Right before work ended today, I started getting that warm, heavy feeling in my temples. Then I realized my muscles felt a bit sore. And my heating pad was all the way up and I was still shivering (we're worried about an economic crisis, but my building can't seem to economize on keeping the top floor cold enough). Then it hit me...
I was getting sick!
By the time I was stuck in traffic, it had turned into an "oh-I-just-want-to-go-home-and-get-in-bed" all-out fever. And, of course, I had to take back roads because they had to close the highway right before rush hour.
On my way home, I ended up listening to a bunch of music, mostly because I was skipping around so much because I was so impatient with the day. I noticed, though, that in my song choices I listened to the whole way through, I had inadvertently ended up listening to enough fruit-inspired bands and songs that I could have gotten my anti-oxidant content from my iPod:
Raspberries-Go All The Way
The Cranberries-Dreams
Harry Nilsson-Coconut
The Lemonheads-Into Your Arms
Bananarama-Last Thing On My Mind
Fiona Apple-If We Kissed (Because there isn't an official video for this song, I had to look through the many interpretations on YouTube, mostly featuring WB teen crap--this one made me laugh, though, so I had to post it.)
And, of course... The Beatles-Strawberry Fields Forever
Bonus Because it's my favorite fruity flavor (I hate the actual fruit itself, though...), I thought I'd add just a little more to the fruit concoction.
Oh, the scraps I wanted to know as a child, but never got a chance to ask anyone. Had I had Yahoo! Answers around when I was younger, I would have been able to get my answers...no matter how weird my question was.
Although my questions (and, sometimes, the answers) would probably still never be as weird as these:
So, yesterday, I came across Fancast, a site where you can watch free movies and television shows. Needless to say, from noon until I was done with work, I watched (well, more or less listened to) eight episodes of "The Mary Tyler Moore Show".
There is a six foot Sub in Conference room 2B. Up for grabs! First come, first serve."
So, around lunch time, we decided to look for it. Problem was, we didn't know where 2B was. It started with three of us and we went to the second floor. Then we ran into two more people from our office, also looking for said sandwich. We went through areas of the 2nd floor we didn't know even existed. When we came across other workers we knew, we asked where the big sandwich was and, of course, we got more people joining us, looking for the unknown 2B conference room. We had about 11 or 12 people looking for the alleged sandwich. We were like a giant game of Snake.
Finally, when we found room 2B (in a small corner of a part of the HR office none of us even knew existed), there were only three pieces of the Sub left. Instead of standing for another minute thinking about the sandwich, I decided to just be proud of the fact that we found the sandwich, and then I made a frozen meal for lunch.
Most comedians who are big now have gotten too big...and, therefore, not funny. These comedians have been around for years (Mitch Hedberg, although he died a few years back, actually has his last recorded routine coming to CD soon) and I'm praying they don't become huge.
Without further ado, meet Mitch Hedberg:
And, a little more well-known, especially if you look him up on IMDB: Eddie Izzard.
Oh, the five years of my life during and after college I would never trade for anything. Crazy Westport customers, late nights (doing things we shouldn't have been doing), lots of laughs, Rummy 500, getting bleach on almost every pair of pants I owned while mopping, squirrels jumping out of garbage bins, coming to work hungover and/or still a little drunk, arms covered in stickiness, always having the faint smell of dairy, unidentified bruises, dinners at Angelina's and Chef's Table, hopping all over the shelves while on an Ephedra high, driving the scary Carvel van, a highly defined scooping arm (and a less than stellar left arm comparatively)...oh, and ice cream, ice cream, ice cream!
I ended up holding onto one shirt and another will be used in a gift for a friend.
I have to say, I get very nostalgic for the '90s whenever a power ballad comes on and I hear a pick slide. I think it's one of the most underestimated "techniques" in music, to be honest. It's like that random burst that re-focuses me on whatever song I'm listening to.
When I was driving home from work, I was listening to Rod Stewart's, Bryan Adams' and Sting's All For One (no joke, really) and I realized why I always felt so anxious and let down listening to it: It needs a pick slide!
Then, when traffic started moving, I found myself singing along to Michael Jackson's Black or White (watching the video just now definitely made me smile, too):
Then, I was switching highways when I decided Joan Jett's I Love Rock 'n' Roll needed a few pick slides, although with her random outbursts of "OOOOW!", Ms. Jett might feel threatened:
When I was almost home, I was worried I wouldn't have a good collection of songs to add to this blog...but luckily ZZ Top's Tush came on:
You may be wondering about the fifth song. Well, I saved the best for last. When it came on, I was thanking the iPod gods of Shuffle Songs. As if this song didn't have enough cliches (musical and otherwise) attached to it already:
Reason #1 - I don't want to join a group with other people who like the same music I do.
In a blog, I can simply write: "I like Robbie Williams." And what is unwritten is: "If you don't like Robbie Williams, feel free to discuss in the comments section why you don't. Maybe I'll agree with you, maybe I won't." Also posted and understood: "Here is a video illustrating the points I have made about Robbie Williams being a great musician. You cannot help at least tapping your feet to his U.K. (read: better than the U.S. crap on the radio) rhythm."
Said Example:
Reason #2 - Blogs load faster and are usually less complicated than profiles. Good Lord, people put too much on their pages! I can understand the background designs, the coordinating colors, but the bumper stickers, the virtual pet rocks, the "Save the Jackalope" applications, the "Join the Largest Facebook Group [of tools] Now!" groups, etc. If I'm actually looking at someone's profile, it's for some information, or to post a birthday greeting. and it's gotten to the point where I can't even find the comment wall anymore!
