be able to this weekend (I'll be in PA visiting the MIL)so I wanted to get the run out of the way. Especially since I slacked off last night and never got around to running. About 15 minutes into my run I had to stop because I felt like I was going to vomit. I actually wish I had, because then I might not have spent the entire morning feeling ill. I felt a little better after my usual breakfast of eggs and potatoes but then the nausea returned just in time for my step class.

Step class was brutal. This class is not given nearly enough props in the group exercise world. Once you get the moves down and you don't spend any time standing around trying to figure things out, it's a really tough workout. Our group exercise room at work has one wall that is basically all windows and the ventilation in the room is poor, at best. So with the sun pouring in through the windows and the production of body heat rising, it was sweltering in that room. I choreograph my own combos and I get bored staring in the mirror all the time so I make sure people move around a lot. Whenever we were facing the back of the room, and everyone had their backs to me I actually stopped moving and just stood there until they could see me again. And there were only 9 people in the class! That class has over 20 people sometimes!

So as if I wasn't feeling bad enough before class, by the time the step class from hell was over I wanted to curl up into a ball and die. I never throw up. The last time I puked was when I had the flu in 7th grade. I've tried to make myself throw up before when I was feeling sick but I just gag a lot. I have a funny feeling that if I had thrown up today, I would have felt much better. I spent the last half hour of my work day sitting at my desk with my chair pushed back so I could rest my chin on my desk and my monitor tilted down so I didn't have to raise my head to see it, my keyboard in front of me, just emailing random people and feeling very sorry for myself.

I went home and luckily SB was napping so I curled up on the bed and took a snooze myself. After we woke up, SB and I were getting stir crazy so we took a trip to Hunt Valley where the man teaches on Thursday nights and got some pizza and ice cream and brought it to him. Now I'm feeling much better, after a little ice cream, of course- doesn't it cure everything?!

Ms. Personality

Yesterday marked my one year anniversary at my present job. There was a huge party with cake, balloons and streamers. Well, it was more of a somber one-on-one review with my supervisor. I got reviewed by a lot of people. I had to get reviews from three fitness center members, a co-worker, my supervisor and myself. Out of all these people, mine was the worst! So besides discovering that I am very hard on myself, I learned some interesting things about myself.

Apparently, my strongest attribute at this job is my personality. Isn't that supposed to be a bad thing? As in a girl with a good personality is synonymous with dog-faced oinker? Ok, maybe not in a work setting. At least I hope not. While it feels good that these people appreciate my clever wit and stunning character, shouldn't my strongest asset at work be my skill/professionalism? Isn't that what I went to school and gained massive amounts of experience for? Isn't that what I get paid for?

My second biggest asset includes my organizational skills and my ability to meet deadlines. I work in a freakin fitness center. How organized do I have to be? My deadlines consist of a monthly newsletter, put out the first of each month and a monthly group exercise schedule, put out the last week of each month. It's not rocket science. And I missed the June newsletter deadline by about 2 days this month.

The only other interesting thing I got from this review was that one of the members is unsatisfied with the variety of classes I offer and would like me to start teaching a pole dancing class. This was a female member. And keep in mind this is a corporate fitness center. Enough said.

The Cookie Incident

I swore I would never do this, but I admit that I do, on occasion, bribe my daughter with food. The only time I really do this is when I go to Giant. Since my husband and I work opposing shifts, SB is always with me when I run errands, and it's much easier and better for my sanity if she behaves while I'm running them. So whenever I go to Giant, which is about three times per week (no joke), I give her a cookie out of the free sample bin, and if I'm really feeling generous, I'll get one of those big shopping carts with the little car attached and let her pretend she's driving around. I'm not very good at maneuvering those, so that only happens every now and then. But at home she eats pretty well so I'm not too worried about 3 cookies per week.