Reason #3 - Who are these people? I'm pretty good at remembering names and faces...of people I've come into immediate contact with. I can probably still name every member of every class from kindergarten through 6th grade off the top of my head (and with the help of an hour or two...and maybe a glass of wine). I remember people I was friends with in middle school and high school. Maybe we had lockers right next to each other for all four years (I don't remember her name at all, now that I think about it!), but we never talked. So, if I don't respond immediately (or at all) to your friend request, it's because I need to find and unpack my yearbooks so I can look you up. Or, if you're a friend-of-a-friend, at least leave a comment as to why I would know you. With blogs, there is no small talk, no "how have you been-fine-oh good-how are you-good-well, that's nice" type dealings. It's a blog! No need for small talk, the information is right there!
Reason #4 - Stalking is a lot more detailed through a blog. Well, it is! I mean, what can people really find out about me through my Facebook profile? "Status change! She got married? I should ask her 'how's married life?' because I'm sure she doesn't hear that at least once a day!" vs. "Ah-ha! A post labeled 'marriage'!...oh, her and her husband are too funny. I guess they're doing well."
Reason #5 - Nothing really changes on profile pages. No, really. It doesn't. The general information stays the same. Sure, people will change their pictures every so often, and I know those who break up with people using the status option, and then there are those who just can't join enough groups.
In blog terms, they can change their user icon, depending on the post; they can find the humor in their status change and write about it, giving a laugh (or cry) to others; and, as far as groups go, see reason No. 1--you might as well just write a post every time you decide you like or don't like something. But, then again, imagine reading a blog made up entirely of posts like "I like soup. That is all." "I don't like Facebook's new layout." "I remember when Jessie got hooked on caffeine pills." "I DO know the way to San Jose, la la la la la la la la la laaaa." (Actually, that's not a bad idea for a blog...My Idea! No Can Have!)
How I will prove this: Weighing myself for two days after every event that may cause a fluctuation in weight.
Materials: Scale (batteries should be in full working order), myself (and my ass, which has taken on its own area code at this point)
Experiment: 12 p.m.-204.4-Just woke up 12:14-203.0-Made bed, went to bathroom 1:15-203.0-Ate scrambled egg with shredded cheese, two pieces of toast with butter and slice of cheese (Ha! No change!) 2:28-204.8-Put on extra pair of pants, cleaned upstairs 3:29-204.4-More cleaning, just had sip of diet soda 3:30-205.2-Holding can of soda while on scale 3:53-204.4-Soda made me have to use bathroom 4:29-204.8-Finished soda, worked up sweat from ripping down wallpaper in upstairs bathroom 5:24-205.0-Folded laundry, put away 6:16-205.0-Showered, hair still wet, standing on scale in towel 6:30-203.6-Dried hair, put clothes on 6:45-204.6-Ate a banana 7:00-204.8-Put more laundry away 8:09-205.4-Went shopping, put sweatshirt on, tummy's growling 8:13-205.4-Had a cookie 8:31-205.6-Had slice of cheese, dinner in oven 9:02-206.6-Ate fish sticks, french fries, half can of soda 9:21-207.0-Ate brownie 11:30-206.2-Fell asleep on couch, about to go back to sleep
End of Day One: Total Weight Gained: 8.6 lbs Total Weight Lost: 7.6 lbs End Weight Lost/Gained: +2.2 lbs
Day Two: 8:30 a.m.-203.4-Woke up 8:51-202.6-Went to bathroom, cleaned up a bit 10:58-203.0-Woke up again, 1/2 bottle of water 11:13-204.2-Ate yogurt, put on sweatshirt 11:35-204.0-Went to bathroom 12:09 p.m.-204.2-Ate peanut butter granola bar 12:43-204.2-Ate two handfuls of shredded cheese and a slice of cheese 5:23-205.8-Got back from Dad's house, had one slice of pizza there 5:28-205.0-Went to bathroom 6:40-204.8-Ate some crackers and hummus 6:46-204.6-Went to bathroom 7:43-205.4-Ate one piece of lasagna 10:32-206.4-Drank a glass and a half of wine 11:38-205.4-Went to bathroom 11:42-203.0-Ready for bed, no pants or sweatshirt
End of Day Two: Total Weight Gain: 5.2 lbs. Total Weight Loss: 4.4 lbs. End Weight Loss/Gain: -.4
Final weigh-in this morning:201.8 lbs. (I'm not even going to put in that I somehow gained weight after I went to the bathroom; I like this number better anyway.)
Total results: -2.6 lbs. in two days.
Results:Seeing the weight gain over the course of a day = Hate the scale, I think I need a new one.
Seeing the results total for the weekend = Holy crap, really? So, you're saying I can have my cake (or cheese, from what I've realized is my downfall) and eat it too? Losing about a pound a day?
Sad conclusion: I will gain it back in three weeks when the bagel cravings begin again...
Variables:
* Knowing I had to get on the scale after everything made me a little self-conscious of what I was putting in my mouth...and made me very anxious to go to the bathroom more.
* I theorize that whenever my husband would follow me into the bedroom and catch me standing on the scale holding my notebook every few hours, the fear added at least half-a-pound.
* How the hell did eating a banana add a whole pound? And a brownie only made me gain .4?
* Have only looked at scale three times today. Can't wait for tomorrow morning. If I get below 200 this week, there will be celebration. Maybe in the form of brownies, as they are somehow better than bananas.
* OK, OK, before you comment about waiting for digestion to take place, yes, I know I shouldn't have weighed myself seconds after finishing the last bite of something...but I liked my brownie vs. banana discovery!
Final Analysis:The scale is evil, but only in large doses. (Brownies, however, are not! Ha!)
This guy Sean has a police shirt he used for a photo shoot on his chair. And it has a patch that says "police" on it. So, one of the guys a few days ago added a piece of paper with the word "cock" written in big letters to the top so it says "cock police".
So, they just ran a tour through the office while Sean was out of his seat...and the chair was facing them as they walked in. And we all turned around to see them laughing at something and we couldn't figure out what they were laughing about until we remembered Sean's shirt. Oh, the antics.
Update: Sean just got back to his desk and we told him the story and he laughed, then paused and said, "Wait, it says 'cock' on the shirt?!"
I started going through an old box of stuff. And that's the only way I can describe the box: stuff. In that box, I threw out a lot, including things I had been saving just for the nostalgia associated with it. I finally got the nerve to take pictures of these things and write about them so I could finally rid myself of the physical excess baggage I was carrying around.
These were my first pair of flare jeans. I thought these would be the "magic" to finally make me irresistible to guys. Yeah, that's it...
My mother would never buy me pair. I hate to admit it, but although I could zipper and button them up, I had what is now known as a muffin top. And my mother saw that and said I couldn't get any pants from Gap or Old Navy...and off to Lane Bryant we would go! And what they called "flares" were never flared. They were mom jeans. Mom jeans don't run the risk of muffin tops; the only thing that falls out of the top of Lane Bryant jeans are boobs because that's how far up the waist band is. (Well, I can't say that, really, I haven't shopped there since high school.)
But these were from Old Navy. I saved my allowance (well, lunch money...you would think skipping lunch for a week and a half would have gotten me to an "Old Navy size") and bought a pair on my own. And then I wore them every day for pretty much the rest of high school.
The hole in the left knee was from walking to drivers' ed. one day and I tripped in a crosswalk and ripped the knee. The hole in the right knee was from being bored one day watching TV and playing with a pair of scissors. The hole in the back of the thigh was from...well, I don't know what that's from. I think I had a hole in the seam and I kept picking at it and picking at it and then it turned into a large hole that just got larger the more I walked. Oh, and not to mention that the cuffs were torn to shreds from every day wear and tear.
Once I lost weight, I saved these as my fat jeans. I would wear them around the house when I cleaned, or when I would allow myself to pig out in front of the television with a box of chocolate covered cherries and regular (ooh! Scandalous!) Coca-Cola. Or I would wear them after a break-up when I wanted to feel better about being able to pull them up and down without unzipping them.
When I pulled them out of the box of stuff, I knew I could fit into them again. But I didn't care. They had a lot of good memories attached, but I knew I didn't want to put them on again, no matter how loose (or tight!) they might be. I like the jeans I have now...at least I can wear them to work.
I keep a drumstick in my car. Just one. I have told the same story that my cousin (drunkenly) stole it from his band's drummer because they were in a fight and decided to hide it in my car and that's why it's there. At this point, I don't remember if I made that up or if that's what actually happened, because the more I think about it, the weirder the story sounds...but I've been telling it for so long, that may just be the reason. So, it's just hanging out in my car. The Kia, the drumstick and me.
This afternoon during my commute, I was out of cigarettes and needed to keep my hands busy. I decided to put it to use, other than using it as a reaching stick when my purse falls on the floor. I started keeping the beat to the songs on my iPod. I tapped on the steering wheel only for a few seconds before the (supposedly irrational) fear of the airbag spontaneously going off hit me, so I percussioned (I can turn what I did into a verb, oh yes I can) on the dashboard instead.
Soon, Howard Jones came on, and before I knew it, I was doing that washboard sound using the heating vents. Although a small accomplishment in my life, I got a thrill from the ingenuity to work with the resources I had.
Just in case you happen to be around a vent of some sort and have a drumstick handy (who doesn't?):
1. Signals are on the car or a reason. Or, at least they're on the less expensive cars sold outside Fairfield county. Apparently, if you own a Mercedes, Lexus, Bentley, or anything that costs more than $60,000, signals are an option that aren't available on even the most expensive models, I guess. Right? Am I wrong? I've never been in one. I drive a Kia and can't imagine not letting other drivers around me know where I'm going. Oh, and doing so before I put on my brake lights is an Amendment to this Universal Truth.
2. Dick Wolf should be considered a form of torture. Oh, but it's sooo good. It's like, my husband and I watch an episode of "Law & Order: SVU" and we're always on the edge of our seats for all 60 minutes, than when we get attached to the characters and the stories and Dick Wolf twists our arms and as soon as we see the black screen with his name, we exclaim, "Damn you, Dick Wolf!" Immediately after, we search for another DVR'ed episode we haven't seen, as if to say, "Thank you, sir, may we have another!"
3. If we just sit down to dinner, the phone will ring, and it won't be for me. No matter how late we eat, my husband will get a call from someone. It will only end when I'm finished eating and it's time to clean up. But, then again, I hate the phone so I'm not that perturbed when it's not for me.