Well today it took the promise of both a car and a cookie to get her rolling. But they were out of free cookies. Since I am a woman of my word, and I promised SB a cookie, I went to the cookie section of the bakery. My Giant, for some reason, does not believe in selling individual plain cookies. Most of the cookies they sell individually has about 2" of frosting on them. Which is usually not a big deal, but this frosting is hard and messy. So I got the cookie with the least amount of frosting: a gingerbread man. This gingerbread man happened to be wearing an Orioles jersey (made out of a tiny bit of the dreaded frosting). Although I live in Baltimore, I'm not a huge O's fan, but I figured what the heck, SB won't care!

So in addition to being a hypocrite and bribing my daughter with food after I swore I never would, I also happen to be a very ethical person. So to get away with giving my daughter a cookie that I haven't paid for yet, I take a second cookie and put it in a bag and then when I go through the self-checkout lane like I always do because I am a glutton for punishment, I ring it up as 2 cookies. Overkill? Maybe. But that makes giving her the not-yet-paid-for cookie ok in my eyes.

SB oohs and aahs over her cookie but doesn't eat it. She is obviously nothing like her mother. So by the time I pay for all the groceries, pack them away in the truck, return the megacart and get SB strapped in, it still hasn't been touched. By this time it's close to 6pm and all I've eaten since noonish is a handful of Froot Loops. I'm starving. So I take a bite of the cookie. In case you were wondering, I ate a foot. SB sees this and starts BAWLING. By this time I'm driving away from Giant and she is absolutely inconsolable. For some reason, my starving nutrient-deprived brain thought that an appropriate response to her crying is to try to comfort her by saying "it's ok, he has another foot." Apparently this was not an effective method of consoling her.

She cries the entire way home. She cries as she gets out of the truck. She cries as she walks up the steps to the house. Finally once we get inside the door, I root through the bags and find the other Oriole. I give this to her and she stops crying! Great!

Oh but it doesn't end there. Our dog, a chocolate lab, decides to investigate what SB is holding and actually knocks the intact Oriole to the ground. Where he breaks in half. Actually he broke in half and lost a foot at the same time. The three of us stare at the poor guy for a full minute before I grab him and give him to SB with the cheeriest "OK, here's your cookie" I can muster up. You know how they say that when a kid falls, she doesn't really know how to act, so chances are if you act like it's not a big deal, they won't cry? That doesn't work on a 2-1/2 year old with broken cookies. She started crying harder than before, if that was even possible.

So I give her the first Oriole with the missing foot and the second Oriole, all in a pile with the severed limbs. This does not make her happy. I run around the house like a chicken with its head cut off looking for something- anything to make her happy. At this point, I'd buy her a pony if a salesman showed up at my door. Finally I spotted a bag of M&Ms on the counter and poured some out for her. The waterworks stopped. More bribery with food? Yes....but maybe she is like her mom, after all!

Fried Eggs

According to our pediatrician, toddlers go through what is known as "streaking" meaning they will almost only eat one particular food or kind of food for a while, then move on to another food and only eat that for a while. I'm 29 and I'm a total streaker. I have gone through the strangest food fads, including but not limited to: Trix yogurt (omg I was bouncing off the walls from so much sugar!), oranges, toasted cheese and pickle sandwiches, potato rolls with mayo, tomato, pickles and onions (this is when I was a vegetarian), and soy chips. My newest edible obsession? Eggs. Specifically fried. I don't know how one is really supposed to fix a fried egg. I just spray some nonstick crap onto a pan over high heat and break the egg open, pour it in and mush everything up. It's not scrambled because I mush it up into a big round flat clump, as seen below.

This, on top of a piece of toast, next to a mound of steamed veggies, has been my weekday dinner for the past 2 weeks. And I actually find myself looking forward to it. I'm bummed because right now we're out of bread. I actually stole my husband's last piece of rye (I don't even like rye!) so I could get my egg fix last night. But I might actually make a trip to the grocery store before dinnertime just to get some. That's how horny I am for this fried egg on toast dinner.
What's really funny about this new love interest, well funny to me at least, is that every morning I mosey on down to the cafeteria at work and have 2 scrambled eggs with my breakfast. I was actually challenged today by someone at work asking me what my cholesterol was, after hearing of my daily three-egg habit. Proudly, I countered that it's 142, as of maybe 2 months ago. Considering that I had a serious cholesterol issue as a kid and went on a no-nonsense diet administered by my mother in an effort to keep me off medication, hopefully I won't be eating my words soon. But I'm sure the fad won't last long enough to have an effect on my cholesterol.