4. If I wake up late, I will either be low on gas or cigarettes. This means I will hold myself up having to get them on my way to work, making myself feel even more late. If I wake up early, I will have an adequate amount of both gas and cigarettes, then I'll have to find ways to kill time so I won't get to work super early and the day will drag.
5. If I'm doing laundry, the shirt/pants/underwear I'll want to wear that day will be in the washer or dryer at that moment. It's just inevitable. I may not even think I have worn it in the past two weeks, but somehow it will end up in my laundry and I'll have to do some last minute planning on an outfit.
6. If I've been tired all day and can genuinely see myself easily taking a nap when I get home, plans will pop up and we will end up being out late. It's very rare I'm tired at work and not get my second wind on the ride home, simply because I'm not at my desk anymore. But the days I can't keep myself awake on the ride home, I know I'll be coming home to company and/or we'll end up going out somewhere.
7. If I've found I've lost weight (seemingly overnight), I'll be starving the whole day. I'll end up eating whatever and whenever I want to that day as a sort of "reward", bringing my weight back up to what it previously was sans miracle overnight success. Oh, and it'll all be crap, too.
8. If I play hookie and take a sick day, I will get sick the next week. I would feel badly for taking a sick day when I wasn't really sick and go to work, looking terrible. Although, this works in my favor sometimes; it gives my boss a chance to see what I'm like when I'm sick, therefore assuming I must have been even worse the week before. The phrase "trouper" comes into play. However, being sick still sucks, especially when I feel too guilty to lie in bed all day like I would like to.
9. It is a bad idea to buy more than one book at a time. Once I get the two books, I can never decide which one to read first. It has gotten to the point where I end up not reading either. Or, I'll decide on one and mid-way through, I'll wonder if I decided to read the "wrong" book first, put it down and start the second, and never get back to the first because my mind has already been somewhere else for too long and I don't want to start over.
10. I only notice how anti-social I can be when an elevator is present. I don't get uncomfortable easily. If I do, the feeling usually passes quickly. However, whenever I have to share an elevator with someone I'm not familiar with, I get all sorts of flustered. I'll have just gotten in the elevator and if I here someone coming, I'll press the Door Close button as quickly and as stealthily as possible to avoid sharing the elevator. It's a confined space and what will have been 15 seconds seems to last hours sometimes, especially if I've just come back from a cigarette and I can only imagine what the poor soul sharing this 3x3 space with me is thinking as they smell the tobacco on me. When I get to my floor and the doors open up, it's like a weight's been lifted off my shoulders.
So, in order to stay awake at work (fifth-day period fatigue syndrome), I was doing my usual Internet laps around my usual sites, I discovered Jott.
Not only can I have Jott send me text message and e-mail reminders and to-do lists, but I can post to Blogger via my phone. Sure, whatever I send it has to be said in fewer than 15 seconds, but I don't honestly see myself using it for Blogger, unless I can figure out a way to save it to drafts and work on it later.
So, my husband's best friend had her wedding two weeks before we had ours and we just received the thank you card today; I just bought our thank you cards over the weekend (at Family Dollar -- you could tell the wedding money ran out quickly on our honeymoon).
But, instead of a hand-written card (read: the only types of thank you cards that won't get you in trouble with the WASP side of my family), it was a photocopied poem, clearly written by the bride's mother. It was a very nice poem: easy to skim, our names were hand-written at the top, the Pepto-Bismol colored paper was a little nauseating to look at for very long.
I made the joke to my husband that we should write a short poem in each of our thank you cards. Here are some of the ideas:
Roses are red, Bees like honey, Your gift was sweet, But we also like money.
*
Thanks for coming to our wedding, Now call off the bet, Although he screwed up the vows, We haven't divorced yet.
*
My thighs may not be sore, And he stopped saying "Heee-eey", But I'm still a whore, And he's still gay.
*
Thank you for your gift, We'll use it near and far, Thanks also for attending the wedding, Hope you liked the open bar.
*
Glad you liked the wedding, We heard you were tanked, His mother said she met you, She was the one you spanked.
*
I know we don't talk as often as we should, Time passes so fast, it's true, But I'm glad you gave a present at the wedding, Now I can go back to ignoring you.
*
As I got home the night of the wedding, And saw the presents in a heep, I decided to open them, Because he was already asleep.
*
Votes? Anyone? (Will anyone talk to me after these are sent out?) Hhhmph.
On my super secret source for new funny videos, I came across this. As opposed to this as I am as a journalist (or at least a journalism major in college), I have to say this cracked us up at work.
Well, if this isn't the be-all, end-all of political satires!
Of course, having a firm grasp on what is rising on these-here internets, I'm proud to say I am the bearer of this viral video to many of my Broadway-loving friends.
Oh, it's wonderful. At the end, I didn't know if I was laughing really hard, or if I was about to cry (the harmonies get me all goose bumpy in Les Mis).
When I see a new trend, I find flaws with it (maybe because I don't have the money or the right body to pull it off). But my husband and I are HUGE fans of "Project Runway". It's the only show we actually set aside time to watch. Soon, the season finale leaks will be hitting the Internet. While researching what's going on at Fashion Week, I ended up spotting this, ahem, movement (above left).
It could just be me, but aren't designs shown during fashion week supposed to be looked at as avant-garde, but easily tamed for the commercial audience? I don't see how they'll make this work...
And, it reminded me of the aardvark jackets (above right), lovingly given at Christmas time in the Myer household in "Better Off Dead". "Everyone's going to have one!"
I've been rather slow with this blog this week. One of those too many ideas, not enough time-type weeks, I guess. But here are some of my favorite video finds. (Yes, it was a slow week at work.)
Now, I'm not a huge fan of those who love the silly cat videos. Sure, I find cats amusing. I think they are all neurotic, just like everyone else. But this started going around at work and I did have a good chuckle watching it.
If you like "Family Guy", you'll like this. Even if you don't like "Family Guy", but you've played Nintendo in your day (Ha-Ha! We have an old school NES and our old games at our house now! Just wanted to brag.):
It's funny 'cause it's true. I know, it's terrible to say, but maybe that's why someone made this "PSA".
A fantastic video for any girl.
And, what's a good video with a strong moral message without a parody of it?
And, speaking of evolution, I leave you with this. It was only a matter of time before a perfectly spliced up viral video became spliced into another:
No republicans were harmed in the making of this blog.
There's no easy way to say this. It's a fact that's becoming more and more prevalent that blondes are completely underestimated. No, it's not paranoia; it's not poor-me syndrome; and it's not just a slight case of the "ditsies". It's a perpetual cycle of acting dumb so as not to come off different than people expect, followed by (or beginning with) someone meeting a blonde and having the preconceived expectation of hearing stupidity spewing out of said blonde's mouth.
Maybe it's 25 years of cynicism catching up to me. Maybe it's seeing girls dye their hair blond, thinking it'll be more appealing, then wondering why the guys they meet don't call back. Maybe it's the fact that no matter how intelligent of a conversation I can have with someone, they'll still say at the end of it "So, remember that time you didn't realize what a 'cizock' meant?" (And, for the record, as soon as I said it out loud, I realized the answer...)
So, I've started changing my mannerisms. I started dressing more "boring brunette" (yeah, stereotypes feel shitty, don't they?), and I stopped hiding my intelligence just to make others feel more comfortable around me (read: superior). Here are some tips I've begun to use:
1. Read more.
Pick up works you don't normally read. Find authors who write intelligently -- the more you get used to reading their work, the more comfortable you feel emulating their style of speech. If you don't know a word, look it up (and find its pronunciation!), then store it in your mind for future use; don't just use it to show off, either.
2. Compliment.
People expect blondes to be self-centered and shallow. Make sure if you like someone's shirt or their new haircut, or even something little like how they drive, make sure you say it out loud. Don't over-analyze the reaction to the compliment, either: "So, are you saying I don't wear nice earrings every day?" is not something you need to worry yourself with. Once people get used to your random compliments, they'll take them more seriously.
3. Stop. Playing. Dumb.
Yes, I'm still learning this lesson. Once you get used to feeling like you need to "dumb it down" to be liked, people get to know the real you. And, whether they like you shouldn't bother you. If you feel uncomfortable, train yourself to be empowered when the look of "what did she just say?" comes across their face, let it go. Again, the more you prove your intellectual worth, the sooner it'll become accepted. (I know, I know, you shouldn't have to prove your intellectual worth to anyone. I understand. However, those who perpetuate the dumb blonde stereotype are the ones who are making it worse for you, not the unknowing non-blonds who are surprised at your behavior.)
4. Lower your voice.
This is one of the weirdest pieces of advice I can give. This goes along with suggestion No. 3, though. The higher the register one's voice is, the easier it is to lose the voice in the crowd. Think about Marilyn Monroe. When you heard her high, squeaky voice singing or her kittenish whisper when she talked, did you roll your eyes? Did you admire how men flocked to her? (Did you secretly cling to the size 16 myth? Yes, myth.) Well, as much as I hate to inform you, unless you're part of a very, very small, almost minuscule, percentage of women who actually are physically programmed to have that voice, knock it off. If you find yourself constricting your throat, even a little, when you talk, it's not your real voice. To find something in your range, take a deep breath, fill your diaphragm, then sigh out loud. Believe it or not, that's more your natural register for speaking. And if you sing at all, you may be shocked to learn you'll have to learn how to harmonize in your lower register because those "blondes" on Broadway who squeak out their pop numbers are singing incorrectly. Nodes-alert! (Side note: altos are taken more seriously than sopranos anyway. Ask any director who has heard a squeaky "On My Own" at every audition sung by someone who would have gotten a better part had they sung a full-powered "When You're Good to Mama".)
5. Quit playing with your hair.
Do it in the morning. Move it out of your eyes. Fluff it in the bathroom. But stop twirling it. Stop adjusting it strand-by-strand at your desk. Stop picturing yourself in Finesse commercials whenever you take it out of a ponytail at the bar -- you know what I'm talking about.
6. Watch your man.
Don't get paranoid, but those who have the fashion sense to realize they don't look good as a blonde feel threatened by those who do. Their inferiority complex goes into overdrive and they think they'll feel better if they can outdo a blonde. If your man is the right man, you shouldn't feel threatened at all. But these brunettes need to be put in their place sometimes. Which leads me to...
7. Never allow someone else to make you feel bad without your permission.
Change the topic, then quietly pull the aggressor aside in private and let them know how you feel. If others begin to join in, take a deep breath and tell yourself they're only trying to make themselves more comfortable. A simple "it's funny how something as simple as hair color can bring so much joy to others" may suffice. But, if the topic doesn't change, make your point known. Don't just go along with it because the conversation is going well. That only means there's nothing better to talk about and your friends are not interesting or intellectual enough for you to be wasting your time with. If the situation progresses, get up and leave. You don't need to give an explanation if you've already made your point known.