Terrible Tuesday

It's a little past 8am and so far today's already been crappy. Lately I've been having problems sleeping on Monday nights. I don't know what the deal is. I'm always tired in the evenings and I rarely do caffiene. Yet I toss and turn every single Monday night until about 2 or 3am. It's absolutely ridiculous because I get up at 4am to run! Last night I seriously considered just staying up the entire night and running at 3am then taking a long shower before work but I knew I'd be worthless if I did that. So right now I'm running on about 2 hours' sleep. I already taught a class and it seemed lame. No one seemed to be getting a good workout.

I'm also in a really bad mood because I thought my husband had put a load of laundry in for me yesterday so I didn't put any clothes out for today. Well, turns out he did put the clothes in the laundry machine. And they were still sitting there this morning when I woke up. He never put them in the dryer. What pisses me off is that if I had thought about checking last night like I should have, then I could have easily put the clothes in the dryer some time between 1am and 3am, when I was roaming aimlessly around the basement. So I had nothing to wear today. I had to rummage around and use socks and underwear that I keep in my gym bag "just in case", find a pair of pants that were clean but for some reason taken up residence in my husband's office for the past 2 months, and the same shirt as I wore yesterday. I only wore it for a few hours.

Your Kid Plays With That?

I am completely obsessed with my cell phone which, like most new cell phones, has a camera. So you will probably see more photos and videos on this blog than you could ever want to.

Below is footage of my daughter's Tickle Me Elmo. Boy, whatever he's doing, he's having a good time with it! Maybe I have a really immature dirty mind, but I can't believe this got past all the focus groups and testers. And I can't believe people don't think this is an odd toy to give to their kids.

I Had an Affair With Bill Clinton

Well not really but I didn't want to be left out. But I did receive a letter from George Bush once. George H. Bush, that is. I had a fairly uneventful day today. The only semi exciting thing that happened was that I ran into a friend who happens to work at a satellite-type location of the company whose fitness center I staff. I was coming back from getting lunch and I ran into him on his way to security so I decided to tag along. Because I was at work which means what else did I have going on? I have the most boring job in the world. Anyway so I went to the security office to find out that the guy in security totally stalks me by watching me go around campus on the security cameras. Besides creeping me out a little it made me wonder how many times I have picked wedgies or smelled my armpits or whatever other things I do when I think no one's looking. The funny thing is that he admitted that the only place I ever go is to the cafeteria. Usually twice a day, but sometimes as much as 4 times in a day! Wow, I have quite the reputation among security guards. Whatever, they all adore me. I think he's seen me running around the campus too, which is a little unnerving.

Speaking of security cameras and boring jobs, I used to work nights in an emergency room and when it was slow we used to entertain ourselves by watching the footage from the surveillance cameras in the psych ward of the ER. They were always doing something interesting in there. Defecating on their hands and smearing it on the walls, taking all their clothes off and uh, pleasing themselves in plain view, having conversations with their hands, yelling at the cameras. I wish they would install cameras here so I can watch them during the down time at work. Although I'm sure it would be nowhere near as exciting as in the ER.

Pet Peeve

We went out to dinner tonight and while we were waiting for our food, this caught my attention:

Once you get past the blinding light, and then the fact that it looks like the lady's naked, it's not a great shot (I took about 4 and this was the best of the bunch) but it's a family (I assume) of three. What I assume are the parents are sitting with their backs to me, and you can see the baseball cap of the 9 or 10 year old assumed son just over the shoulder of the assumed father. What you can't really make out from this photo is that both "parents" are talking on their cell phones. The "mother" has hers up to her right ear and the "father" has his up to his left. The "son" is being completely ignored while both parents carry on their separate conversations. This went on for about 20 minutes. At least.

While I would not like to live in a world without my cell phone, and I do admit to carrying on conversations while I'm with SB (mostly because the only time I'm not with her is while I'm at work), I don't go this far. And both the man and I have more respect for our family than to carry on a personal conversation with someone else during a family meal. Especially at the same time as the other. I mean what could be going on in their lives that is so important that they each need to be holding their own private conversation with someone other than their family right at that moment that they're out to dinner? I seriously wondered for a minute if they were actually talking to each other. When I first noticed them, the "father" was at the fixins bar (we were at Fuddruckers) and my first inclination was that he was talking with someone sitting at the table, receiving directions on what to put on their burger. I actually thought that was quite clever. Then he came and sat down right in front of me and I realized that was not the case.

I mentioned this to my husband, mostly in the form of yelling at him to get out of my shot as I tried to capture this on my own cell, and his response was that this is what society is turning into. What a shame......

The Life of a Band Wife...Part 1

This is the kind of thing I see at gigs. This is actually quite tame. I wasn't even there for this one- I had to stay home and tend to my sick child so my husband shot the pic from stage and sent it to me to show me what I wasn't missing. He was playing at the Bay Cafe, which is an outdoor bar with sand and palm trees right on the water in Canton. It's actually a really cool place, and I enjoy going there when the weather's nice. The crowd can get rowdy there but that makes it more interesting sometimes.

This woman usually shows up in biker shorts and heels. She comes with her husband to the majority of my husband's gigs and dances (it's not my husband who she follows, it's one of the bands he plays with). Apparently she dressed up for this particular occasion. Her dance moves are very interesting. In fact, I have a video below that I shot of her grinding into her husband at a book festival. May I remind you that there were children present- particularly my own! They were dancing to Big Chief by Professor Longhair- in the video the music is kind of distorted. I like how he kind of shoves her away at the end.

I'm sure she's a very nice lady but it's a little scary to see a sixty-something year old woman spread her legs and jump up into her partner's arms before jumping back down. I'll have to get a shot of that one day to show you what I mean. I actually think this lady deserves some props. I hope I'm dancing in a miniskirt in public when I'm her age. Regardless of how it looks, it's entertaining to watch.

Triathlon Training

I'd like to complete a triathlon. Not an entire one that ends with 26.2 miles of marathon hell, but one of those mini ones that ends with a 5k or a 10k or whatever. Can you tell I've done the research? I'm not expecting to win it, and I'm not planning on doing it until maybe next spring. I'll be excited if I get as far as finding one and registering for it. Here's why I don't have very high hopes:

I tend to do things half-assed. I get really excited about things and go full-force for a little while, then completely lose interest, give up and move on to something else. I was really worried that would be the case with my master's degree- I went full-time for 2 semesters the overloaded the third just so I wouldn't lose momentum. Then came time for my thesis and it went to the back burner because that's when I became pregnant. Finally when my daughter was almost 1 I went back and took the comps instead of finishing my thesis, at the suggestion of my department head. Good thing, too, or I'd probably still be ABD!

I don't own a bike. And I loathe stationary cycles. So the chances of my training on a bike are nil until I get one. I've received the necessary approval from my husband to get one and I have some friends who have some valuable input on what kind to get, etc. But it will probably be closer to the end of the summer before I get one. Then I have to decide whether to get a helmet, because I think for adults they're optional. I should look into that. The other problem with this is that I can't ride around town while I"m supposed to be watching SB. I tried to convince my husband to get a baby seat for the bike, but hence my earlier post about me being a complete klutz, he had a pretty good argument against it. It went something like "if you can't even walk on the treadmill without falling, how do you expect to ride a bike with our daughter on it?"

I can't freestyle very well. I think I mentioned in an earlier post that I tend to breathe in while my head is down in the water. This is not very efficient as it tends to fill my lungs up with water, usually chlorinated. So I'm actually headed out to Frederick today to drop SB off at my mom's and spend some time in the lap lane with my husband working on my mad swimming skills.

So I'll keep you posted on my progress. Hopefully by this time next year I'll have that under my belt and I can move on to the next thing....half marathon? Marathon? Ironman?