8. Don't follow the crowd.
You think wine is more satisfying than beer? Order it, even if everyone else is drinking Coors Lite on tap. You're in the mood for salad, rather than wings and potato skins? Order it, even if you're perpetuating the stereotype of the anorexic blonde. (Sorry, I've never been thin enough to be put into that stereotype, so I don't really have advice for those girls.) You would rather listen to oldies than the same 10 songs played on WTUL over and over again? Do it, stating your opinion of those wouldn't-know-good-music-if-it-was-even-still-played-on-MTV stations. Make sure your opinions are known. Make sure you have your own opinions. Make sure you have your own reasons for basing your opinions on. And, most importantly, make sure you can back it up with fact, if needed. And, just as a general rule, if anyone is drinking, these are the topics never to discuss, even if you think everyone's in agreement with you: POLITICS, RELIGION or FAMILY. Trust me on this one. Bartenders are trained to smile and nod just for this reason. Keep the peace.
9. Bring out the blonde only when necessary.
It's true that it's a blessing and curse. There are crucial moments when bringing out the stereotype may be necessary to keep the peace, settle an argument, calm the drama, or lighten the mood. It's a form of comic relief, but used sparingly is the only way to use it. I asked my dad once how to be funny. He told me "timing is everything" and said when the time is right, I would know. He may have been watching Star Wars at the moment, now that I think about it, and he was trying to have a Yoda moment.
10. Always remember, you get what you put out.
The Golden Rule applies...and it's not just a clever pun to tie in with the hair color. (Actually, the Golden Rule is wash your hair immediately after swimming in a chlorinated swimming pool so it doesn't turn green, har har har.) You may feel insecure about trying to prove your self-worth, but putting someone else down is not the way to make yourself look better; in fact, it only gives people another reason to dislike you. And this time, they have a good reason if you resort to petty tactics.
Oh, and one more thing, because I know it confused you (don't feel bad, unless you're an editor and/or an irritable blonde, you may not know): BLONDE is the noun for a female with blond hair. BLOND is a noun for a male with blond hair AND used as an adjective.
Blonds can be used to mean plural men and women with blond hair. Example: I am a blonde. He is a blond. My hair is blond.
Rich Freida is a moron and has never experienced what calling products Brilliant Brunette, Radiant Redhead and then Sheer Blonde does to someone who's just heard her 100th dumb blonde joke of the evening. How the hell is "sheer" supposed to be a positive adjective to describe a person?
I've officially thrown my hands up to the diet I was on for three weeks. Sure, I lost the honeymoon-weight...and then stopped. The scale won't budge. It moves, but stays within the same pound range, as far as ounces go. I'm going to finish the other three shakes I have, but not two a day anymore, mixed with little meals of fruits I'm sick of now. And screw that half-a-sandwich thing at lunch with a shake. That always pissed me off. It is NOT satisfying. I like my weird eating habits. Some days, I'm good and don't eat that much. Other days, I like enjoying a big lunch or a big breakfast here and there.
That just reminded me about a dream I had last night involving ordering French Toast and being so happy that I didn't even realize I had finished eating it. See, once I start dreaming about food, it means a diet is not working. That's my theory.
That said, I'll just add this to the list of my attempted-and-failed diets.
TOP TEN ATTEMPTED-AND-FAILED DIETS
10. Atkins/Low Carb Basics: Keep away from anything with carbs, including fruits, apparently. Basically, everything you like, you can't have. I never bought the books or officially went on it, I tried to cut back for a while. Why it didn't work: I love carbs. I LOVE bagels. Chicken is the only protein I feel comfortable cooking, it wasn't for me. My proteins are usually involved in some way with carbs. Hot dogs and hamburgers don't taste good unless they're on a bun! I even paid $30 for an eBook with the same basic diet. I was promised same-day e-mail responses from the author and a full refund if I wasn't satisfied. When I e-mailed a question, there was no e-mail the same day...or the next...or the next. I didn't even feel like asking for a refund because who knew how long that would take. They sure billed my credit card the same day, though. And no alcohol? Screw that.
9. Grapefruit Diet Basics: A strict diet that includes some form of grapefruit with every meal. Why it didn't work: I don't like grapefruits. Simple as that. I tried for one day to convince myself they weren't that bad. I lied to myself and I had acid reflux that night. I couldn't wait to wake up and have a bagel to calm my stomach.
8. The Water Diet Basics: Water, water, water. Drink so much water you'll feel fuller, faster. Why it didn't work: Peeing, peeing, peeing. Carrying the water around was a pain. I don't like to force anything into my mouth I don't want and I'm not a very thirsty person, to be honest. I know you need a ton of water, but my body never wants it, other than in the middle of the night and I drink a good 10 ounces then. Aside from that, I get my water in the form of diet soda or other foods. And I never felt full of water. I would want to pee so I could make room for actual food.
7. Birmingham Diet Basics: It's a bunch of food I'm not crazy about for three days. Followed by four days of regular eating, whatever that means. Then repeated. Given to me by the guy at the counter at Planet Fitness in Stamford. Why it didn't work: Not a very practical diet for someone who has to eat in public. A piece of toast and a hard boiled egg for lunch? The lunch counter guy thought I was nuts when I asked for this. Never returned to Planet Fitness in Stamford after that.
6. Some Diet Involving Vitamins Basics: Spent $30 on a soft-cover book to find out I needed to supplement my system with $100-worth of GNC pills with different characteristics in them. Took pills twice a day. Had to sort these pills daily to keep myself organized. Fish oil, flax seed, Vitamins B-12, G-Omega8, acid free pH level-ginseng root...AND 30 oz. of protein with every meal. Why it didn't work: You can only guess. Sure, the diet was highly recommended by a friend from California. And not the LA part either where anorexia and bulimia still top the list; he was from closer to the San Fransisco area. That should have tipped me off...
5. Bulimia Basics: Stick fingers down your throat, tickle a little spot, and, before you know it, you're looking at what you just ate in the toilet. Why it didn't work: Oh, gross. Not to mention the crying that comes with it, which made my make-up run and make my face look awful. Plus, it was never convenient to do out in public. The dumbest three hours of my life, basically.
4. Anorexia Basics: Deny yourself any food. Feel guilty for even smelling something delicious. Why it didn't work: Unless Ephedra induced, it's impossible. Besides, I never thought I could officially say I was anorexic: Anorexics have ribs showing; they cut and enjoy one raisin, followed by five hours of feeling guilty. I don't think anorexics ever looked longingly at someone enjoying a bagel and wished they would accidentally drop it in their mouths and wire their jaws shut so they would have to eat it.
3. The No-Diet Diet Basics: Some little birdy told me you can eat whatever you want in moderation. Why it didn't work: I was probably just coming off of one of the many other diets and loved the idea of this. So, I ate half a candy-bar, a whole wheat bagel with light cream cheese, one of those mini-cans of soda, a bag of 100-calorie fudge stripe cookies, and said "no" to the apple. See! Moderation! Sure, that was one meal...it was my reward meal for stopping a diet and going back on one! I can't trust myself. Taunts of pre-"Are you going to lose that weight?" mother telling me to finish what's on my plate or no dessert.
2. The White Wine Diet Basics: Two bottles of wine in two days. The only food involved was eggs and steak. I read about it in "Sex and the Single Girl" and, true to Helen Gurley Brown's word, I lost six pounds in two days. Why it didn't work: It did! I followed it! However, I can't drink white wine to this day. And I woke up the second day craving cereal for some reason. I wanted a big bowl of cereal, I didn't care what kind. I slowly put the six back on afterwards when I bought sugary cereal and ate it everyday for two weeks, figuring I would get around to going back on the wine diet. It's been three years since then and I still haven't gone back on it.
1. Slim-Fast Basics: It used to be "A shake for breakfast, a shake for lunch and a sensible dinner." Now it's Shake, wait two hours, fruit, wait two hours, shake and 200 calories for lunch (half a sandwich), more fruit and Slim-Fast bar for a snack, 500-700 calorie dinner, Slim-Fast bar for a snack. Why it didn't work: It worked...for about 10 pounds. Then I plateaued for way too long. I finally got sick of those damn shakes. And, it doesn't help that I get a little lactose intolerant if I have too much dairy. And two shakes a day were starting to take their toll.
Once again, a weird thing I've done in life has come to be a reality...and is going to make money.
I had that idea in college when I had 65 cents to last me the day and I found the joys of an empty bag of Sour Patch Kids. After I had finished the delicious candies, I wasn't satisfied, so I held the bag up to my noise and inhaled, while making he chewing motions. Somehow, it worked. Now Weight Watchers is going to capitalize on it, turning sticker freaks into anorexics.
After trying to regain the time I felt I lost yesterday by sleeping late and becoming overly-lethargic because of the broken A/C at work, I woke up an extra 15 minutes early today. I flawlessly applied my make-up, going a little darker than I normally would wear to work; I picked out an outfit I know looks fine, although being that I'm wearing it all day, I think it's too busy for me; and I made sure I washed, dried and styled my hair to perfection. With the last curl and spritz I was about to do, I realized what I had become, or, more accurately, what I was striving for: I was starting to resemble a soap opera character.
I was turning into someone with an androgynous name like Dixyn or Varmel, who took all day to shop for an outlet cover for their homes, without going to work at all and having tons of money from my several dead/estranged/gender-confused husbands. I probably also had a child when I was 19, who, through the magic of soap-time, is now 15 and possibly pregnant with twins from two different fathers.
Then I started wondering if I would be a good girl or villain. I was hoping for the latter, as they have more fun, more sex, more money, and don't have to bother themselves with trying to please everyone. But, at the same time, I know too many people who fit into the category of "villain" in what would be my soap-opera-life. Maybe I would be an undetermined character.
Oh, who was I kidding. I am the fat soap star, who gets the network praised on hiring "not another size 4" for a role. I'd probably get nominated for best supporting actress at the daytime Emmys for being the "big girl in a small role". Har har har, oh the speechwriters would pat themselves on the back for that one.
Oh god, I remembered the more I thought about the situation. I was channelling my inner WASP, as they tend to strive to have the lifestyles soap characters do. My aunt actually got her "interior design knowledge" from soap operas.
What if I wasn't even on a good soap? What if I was on one of the poorly-slotted little-known name soaps that have only been around for a few years? Something with a name like "Glistening Virtues" or "Soaring Lillies". What if I were forced to wear the same outfit for four days straight, while still shopping for that one outlet cover to match my French drapes and coat of armor in my foyer? What if I had a foyer?!