Workers Comp?

This was the beginning of a horrible burn/bruise that resulted from me falling while on the treadmill. The worst part is that I didn't fall because I was pushing myself to such limits that I became faint or weak and lost my balance. I was actually stepping back onto the treadmill after a drink break and forgot that I had left the treadmill running and stepped right onto what I thought was a still belt. It was actually a belt that was moving at about 6.5 mph. As you can probably guess, my feet were whipped out from under me and thank goodness I landed on my arm instead of my face. Of course, the first thing I did, after making sure my ipod, which had flown across the room, was not broken, was run upstairs and take a photo of my injury (seen here) and send it to all my friends. The bruise didn't come until about 2 days later.

So of course I show up at work with an enormous bruise and burn on my arm and have to explain to people what happened. I seriously considered lying about it, but I had already sent the pics to a co-worker and he had blabbed to everyone what I did anyway so it's a good thing I was honest! The significance of this is that I am a fitness professional. It's kind of my job to prevent this kind of thing from happening to other people. Although I work with a fairly young and equipment-savvy group of people now, I have a history of working with high risk and elderly populations. And I'm the one falling off the treadmill. So this makes me wonder: why am I in this profession?

I started working out to support my eating habit. This is while I was in college. I got pretty serious about my working out, and actually lost a few pounds in lieu of gaining the "freshman 10". Then I graduated and I got a "real" job that involved sitting behind a desk in a cube for 8 hours a day with a phone attached to my ear and my fingers clacking away at a keyboard in front of me. I tried to continue working out, and did so sporadically, rattling off countless excuses to explain my lack of commitment to exercise- ones that I now hear every day like "I'm too busy" or "work has been really crazy" or "I'm too tired" and whatever other lame reason popped into my head. So I decided to get a job in the fitness industry so I would be forced to work out and stay in shape. Plus I could get rid of that loathsome desk and all the paperwork that came with it. I have a very short attention span, and sitting at a computer for so long is not an ideal passtime for me.

So I got certified as a personal trainer, quit the job, got a MS in exercise science and a couple of other certifications on the way and there I was. In the field. That's why I do it. Not for the love of being healthy, although it's ok. Not for the joy I get from pushing my body to the limit, although that's ok too. Now I think, so am I GOOD at what I do? That's a good question. I feel that I have a good amount of knowledge in and a respectable desire to learn about the science of exercise. I get along pretty well with people. But do I motivate? Probably not. Thinking obectively, I probably look like I work out, to the average person, but I certainly don't have the ideal physique that would make all the ladies at the office I work for take my classes to strive to look like me. So what constitutes a good exercise physiologist? What constitutes a bad one?

I've had plenty of positive feedback from personal training clients. I even had one lady who came to my house while I was on maternity leave to get her sessions in. I've also lost a few clients who gave up on their goals, and to me that's failure on my part, even if their reasons had nothing to do with me. Do I expect 100% success rate? Of course not or I'd be the richest personal trainer alive! But if I'm going to do something- if this is my career, I want to be the best, not just mediocre, and I feel like that's what I am at this job.

So what are my options at this point? My degree is so specialized that there's not much else I could do that would utilize it. My BA is in Mass Communications, but I have no actual work experience in that. A desk job would bore me to death and anything else I lack experience/education in, so even if some numbnut did hire me, I would have to take a drastic paycut as my position would most likely be entry-level. I've considered asking around at work to see if any of the members who know I'm an intelligent, competent person have any ideas of possible jobs there, but I don't really want to be part of a corporate setting. So it looks like I'm stuck in the fitness field. I've been trying to improve my physique, increase my strength and endurance, study up on my physiology and gain knowledge in other areas like nutrition and wellness. The problem is that my current position doesn't allow for much branching out so I'm not using a whole lot of potential here.

It's not that I don't like what I do. I do love many aspects of my career. I am a perfectionist and I have to feel confident in my ability and my output and I'm not 100% completely there yet in this field. I'm not sure if I'll ever be.