No, no, no. This has gotten out of hand. I'm just not used to being this prepared every morning. I'm just getting back into the habit I threw away over my long weekend. People really do this, right? Emily P. vs. Emily A. isn't unrealistic, right? I did forget to put perfume on this morning; I'm not perfect. I am flawed today. Not to mention the scale not moving for about a week, whether I'm on my diet or not. Soap stars lose weight quickly; in soap opera time, I would have lost 30 pounds in 10 days, considering every day lasts about five in real time. And weekends wouldn't count. And my weight-loss efforts would be futile, since I would be kidnapped at some point and forced to gain the weight back so people would be able to tell the difference between me and my evil twin.
I wonder if my Emily P./Emily A. scenario is sort of like my evil twin storyline. Emily P. wasn't necessarily evil. She had her moments, but then again so will Emily A., I'm sure of. And maybe real-me wouldn't need soap opera husbands because my husband displays too many different personalities depending on the day. And, although I've been re-applying my shiny lip gloss all day, I know I won't make a habit of it. And my small-talks with people won't come back as a plot revelation later in the week; it'll just stay small-talk. And my moments alone in the house will be some of my most enjoyable times, not some fancy fund-raiser with all the big names in town when I'm being honored for being writer of the year for a book I've clearly been doing during my offtime raising my estranged child, spending money decorating my chateau, or having coffee conversations about my friends' ex-husbands, possible fathers of their children, coniving sisters or vindictive mothers-in-law.
Oh, the joy of marriage. The joy of having someone to come home to. Someone with the same intellect. The same dreams. The same motivation (or lack thereof some days). The love that will always be there whenever anything comes along. But they never mentioned the little things that truly show loving all of a person:
The different tastes in music.
The different definitions of a "night in".
The different tell-tale signs of annoyance, anger, joy, etc.
The different little things that drive each other up the wall.
The sheer fact that I'm typing is driving him up the wall, I know it. So, the question is, do I type softer because I can see his hand raising to his forehead, pretending that I am slowly draining his work-ability with every stroke of the keyboard? Or do I continue, pretending to be oblivious that the spacebar has about twice the volume of the regular keys. Basically, the fact that he doesn't want to do his work right now is being channeled into being angry about the keystrokes. And I love him. I really do. I'm not doing something for work, so obviously, the lesson plans he's working on should be my main priority and I should be sitting on the couch in the other room merely reading my book I just got.
I tried to put on my new jazz CD, my one impulse buy during my $200 shopping spree at Wal-Mart the other day. With that, he turned and asked "what's that?" "It's jazz, you dumbass." No, I didn't say it outloud; I said the obligatory, "I'm sorry, does it bother you?" "Yes." And with that, he turned his back to me. Oh, because watching "Family Guy" for two hours and then saying "Whatever, I'm not doing this tonight, I'll get up early to do it" really gets in the way even more than "Moonlight Serenade".
But I do praise his motivation right now to learn grammar, albeit from an author who is 100 years old and doesn't adhere to what is the most recently accepted as correct. Whatever. Let him read a book by some pretentious grammar Nazi who was probably given a book deal to shut her up for a few weeks so she wouldn't correct everybody she came in contact with.
He just turned around to settle an argument we had weeks ago.
"By the way, [one of his favorite phrases to let me know something he just learned] it is correct to use both Joneses AND Jones' when talking plural and possessive."
I just rolled my eyes and said, "Don't get me started on what I already think of that author."
With that he turned around, confident he had some backup to his claim weeks ago.
Five minutes later, "Oh, hell no! She used an apostrophe in 1960s! I should just throw this book out the window."
"Is she talking possessively about the year 1960?"
(Scurrying to find the page again in the strewn book) "'the 1960's' One-nine-six-zero-apostrophe-'s'. No, she's an idiot."
"Someone gave her a book deal with shut her pretentious, over-correcting mouth for a few weeks," I said, proud to have what I had just written in front of me so I could get out that gem.
"Bet it didn't help."
"Probably not."
At least my typing doesn't annoy him anymore. And I understand the frustration he feels as an English teacher. Grammar and punctuation doesn't just come to people overnight; you either have a gift for it or you have to learn it step-by-step. And it's a long tedious process, for both the teacher and the student. I'm more concerned with letting him know, in teaching exclamation points, that two or more is ridiculous. Hopefully, they won't fall into the MySpace/Facebook trap of cramming their posts with excessive exclamation points.
No, I know you think you know him or what-not. You probably fill your MySpace and Facebook profiles with his quote: "Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans," and you sit around Starbucks Coffee Houses talking about his "greatness". Well, before you post the quote anymore, at least listen to the song it came from -- yes, it was a song. He didn't just come out of a post-drug induced haze and say this wonderful quote; it was from a song.
Yesterday we had our first big get-together at our house. We threw a last-minute Labor Day picnic. And it was fabulous. Unfortunately, I actually got a slight buzz from some sugary-type drinks.
This morning, I had forgotten to turn my alarm clock on. I woke up a little on the weird side: the sugar rush had worn off, I slept an hour-and-a-half later than I normally do, and because I forgot to grab my work shoes, I had to turn around and I was late for work. My whole day was off. I tried to stick to my diet, but once we found out the A/C was broken in our office, I was miserably hot and all I wanted was a sandwich, some salt & vinegar ships and a nice, cold soda. My entire day was completely anti-Emily A. and reminiscent of Emily P. But sometimes that's a nice thing.
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